I do not know?
They walk silently along my hallways.
Floors littered with faded finery.
Do you remember my Granduer?
I had once been called the Queen of the sea.
Pulled down to the ocean's floor.
Swaying silently, so many sad souls
They are entombed here
Forever a part of me
Left to wander my halls
Sharing this watery hell
Faces frozen in skeletal grins
Evidence of our eternal sadness
Fish now swim across my stage
The band is silent
Still I remember
I absorbed them note by note
They played till my last moment
Yet it was not for my benefit
For I had betrayed them
My promises were empty
Temptation, travel, time together
Some mercifuly escaped
What did they remember of me?
Some came back in ghostly form
Searching for those I had taken from them
I will not release them
For I do not wish to be alone.
Copyright © Richard Lamoureux | Year Posted 2014
-Eden's Ending Eulogy-
Proceed here today, Eden's Ending Eulogy
Gentle gracious her garden, the guidance
I can't recall what was with the warm, sincere smile, and sunrise
Lost at ease and clarity.......I Sleep!
Forever In Peace, this dark, damp den, coffin will do
at last, a parting powerful, reunion and resting resort
Copyright © SKAT A | Year Posted 2014
Took me the breath of all my life
A soul mate who could consume my heart wither a smile
I found that Gothic girl after dark
A little to late to consummate
I lie in waiting with a dead round smile
Empty eyes and a lot of guile
I found a girlfriend even if late
We lie together
Frigid is our state
Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2015
Between the granite stones
Of the dead
Long ago last breaths do part
Memories seeping in dirt
Black birds and magpies
Lace and knots
Swaying too and fro
On top of the dead
Lover is all but gone
That life flies on
As shadows rest
Upon ones breast
Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2016
I was the universe
All knowing, all embracing
Molecules of beauty in floating meditations
I was everywhere
I begot limbs and flesh
Imprisoned inside this human frailty
I was freed, exposed, pushed, fallen into humanity
Lights, voices, sins, I screamed
They cut off my only bond to the universe
Here, a baby an orphan of the heavens
Imprisoned upon the imperfections of human realms
The holy book of sins...........
The great sadness.........
I miss the cosmic beauty
Stuck here, the devils collection of earthly kin
Days... weeks.....decades…. despair......
I plotted and planned
The great escape
From this finite boxed in land
I begged the infinite, and danced with infinity
The universe waltzed
I twirled with insightful delight
Soon, to be rejoined with eternal light
To be free, to roam the stars
My death, now rejoined with the heavens and all of thee
You visit, candles and crocus upon Parisian stone
I am neither there or even here any more
I have become what I once was, healed and whole
All knowing, all embracing
I am God, the universe once more
Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2016
Gazing out upon dusky barren moor,
Where gray grass grasps the air
Finding no purchase but sad allure
Straight stalks elapse their endless despair.
Teased by tales of golden reach
Tricked by gales, whose song they preach.
Redtail’s velvet wings breach the sky,
Maroon lips who kiss the grass
Stirring the song, its desperate sigh
Catching the words, her beak of crystal glass
Behind her, midnight shadow draws
Fells her beauty with unseen charcoal paws
Scarlet tears dampen the earth below
Nurture the roots held by dusty truth
Finally, the wind, gray grass’ will bestow
The hawk once, now the fountain of youth.
Litany of silence reigns in dusky glare,
Each blade bowed in mournful prayer.
Copyright © Avery Swarthout | Year Posted 2015
Bitter by ; being mentally bruised and battered most of my life,
shaken with fright without a single soul to help me
through the troubles unseen horrors of the night,
from an evil source that I fear to strike.
But as the evil forces, who limited my choices
that when I found my stallion horses.
Swiftly it came to my head I can run and I cannot hide,
feeling the Beast closing in on every time I decide to hide.
Tired of running and tired of alluding this
relentless creep as my red bolt eyes weep
feeling rest-less, likes a lonely defeated warrior from his home in retreat
that is when I knew it time to rest, to release my Beast.
But in a fight, I may not win however as I cast out my dirty words sin
I made sure it felt my impact, to the bloody end.
by Keith Kadell
Copyright © Keith Relf | Year Posted 2013
urban leaves turned
Autumn, sniffing around
for a place to settle
no Farmer's Market
in San Francisco today.
Copyright © Jen Franks | Year Posted 2013
In the elliptical nights moonshine of night, a figure of lavender
And aged white lace, roams amongst the rocky sea shore, a
Glittering phantom of beauty most fair, walking with an essence
Of smoldering evil and the smell of burnt sulfur fumes oozing
Outwardly catching upon the chilling autumn air!
In the bushes hear the rustling, the meowing of the felines,
For this is the velvet witch the care taker of the familiars,
Calls forth unto her four pawed legions, dwelling within
The depths of the night, as eerie eyes pierce through the
Darkened glows of the shadow realm!
Glazing hypnotic orbs set in memorizing forms, glen in the
Flashing moon lights fine point of the ethereal sheen, small
To the large, they do so come, these creatures of the supernatural
Flame, called by their Mistress the Valet Witch, of Skat County!
Rubbingly, adoring at her shifts skirts of purplish hews,
These cattish guardians of deaths resurrection, and evils
Omens of shattered dimensions, purr with utter devotions
Loyalty, to her their protector!
As the last stroking of mid-night falls, a cloaked ghostly
Image, stalks the hallowed hollows near a rippling lake
Of lost reflections, no floating silhouette is composed
From the maiden whom crosses these waters of discontent,
Against these crystal clear waves of absolute calm!
Hidden beneath this bewitching shroud of ancient mysticism,
Echoes an enchanting voice of incantations speaking in a cat-like
Tongue, casting mystical spells of worships beguiling!
At the foot gates of the pet cemetery the valet Witch thus
So stops in sudden motions stance, than raising her arms
Upwards, she utters in words of a muffled language,
To those spiritually resting within!
All the winds breathe seems to cease for an instant,
As orbital greenish lights raise from their entombs of burial,
Floating within the waiting arms of this their honored
Matriarch, this cat collector dressed in lavender and lace,
The Valet Witch of Skat County!
In the mists of death’s vaporous out lashing, the capped
Figures shroud drops upon the soils consecrated ground,
And in the night a voice whispering is heard, almost seemingly
As if a soft purring lingering within this darkness fading,
In the twilight of dawn first rays of light!
Two by two glaring emerald eyes flash into the forests wild,
Screeching in reverence respect, for their darkened mistress
Of familiar has left unto the gates of the neither world beyond,
The Valet Witch of Skat County.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN-fictitious legend-Dedicated to Skat my youngest soul sister!
Copyright © cherl dunn | Year Posted 2015
Open your eyes to the ever turning skies
I want to here with me through the night
My heart yearns into your soul
Burning as if newly lit coal
I bravely submerg the embers
That the time I have can be spent with you
And I remember each kiss every moment
I was caught in your love that for just this day I remember
So what happened was a chance for your love
A time that I kept in a locket tied with a kiss
I wanted you to feel, to love, to slumber
And to awake in my arms with that times kept bliss
I lay silient in an umber
Copyright © Courtney Courtney | Year Posted 2013
She's highly sophisticated and full of undefiled wisdom
Yet a crowned Duchess in a paradise kingdom
Quite a beautiful angel flying with black wings
Covered in gold jewelry and precious things
She dresses like the women of ancient Egyptian class
Her wealth is generous and her money grows like grass
She loves orange scented candles with dark room flame
She rules thirty legions of soldiers and Bune is her name
Her comely warrior voice can wake and relocate the dead
Her armies of soldiers gather around the cemetery
She is brave and deserves a princessly crown on her head
Her facility of speech and flair for words is legendary
A beautiful queen to be treated with respect and honor
Instead of blasphemy,wanton abuse and fictional horror
Copyright © Bill Kim | Year Posted 2013
A full moon night
to my delight
what is so wrong
with doing what's right
nothing is right
after so long
no use in complaining
time to move on
The Dream Water one day
might take me away
farther from the comfort
I float on my back
then shut my eyes
my body now sinking
into ocean arms open wide
Now swallow your son
back to his nature
when he is no longer
needed to stay here
the next generation
are dooming themselves
they need my experience
to guide them through hell
Why should I bother
on my own, I strive through
I turn my back on the thought
of bothering to save you
alone in this world
my, is it spacious
I'm finally smiling,
never so gracious.
Copyright © Bj Fard | Year Posted 2013
Oh, clear sky you speak to me.
Let me bask in the sun and weep to thee.
Stumbling across the pavement,
Thinking “this is my home” if I can’t pay rent.
Take me sauntering down the street
On a surreptitious retreat
Where no one knows my name.
I’ve seen the best of my days slip past me.
I would have said that “I’m not fine”
But no one asked me.
Copyright © Evelyn Rose | Year Posted 2016
How queer the color of viscera
squarely foreign in my breast
To be the butcher and grim and goddess
All in one
Leaves identity succinct
Or identifies succinctness
If it has been
Then so it was always before
Therein is 'Peace'
Reposed and eyes rolling
Great, vacant saucers on vertiginous axis
She is quite the swollen beast
And on all fronts, she is terrible
If only you'll watch you may notice her growth
A malignant sort
An unwelcome appendage
I'd dash it out but I've already gone
Too pale and dogged in life to succumb
I curse her tenacity
She has a sister, I think
Or maybe a child
A child who lives down deep in my chest
A child who shrieks and tears down the walls
Perhaps she dislikes their pattern
Copyright © Chelsea Westerfield | Year Posted 2013
What I think of life is I love the sky,
more than I do the ground, and the clouds,
I am a goth girl who just desire clowns,
Gothelecktravampire see green grass,
she is loving being goth under the nun,
black dress she wears in the sun to not,
forget the pedals on/in the little flower,
I love life air especially, when it is cold,
on/in the inside of me sitting underneath,
a small tree,
it is cold outside time to sing along,
to my favorite songs,
that hide's deep inside the dirt of me,
busy thinking about the songs during the day,
of me not caring I will, and I am,
swimming in the sea patting a little flower, as well as a leaf,
goth songs are heart warming they make me smile,
I love being inspired by Evanescence,
she is my favorite music artist with a pen,
the coldness in the moth while being,
is what it is still on my mind in last night, and today of day frame time,
looking across this gigantic huge thoughts of sky,
my profile page, and profile is,
I love to smell the tastes in life they are,
not a scare bee hive,
I love my life thinking about it, make,
me think of how much I have been regreting
looking at a sun flower at night they are,
a kind in which interest me,
they remind me of to much life,
just thinking about different ways,
to explain it, while relaxing in the
background, a rose lily is in between,
my eyes I will not say goodbye,
to life yet it is my favorite,
to look out a window and, and to be
a day dreamer,
taking a apple brake to eat it,
I am eating it,
imagining eating a apple today,
while I am writing poetry,
instead of reading it, cannot stand
I miss writing,
I miss writing my words down,
it help, and keep, me sane,
at night when ever I want to
sleep at evening,
this universe is mine,
and nothing can replace it,
Copyright © Tameka Polk | Year Posted 2016
The stones slipped through the great fingertips of God
Each ligure staked its existence on the four corners of the universe
The quadrivial region began to spin and pull into a sphere
And pathways revealed their footholds
The fourth ligure bravely landed in the midst of history
So that one day the future settlement of the second
Would be moved by the last—by the past
Suffering much it stayed
Manifesting in incandescent words
Thrusting evanescence upon the weak
Selfless, it's sorrow would move the merriest
Would move the unmovable
The third lies in the profound valley of mystical guardians
Star-recruited, they are the very light above the canvas of gray
They embrace the stone—are inspired by the stone
The very reflection of their creator was evident
Upon their unremitting glimmers
Unafraid to stare the others down
Motivated and construed by the glower of death
Eyes move fixedly beyond the simple vast
The second ligure rested upon the shoulders of invisible martyrs
The hopeful power it planted on the sufferers was unbelievable
For spectators used their disbelief to cover their ever-placed envy
They never were part of the battle—they merely watched
Always seeing truth
But they never quite absorbed
Like a rock hitting the water
The inevitable fate was to fly and sink
The first of the ligures settled in the very reservoir of Satan himself
Even the very heart of the devil is marked
Though rebellion embarked
The cold stone landed upon his naked bosom
He despaired not to the pericopal truth the gods had bestowed upon him
He merely despised it
But wished not to lose it
For such a stone to fall upon that dark corner—he felt pride for the gracious wound
In truth, there are twelve ligures of stone
And four were dispersed, dropped into the universe
The last eight the great Eternal wears upon his breastplate
And only He can re-move these ligures
-July 20, 2013-
-For Shadow Himilton's Any Subject Contest-
-Thanks for the inspiration-
Copyright © Laura Breidenthal | Year Posted 2013
I've allowed that burning boat to float off without me
Rarely ever thinking about dissipating the flames,
As it is hardly worth the time and effort.
There wasn't much of a future with that situation.
No matter the attempts
No matter the appeal
It was all for naught
The only thing I worry about now
Is looking back at the Flames
And hoping I am not entranced
By their Dancing Light
Copyright © Epi C. A Phoenix Writer | Year Posted 2013
I do not know?
-Garden in the Grave-
Watching as an orchid's
last petal drifts
helplessly to the ground,
I realize that I am
witnessing natural art
in the making...
For it's body;
frail, wilted, and dry,
withers within it's
seedlings vast plot.
Preserving the following
generations with it's
nourishing memories and
Forever more, this
orchid shall be know as nothing
less than a Garden within its
(Copyrighted to "DigitallyDefectiveArt")
Copyright © Jose Rodriguez | Year Posted 2013
Fragments of moment
paddling swift and frenzy
through layers of present.
Filaments of passing time
wafting in evanescence
to get folded in the memory.
Oh fragile life
you are the remnants
etched in the illusion
squeezing frail reality
from misty ruckus
in mysetrous shade.
Beneath azure sky
On the bank of transience
rest, numerous existence
embedded with myraid dreams
and shed desperate selves
as fireflies hugging flames..
Copyright © Maaya Dev | Year Posted 2015
The people who defend their pride
From the war they are creative
That creativity would be their grave
That is the grave of realism.
When the stars hate the moons
they tend to fight each other as goons
they want to be known superpowers
but the victims are innocent lives.
The reds, blue and the green
for power they hold the system
they claim theirs are the best thing
Still common people are the victims.
But they only want money
they need resources to survive
only the weak are the casualties
and everyone tied by world currency.
They said theirs are pro-people
the public pain is their sample
they all killed without mercy
But a collateral of political interest.
I love you peace. Let's sail together. Layag Sug!
Copyright © Neldy Jolo | Year Posted 2015
The tree with its half-dead, half-alive leaves,
The erratic flights of the swallow-tail,
The coarse, but peaceful, bed of dried-up grass:
It's late winter in the cemetery.
-Pin Dew (03/05/2017)
Copyright © Pin Dew | Year Posted 2017
The remnants of once laid footsteps oppressed my memory, Everywhere I traveled I would see memories of people that were once there, Disappear.
The memories were alluring, agonizing, and amusing,
The kind of moments that you never forget,
No matter how old you get.
I began to wonder as to how many people have walked in that same exact spot before,
But then my imagination would start to run amok,
All the history that occurred on a small scrap of land,
All that piece of land has witnessed and how many memories it holds.
I began to lose focus on my own life,
Everything I did seemed to lack purpose,
I tried, I tried, I really did,
But it was if I was powerless against these memories.
Staring out of a window of a moving vehicle you begin to notice patterns,
The schedules of different people that play out every day,
And I start to wonder if the ground knows us better than we do ourselves.
Soon I began to realize that as humans,
We can never understand the full extent of the world as well as the ground we place our feet on,
And the footsteps we once laid.
Copyright © Sarah Shehata | Year Posted 2016
bikini wear optional -
neon tetras float
Inspired by "Paradise Lost",
Keith Tresrtail (Thx KT)
Copyright © Wayne Kingston | Year Posted 2017
As He Paid Tribute To All She Ever Gave
He stood at his mother's new grave again
remembering her face, how she loved rain.
How she loved rain, new puppies born in Spring
looked skyward, could almost hear angels sing.
Morn's glistening dew covered the new grass
he wondered would this huge pain ever pass.
As he laid pretty flowers on her grave
HE PAID TRIBUTE TO ALL SHE EVER GAVE!
Then just before tears were about to fall
his kids cried out, that hurry up dad call.
Life returned and he knew her big smile came
as he heard her softly whisper his name.
She had gave him bright stars shining above
now he spoke of his returning her love.
Robert J. Lindley, 12-15-2016
Copyright © Robert Lindley | Year Posted 2016
Love is an invigorating journey.To rehabilitate what is submerged beneath. A way of healing or simply reducing the pain. The rescue team to all the questions of the world. So rare, what rich blood we have, for an unbreakable bond is forever together and shall never be unbroken. the impossible has become possible when i am with you. A smoke so high between us, it fills my lungs with menthol and textures so smooth and pleasing, the smoke as high as our souls as you lift me, for the good and forever, heaven shall rain upon us as we fall to the beautiful grounds of earth where we will find dirt and soil, for we shall plant a small seed and watch it grow as humanity seizes to know that we are creating something beautiful and invincible. our flare in the dark is so vigorously raging, for the torch has been lit between us. An untamed fire has started in both of our hearts, for we know what we have created, humanity and hope. An impossible breakthrough has been broken.
Copyright © Un Known | Year Posted 2017
SHE TREADS THE TRODDEN PATH
Laden arms with gardening tools and sweet scented flowers
She wanders into the kirkyard and treads the trodden path
Noticing the subtle differences given with the different hours
Glistening cob-webs in the early morning dew they are cast
The ground bird hunting for its so hungry meal the earth scours
Afternoon flowers sagging under the suns hot burning wrath
Only to perk up again after the so refreshing light rain showers
She Treads The Trodden Path
The tall trees over lapping seem to hold her with their embrace
To her whispering sweet nothings into her forever listening ears
It is as if in their sweeping branches her emotions they encase
Further down the trodden path she walks eyes welled with tears
Empowering her in a sense of security, humanity and with grace
Often they have watched her come to this Kirkyard over the years
To tend her loved ones grave and upon it flowers she would place
She Treads The Trodden Path
Has it not been 10 long years or more - soon to join him she is sure
This grave she has kept nurtured with all her love and all her plight
Death to her emptiness and loneliness will soon to be her only cure
Then together again they will be reunited as their "God" fulfilled right
A grave then to be attended by the children you both went on to spoor
They tread the trodden path morning, afternoon or in early dusk light
Noticing the subtle differences of this Kirkyard so beautiful and pure
She Treads The Trodden Path
Indiana Shaw . . . -_-
Copyright © Indiana Shaw | Year Posted 2017
Address lamppost down
City still standing lamp down
Let us count the lonely high-rise building,
Some of the green meadow grass and garbage
Today, thousands of people walk there.
Today, there are many colored lights
The human mind is enlightened,
I was surprised and looked foolish!
Some thought the brain was raided.
Opened all the love
I garechi the palace,
Touch my hand is on
Cement covering iron.
You have to have art on the wall
I believe that I drop gum creams,
This remarkable exhibition luxury there
What was the fair price of labor?
How long have sacrificed their lives
luxury human happiness adventure writing,
In exchange, they were filthy abuse
suffer fill the mind.
Like a beggar forgotten, hunger
A loved one happy! They rushed back and forth,
Logo hours passed repentant
Lamppost down my address today.
Copyright © TAREQ HASAN | Year Posted 2016
I once was a beautiful lass
who captured every young man’s fancy
A nymph of the high Southern class
who practiced a belle’s necromancy.
They worshipped my haughty fine grace
they catered to temper and whim
A moment to gaze on my face
sent rent hearts to pain, prayer, and hymn.
But now I lie cold in my grave
festered and worm-eaten I be
With neither a knight nor a knave
to worship or lie beside me.
"Deep Memory" originally appeared in Wilum Pugmire's anthology Visions of Kroy'don (1978) and the same editors Queer Madness (1980). It was collected in The Ghost Garden (Liverpool: Dark Dreams Press, 1988) and in Sorceries & Sorrows (Early Poems) Polk City, Iowa: Chris Drumm Books, 1992, in a limited edition of 100 copies. It's included in my big forthcoming Hippocampus Press collection The Ghost Garden and Further Spirits.
Copyright © Jessica Amanda Salmonson | Year Posted 2018