Poetry Forum Areas

Introduce Yourself

New to PoetrySoup? Introduce yourself here. Tell us something about yourself.

Looking for a Poem

Can't find a poem you've read before? Looking for a poem for a special person or an occasion? Ask other member for help.

Writing Poetry

Ways to improve your poetry. Post your techniques, tips, and creative ideas how to write better.

High Critique

For poets who want unrestricted constructive criticism. This is NOT a vanity workshop. If you do not want your poem seriously critiqued, do not post here. Constructive criticism only. PLEASE Only Post One Poem a Day!!!

How do I...?

Ask PoetrySoup Members how to do something or find something on PoetrySoup.


You have an ad blocker! We understand, but...

PoetrySoup is a small privately owned website. Our means of support comes from advertising revenue. We want to keep PoetrySoup alive, make it better, and keep it free. Please support us by disabling your ad blocker on PoetrySoup. See how to enable ads while keeping your ad blocker active. Also, did you know you can become a PoetrySoup Lifetime Premium Member and block ads forever...while getting many more great features. Take a look! Thank you!

Metaphor Dark Poems | Metaphor Poems About Dark

These Metaphor Dark poems are examples of Metaphor poems about Dark. These are the best examples of Metaphor Dark poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

If you don't find the poem you want here, try our incredible, super duper, all-knowing, advanced poem search engine.

Details | Narrative |

Psychedelic Whistle Plays a Rhythm into the Darkness

Psychedelic Whistle Plays a Rhythm into the Darkness

Entering the dark side of a moonbeam on this evil lens of life,
A gruesome old man recreates a murder time and time again, 
As the cold and lonely howling bitterness of the night escapes. 
The psychic contrasts go up in a surreal smoke-filled entirety.
This is not lost to the all-seeing consciousness of the cosmos.

Moaning a malefic agony of selfish needs devours all that’s good, 
Whilst under black leather gloves bleached deadly-white his bones, 
Fill the heart expelled with a legion of grieving spirits—sad and lost.
A maze doth open as Dark Demons are made of rotten plank ridges,
And scraps of empty emotions that maketh them all deliciously evil.

Inside ashes intoxicated with the Hallowed Eve's evil kiss bringeth 
All a Gorgon-like gift so cursed and raised in Lucifer’s own Hellfire. 
Leaveth them to their executioners and wash your own hands clean!
Cain within life's garden dwells as a zombie—a grief-stricken animal,
As a psychedelic whistle plays a rhythm into the darkness of the cosmos.
 
Ebony darkness seduces as a fire burns black ebony removing the flesh. 
Ice-cold tears in anxiety fall, shouting loudly that nobody sees nor hears
The jealous whimpering of jackals needing love with no way to find it. 
There remains emotionless beings who kill passion with a crocodile’s bite.
Fear not the tempting by Lucifer as long as the silver crucifix adorns thee! 
 
Fireflies born in a hellish fury cast in anger the past sins of those doomed, 
Yet they can be "Bearers of an Ancient Light” for things good and noble,
If they can passeth through the veil of evil and darkness into God’s light. 
When the smoke blows away pride there’s no remorse only danger ahead! 
The silence afterwards is deafening to those of holy-pure mortal blood! 

Understanding of reality loses its meaning in this evil realm of darkness,
As an agonising pain is cleared in an eclipse found under “Hate's Trigger.” 
Under a deep crater twilight ghosts rise as “Shadow Beggars of Despair,”
Whilst feeling unholy torment in nerve fibers of a past-life enchantment.
Only Lucifer knows this truth as he collects souls for eternal damnation!

Uncanny conversations are secret and bloody-confused in Hell’s own pit. 
Rising from the ashes unhappy beasts mark the ground with sharp claws, 
As disoriented tongues of envy are struck down by lightning bolts blinded.
Lucifer knows the omnipotence of the psychedelic whistle as it plays its
Rhythm bewitching all lost souls as they enter the darkness of the cosmos!  

Anne-Lise Andresen, Gary Bateman, and Liam McDaid
A Collaborated Poem, Copyright © All Rights Reserved
May 5, 2017 (Narrative)

Copyright © Gary Bateman | Year Posted 2017


Details | Narrative |

The Old Dark House

The Old Dark House

This tale of “The Old Dark House” is one that’s replete with a
most horrid sense of pure evil and macabre, and is worth being
retold each year during the deep-dark hours of All Hallows’ Eve
before the chime of midnight, when the thin veil separating the
land of the living and the dead momentarily dissolves, bringing
both worlds together until the break of dawn.

Beware of this house’s mythical and ethereal presence in the
shadow dreams of the innocent, and be forewarned to never
conjure its image in your unconscious mind. If so conjured,
The Old Dark House shall become an unending reality to the
innocent and uninformed, and on All Hallows’ Eve, the evil
“Demons of Hell” shall come for your very soul!  

The Old Dark House is one that is bathed and cursed in utter
hellfire and damnation by Lucifer himself. It’s one that creeps a
chill and frozen reminder into the very frame of its nasty, putrid
structure. It shall guarantee you the worst possible nightmares as
your very soul cries in agony and pleads unrelentingly for mercy!

Your nightmares are, in turn, amplified and born into the very
structure of this house with ivy creeping as you palpably sense
the wretched ice-cold fingers of Hell opening the doors to the
cavernous basement were evil shadows of goblins, ghosts,
ghouls, vampires, and werewolves parade openly from past lives.

Everyone suffering the curse of the damned was captured here
when they visited, becoming prisoners to the darkness of true evil,
far away from the light, goodness, and eternal mercy of Almighty
God Himself.

Six generations of my family actually dwelled beneath the rafters
of The Old Dark House where demonic forces were constantly in
play—as hot sparks burned the tongues of lost souls who cried in
agony, and their world would enter the vortex of darkness whilst
blood-curdling screams could be distinctly heard during the night
on All Hallows’ Eve. Ghostly images would appear out of nowhere
supported by the frightening ferocity of Lucifer who is the true dark
presence and ultimate tempter of mankind!

The horror I felt as a young boy trapped in this existence is truly
unimaginable. The image of The Old Dark House still haunts my
adult consciousness, even today, as I would shudder in the cold
night-sweat of sleep to purge its eternal presence from my mind!

Cruel pictures adorn the hell-hole hall of imagination as a gruesome
and unbelievable power underneath wields its vice-grip of hideous
words, whispering in the coldest of ice without the living being able
to breathe in a cloud of mercy and forgiveness, within an ancient
language of evil and evil-doings that twist the shape of words to
suit one’s human fears and cold shivers!

I still don’t understand the full measure of things being lost in this
dark pit of Hell in The Old Dark House. It’s a place that’s devoid
of human meaning and worth as shrunken heads are disembodied!
I hold on to what remains of a past shame, hovering high in the air
as unclean spirits of a crooked vision-circle wander aimlessly as a
Blind Sheppard leads our lost souls to the depressing Dark Land of
Nowhere and Nothingness!

Every October as the full moon rises high in the dark-sky evening,
a ritual fire is set by a local coven of witches to celebrate the advent
of All Hallows’ Eve. These witches know well the power and evil of
The Old Dark House. Their burnt offerings and black magic spells
echo hauntingly as Hell’s own fury is unearthed, challenging all
things virtuous in mankind’s existence and in God’s world of beauty,
hope, kindness, and light.

These evil images of black magic and witchcraft haunted my sleep
entire. I couldn’t sleep at all before dawn. I constantly sense now
an awakening madness in my soul, as if it comes from hidden graves
yet to be uncovered. Images and bad memories of The Old Dark House
push me now toward the opening of unknown tombs. I can actually
now smell Death’s Sulphur-burnt flesh!

Doors begin to rustle behind me as I hear loud footsteps of a pin
echoing deep in my mind. The echo shatters any illusions I have
of human sanity and forgiveness. I feel the sheer horror and begin
suffocating as the stale air is trapped in each breath I take!  

I sit up now—immediately confused, looking directly at a lonely
and empty Black Void that goes on and on and on—to infinity!

Cell doors in the house basement were always closed tight with
rusted iron links bound by heavy chains. As a poor child alone in
this house with other condemned children, there were nice rooms
upstairs that were always barred and shut to us as we suffered in
the filthy basement below. In Lucifer’s Hell!

I recall now too, in my memory, a gallery of special portraits in
The Old Dark House, which formed a ghastly mosaic of pure evil.
These portraits were of key human disciples of Lucifer who had served
him well through the ages. All of these images were grotesque and evil
when taken as a whole.

What did I learn? Evil is what Evil is! And Evil does what Evil does!

I’m free now from the eternal curse of The Old Dark House. I escaped
this mansion of the macabre as a young man and found my soul path
to Almighty God and stepped into His holy light of forgiveness and
redemption! 

As a very old man now, I sleep and dream a lot. Usually my dreams, 
thank goodness, are pleasant as I draw toward the end of my mortal
existence here on earth.

Yet, despite all the good things in my life now, during October of
each year, as All Hallows’ Eve cometh closer in the deep recesses
of my mind—I remember clearly that the ground floor of The Old
Dark House always had these frigid-cold wind gusts that spoke 
chillingly to one’s very soul. As young kids we would run upstairs
in this evil house to hear the “Demons of the Night” moan and cry!

Old Hob always had a way to speak to all of us as kids in His House!

Anne-Lise Andresen, Liam McDaid, and Gary Bateman
A Collaborated Poem, Copyright © All Rights Reserved
September 7, 2016 (Narrative)

Copyright © Gary Bateman | Year Posted 2016

Details | Rhyme |

Fool of Infiniti and Queen of Fate

Fool of Infiniti

A wanton bird pecks at the stars
A Jester peers through crystal bars
This prison of love with rainbow hue
Illusion parts to lets you through

On dragon wings forever free
You quest into your dreams to see
Smoke and mirrors and shadow haze
To guide you through an endless maze

Slow motion tear rolls down her cheek
Its only passion that you seek ?
Engulfed in strange duality.
She wonders her reality

Your eyes still mock her with desire
Your kisses light her inner fire
Your touch can melt her to your will
But you will never take your fill

Black widow spider guards your heart
She spun the web, she keeps it taut
It is your only fatal flaw.
A secret, silent metaphor.

And all about her swirl the dreams
The nightmares all with voiceless screams
And in her hand the strangest key
To fit the door of What Will Be ?

And when her eyes search yours again
You take her to the spider den
You spin the dreams she hopes to see
And lock your hearts in mystery.

So enter in to lick the flame
Eternal prisoner of the game
Illusion is false imagery
She whispers your Infinity


The Queen of Fate

The Queen of Fate by the outer Gate
Her carriage to Nowhere, will await
Her cloak is wrapped against the night
Her eyes are wide with peculiar fright

Gray horses eyes turn back in fear
With thunderclaps upon her ear
Blue jagged lightning points the way
Along the path to yesterday

Cold, sullen driver cracks his whip
His crooked smile curls round his lip
His horses leap the cruel abyss
Dark Queen of Fate sees none amiss

Above the mist a gate appears
Who will wipe the Gate-man's tears ?
Gray horses strike and paw the air
Fate Queen ascends the carriage stair

And all about her swirl the dreams
The nightmares all with voiceless screams
And in her hand a wondrous key
To lock Enigma's Mystery

Pass through the gate O Queen of Fate
Another carriage will await
Drawn by Steeds of Promises
Illusion Starts and Finishes

Suzanne Delaney
Iambic Tetrameter
Gothic Theme
For Giorgio's Impress Me Iambic Contest

Copyright © Suzanne Delaney | Year Posted 2013


Details | Narrative |

- The Demons Shrill Cry of Dread and Horror -

The Demon’s Shrill Cry of Dread and Horror

This tale of “The Demon’s Shrill Cry of Dread and Horror”
lives on in the mountain village of Gpeth Tor in the outlying 
region of the “Dark Forbidden Forest” known for evil, death,
and lost souls. This tale passeth from generation to generation,
to the present, and still frightens all people who hear its grim
message as it sends an icy-cold chill that stabs the heart of one’s
holy eternal soul!

A young boy who just turned six years heard this tale so told
by both of his parents who shivered with a great palpable fear.
Their story of the Devil’s Demon of the Dark Forbidden Forest
mesmerized this young lad, giving him gruesome nightmares,
whereby the Devil’s Demon whispers cruelly to him in the 
darkest corners of his mind and in his deepest moments of sleep!

The young boy’s recurring nightmares show him running each
night deep into the darkness of the Forbidden Forest while both 
shouting and screaming his desire to see and to serve this foul
Demon of the Wild, while forsaking Almighty God in his thoughts!
This ghastly dream world each night is like morphine to his brain,
as this young boy suffers, feeling the chains of its merciless torment!

But this story of the boy is now 22 years ago as he’s progressed on
to manhood—driven to the very depths of depravity and insanity
as he witnesses nightly in his padded cell the evil actions of both
Ghouls and Ghosts who’d open up the graves of past rotting souls.
This insane young man now sings paeans with a fulsome alacrity
as he celebrates the shrill and haughty cry of the Devil’s Demon!

Does anyone really believe in happy fairy tales when Hell itself
corrupts the mind and spirit of the young and unsuspecting?

Does anyone believe a young fairy princess who kisses a frog
and says that the frog is now a dashing, noble prince?

Does anyone really understand and believe there are real monsters
who roam the maze of one’s mind crying now into a dark abyss,
while Goblins and Ghosts float freely robbing the living of breath?

The Dark Forbidden Forest of this evil lore does indeed exist, and
it lives freely in the dreams of young village children so frightened 
and terrified by the dark-demonic-visage of a bile-black-blooded 
Bogeyman who resurrects himself nightly in their true dreams of a 
sweet innocence in the place where scars are born every waking day,
as the lid of terror is lifted open, spewing legends and tales of the
macabre stealing the very life-force of heartbeats leading to Death! 

The local people of this legend in the village of Gpeth Tor speaketh 
freely of shrunken heads in large glass jars deep in the bowels of the
Forbidden Forest, where the threshold of pain and absolute madness
knows no bounds of moderation, and tortured beings and lost souls
cry out loudly as the Dark One takes his due while the broken bones
of those who remain are crossed—weighted so heavy like an anchor!

Invisible and evil forces at the Devil’s command have taken control
of the Forbidden Forest, where nasty beasts with a rabid blood thirst
for torture live in the very cells of the chained and forgotten souls who 
have lost their way to Almighty God and His Angels in Heaven above.

Grotesque stories still abound to the present time in this century of the
perverse and maledictory nature of this dark forest that borders so close
to the ancient village of Gpeth Tor—of what can happen to those who
dare to speak of the unspeakable, as Specters of the Undead feast upon 
the heartbeats of innocent victims until they are fully consumed, and
their souls are condemned to an unending damnation and agony!

It’s been so many years since I graced my presence again in this ancient
“Village of the Damned.” Mea Culpa! Forgive me! A difficult journey!
I’ve now lost my way into the light and to the holy path to God Himself.

Gpeth Tor and its people live on into this twenty-first century as it is.
The frightful memories and presence of the Forbidden Forest are real,
and are still devouring the very living thoughts and ideals of the young.
Many moons later the sacrilege of this reality still lurks and crawls now
beneath one’s own human flesh as the divine answers to “God’s Truth”
lay, locked far away in the depths of Lucifer’s Kingdom here on Earth!


Gary Bateman, Anne-Lise Andresen, and Liam McDaid
A Collaborated Poem, Copyright © All Rights Reserved
August 20, 2016 (Gary)
September 10, 2016 (Anne-Lise)

Copyright © Sunshine Smile | Year Posted 2016

Details | Narrative |

The Demon's Shrill Cry of Dread and Horror

The Demon’s Shrill Cry of Dread and Horror

This tale of “The Demon’s Shrill Cry of Dread and Horror”
lives on in the mountain village of Gpeth Tor in the outlying 
region of the “Dark Forbidden Forest” known for evil, death,
and lost souls. This tale passeth from generation to generation,
to the present, and still frightens all people who hear its grim
message as it sends an icy-cold chill that stabs the heart of one’s
holy eternal soul!

A young boy who just turned six years heard this tale so told
by both of his parents who shivered with a great palpable fear.
Their story of the Devil’s Demon of the Dark Forbidden Forest
mesmerized this young lad, giving him gruesome nightmares,
whereby the Devil’s Demon whispers cruelly to him in the 
darkest corners of his mind and in his deepest moments of sleep!

The young boy’s recurring nightmares show him running each
night deep into the darkness of the Forbidden Forest while both 
shouting and screaming his desire to see and to serve this foul
Demon of the Wild, while forsaking Almighty God in his thoughts!
This ghastly dream world each night is like morphine to his brain,
as this young boy suffers, feeling the chains of its merciless torment!

But this story of the boy is now 22 years ago as he’s progressed on
to manhood—driven to the very depths of depravity and insanity
as he witnesses nightly in his padded cell the evil actions of both
Ghouls and Ghosts who’d open up the graves of past rotting souls.
This insane young man now sings paeans with a fulsome alacrity
as he celebrates the shrill and haughty cry of the Devil’s Demon!

Does anyone really believe in happy fairy tales when Hell itself
corrupts the mind and spirit of the young and unsuspecting?

Does anyone believe a young fairy princess who kisses a frog
and says that the frog is now a dashing, noble prince?

Does anyone really understand and believe there are real monsters
who roam the maze of one’s mind crying now into a dark abyss,
while Goblins and Ghosts float freely robbing the living of breath?

The Dark Forbidden Forest of this evil lore does indeed exist, and
it lives freely in the dreams of young village children so frightened 
and terrified by the dark-demonic-visage of a bile-black-blooded 
Bogeyman who resurrects himself nightly in their true dreams of a 
sweet innocence in the place where scars are born every waking day,
as the lid of terror is lifted open, spewing legends and tales of the
macabre stealing the very life-force of heartbeats leading to Death! 

The local people of this legend in the village of Gpeth Tor speaketh 
freely of shrunken heads in large glass jars deep in the bowels of the
Forbidden Forest, where the threshold of pain and absolute madness
knows no bounds of moderation, and tortured beings and lost souls
cry out loudly as the Dark One takes his due while the broken bones
of those who remain are crossed—weighted so heavy like an anchor!

Invisible and evil forces at the Devil’s command have taken control
of the Forbidden Forest, where nasty beasts with a rabid blood thirst
for torture live in the very cells of the chained and forgotten souls who 
have lost their way to Almighty God and His Angels in Heaven above.

Grotesque stories still abound to the present time in this century of the
perverse and maledictory nature of this dark forest that borders so close
to the ancient village of Gpeth Tor—of what can happen to those who
dare to speak of the unspeakable, as Specters of the Undead feast upon 
the heartbeats of innocent victims until they are fully consumed, and
their souls are condemned to an unending damnation and agony!

It’s been so many years since I graced my presence again in this ancient
“Village of the Damned.” Mea Culpa! Forgive me! A difficult journey!
I’ve now lost my way into the light and to the holy path to God Himself.

Gpeth Tor and its people live on into this twenty-first century as it is.
The frightful memories and presence of the Forbidden Forest are real,
and are still devouring the very living thoughts and ideals of the young.
Many moons later the sacrilege of this reality still lurks and crawls now
beneath one’s own human flesh as the divine answers to “God’s Truth”
lay, locked far away in the depths of Lucifer’s Kingdom here on Earth!

Gary Bateman, Anne-Lise Andresen, and Liam McDaid
A Collaborated Poem, Copyright © All Rights Reserved
August 20, 2016 (Narrative)

Copyright © Gary Bateman | Year Posted 2016

Details | Narrative |

- Psychedelic Whistle Plays a Rhythm Into the Darkness -

 

Entering the dark side of a moonbeam on this evil lens of life,
A gruesome old man recreates a murder time and time again, 
As the cold and lonely howling bitterness of the night escapes. 
The psychic contrasts go up in a surreal smoke-filled entirety.
This is not lost to the all-seeing consciousness of the cosmos.

Moaning a malefic agony of selfish needs devours all that’s good, 
Whilst under black leather gloves bleached deadly-white his bones, 
Fill the heart expelled with a legion of grieving spirits—sad and lost.
A maze doth open as Dark Demons are made of rotten plank ridges,
And scraps of empty emotions that maketh them all deliciously evil.

Inside ashes intoxicated with the Hallowed Eve's evil kiss bringeth 
All a Gorgon-like gift so cursed and raised in Lucifer’s own Hellfire. 
Leaveth them to their executioners and wash your own hands clean!
Cain within life's garden dwells as a zombie—a grief-stricken animal,
As a psychedelic whistle plays a rhythm into the darkness of the cosmos.
 
Ebony darkness seduces as a fire burns black ebony removing the flesh. 
Ice-cold tears in anxiety fall, shouting loudly that nobody sees nor hears
The jealous whimpering of jackals needing love with no way to find it. 
There remains emotionless beings who kill passion with a crocodile’s bite.
Fear not the tempting by Lucifer as long as the silver crucifix adorns thee! 
 
Fireflies born in a hellish fury cast in anger the past sins of those doomed, 
Yet they can be "Bearers of an Ancient Light” for things good and noble,
If they can passeth through the veil of evil and darkness into God’s light. 
When the smoke blows away pride there’s no remorse only danger ahead! 
The silence afterwards is deafening to those of holy-pure mortal blood! 

Understanding of reality loses its meaning in this evil realm of darkness,
As an agonising pain is cleared in an eclipse found under “Hate's Trigger.” 
Under a deep crater twilight ghosts rise as “Shadow Beggars of Despair,”
Whilst feeling unholy torment in nerve fibers of a past-life enchantment.
Only Lucifer knows this truth as he collects souls for eternal damnation!

Uncanny conversations are secret and bloody-confused in Hell’s own pit. 
Rising from the ashes unhappy beasts mark the ground with sharp claws, 
As disoriented tongues of envy are struck down by lightning bolts blinded.
Lucifer knows the omnipotence of the psychedelic whistle as it plays its
Rhythm bewitching all lost souls as they enter the darkness of the cosmos!  




19.05.2017
Anne-Lise Andresen, Gary Bateman, and Liam McDaid
A Collaborated Poem, Copyright © All Rights Reserved
 (Narrative)

Copyright © Sunshine Smile | Year Posted 2017

Details | Lyric |

The Light Shall Overcome The Night

When you find yourself alone in the shadows
Void of peace and tricked by deceit,
Know that light flushes out the dark
And there's a light deep within your heart

If you find yourself in a crowd blind of clear sights,
Remove yourself from their company, and find some light

It will always be darkest before dawn
So prepare yourself a light
Because darkness will surely come

For shadow shrouds over everyone and everything,
Never are you alone when the night comes to cling

We all share the same sun and the same moon
But with life comes fire, let us use it to banish the present gloom

Together, when we all contribute to the fire
We can create warmth and huddle around the campfire
Until this present darkness expires

Some may be lost within the pitch black, and absent day
Some may even run wild in search of prey 

But know this..
Within your heart can start a spark,
The smallest fire can give birth to soaring flames
So bright you might even forget the darkness even came

The light shall overcome the night, breaching through the skies
So hold fast to your light, whatever it may be
A candle, a torch, a lantern, or even the full moon shining across the seas and stars

GOD never gives us more than we can handle
So hold strong to your BLAZING candles

Copyright © Justin Worthy | Year Posted 2015

Details | Free verse |

Haunted

A hole in the head shooting pain trembles
nightshades coldly down the spine
a soul lost in the land of the living
carried away in darkness
flying inside dark clouds holding just a dream

Distant thunder roars lightening splitting cracks
sure as the crow flies crawling opens Hell's gates
dark jewels of the night
charred remains churning in a cauldron
boiling goodness tears of thoughts

Piercing screams spawning nightmares
holding a promise once made
walking in a valley amongst the dead
shadows now smile hearing animals scream
as the moon plays silver dancing light

Dreams snatched away from reality
the crow calls echoes in silence
victims of this world howling over and back
tragedy cries in their pain and suffering
eyes seeking light
whispers through the branches
a heather bleat creature of the night calls

Haunted by humans chained to the earth
awaiting shadows and sunsets 
a cursed banshee wails supernatural screams 
from everywhere and nowhere

Mind numbing winds passing through
a white silhouette shredded shroud
around a heart entombed
in agonies' twilight shades clouds darken
storms brewed stirring specters chase the wind

Cold rains become lost tears
the willow weeps in eternal sorrows
a lament for the dead
as the silver crescent moon smiles goodbye

Blends in clear as day after sunrise
forgotten in a valley of unrest
death bell's toll out from the past
onyx feathered crows call painful cries

Forever seeking heaven's gate now sealed
that promised choice was lost ages ago
only burning Hell fires
or cold earthworms await




Written by: Liam McDaid & Kelly Deschler

Copyright © liam mcdaid | Year Posted 2015

Details | Narrative |

The Old Dark House

This tale of “The Old Dark House” is one that’s replete with a
most horrid sense of pure evil and macabre, and is worth being
retold each year during the deep-dark hours of All Hallows’ Eve
before the chime of midnight, when the thin veil separating the
land of the living and the dead momentarily dissolves, bringing
both worlds together until the break of dawn.

Beware of this house’s mythical and ethereal presence in the
shadow dreams of the innocent, and be forewarned to never
conjure its image in your unconscious mind. If so conjured,
The Old Dark House shall become an unending reality to the
innocent and uninformed, and on All Hallows’ Eve, the evil
“Demons of Hell” shall come for your very soul!  

The Old Dark House is one that is bathed and cursed in utter
hellfire and damnation by Lucifer himself. It’s one that creeps a
chill and frozen reminder into the very frame of its nasty, putrid
structure. It shall guarantee you the worst possible nightmares as
your very soul cries in agony and pleads unrelentingly for mercy!

Your nightmares are, in turn, amplified and born into the very
structure of this house with ivy creeping as you palpably sense
the wretched ice-cold fingers of Hell opening the doors to the
cavernous basement were evil shadows of goblins, ghosts,
ghouls, vampires, and werewolves parade openly from past lives.

Everyone suffering the curse of the damned was captured here
when they visited, becoming prisoners to the darkness of true evil,
far away from the light, goodness, and eternal mercy of Almighty
God Himself.

Six generations of my family actually dwelled beneath the rafters
of The Old Dark House where demonic forces were constantly in
play—as hot sparks burned the tongues of lost souls who cried in
agony, and their world would enter the vortex of darkness whilst
blood-curdling screams could be distinctly heard during the night
on All Hallows’ Eve. Ghostly images would appear out of nowhere
supported by the frightening ferocity of Lucifer who is the true dark
presence and ultimate tempter of mankind!

The horror I felt as a young boy trapped in this existence is truly
unimaginable. The image of The Old Dark House still haunts my
adult consciousness, even today, as I would shudder in the cold
night-sweat of sleep to purge its eternal presence from my mind!

Cruel pictures adorn the hell-hole hall of imagination as a gruesome
and unbelievable power underneath wields its vice-grip of hideous
words, whispering in the coldest of ice without the living being able
to breathe in a cloud of mercy and forgiveness, within an ancient
language of evil and evil-doings that twist the shape of words to
suit one’s human fears and cold shivers!

I still don’t understand the full measure of things being lost in this
dark pit of Hell in The Old Dark House. It’s a place that’s devoid
of human meaning and worth as shrunken heads are disembodied!
I hold on to what remains of a past shame, hovering high in the air
as unclean spirits of a crooked vision-circle wander aimlessly as a
Blind Sheppard leads our lost souls to the depressing Dark Land of
Nowhere and Nothingness!

Every October as the full moon rises high in the dark-sky evening,
a ritual fire is set by a local coven of witches to celebrate the advent
of All Hallows’ Eve. These witches know well the power and evil of
The Old Dark House. Their burnt offerings and black magic spells
echo hauntingly as Hell’s own fury is unearthed, challenging all
things virtuous in mankind’s existence and in God’s world of beauty,
hope, kindness, and light.

These evil images of black magic and witchcraft haunted my sleep
entire. I couldn’t sleep at all before dawn. I constantly sense now
an awakening madness in my soul, as if it comes from hidden graves
yet to be uncovered. Images and bad memories of The Old Dark House
push me now toward the opening of unknown tombs. I can actually
now smell Death’s Sulphur-burnt flesh!

Doors begin to rustle behind me as I hear loud footsteps of a pin
echoing deep in my mind. The echo shatters any illusions I have
of human sanity and forgiveness. I feel the sheer horror and begin
suffocating as the stale air is trapped in each breath I take!  

I sit up now—immediately confused, looking directly at a lonely
and empty Black Void that goes on and on and on—to infinity!

Cell doors in the house basement were always closed tight with
rusted iron links bound by heavy chains. As a poor child alone in
this house with other condemned children, there were nice rooms
upstairs that were always barred and shut to us as we suffered in
the filthy basement below. In Lucifer’s Hell!

I recall now too, in my memory, a gallery of special portraits in
The Old Dark House, which formed a ghastly mosaic of pure evil.
These portraits were of key human disciples of Lucifer who had served
him well through the ages. All of these images were grotesque and evil
when taken as a whole.

What did I learn? Evil is what Evil is! And Evil does what Evil does!

I’m free now from the eternal curse of The Old Dark House. I escaped
this mansion of the macabre as a young man and found my soul path
to Almighty God and stepped into His holy light of forgiveness and
redemption! 

As a very old man now, I sleep and dream a lot. Usually my dreams, 
thank goodness, are pleasant as I draw toward the end of my mortal
existence here on earth.

Yet, despite all the good things in my life now, during October of
each year, as All Hallows’ Eve cometh closer in the deep recesses
of my mind—I remember clearly that the ground floor of The Old
Dark House always had these frigid-cold wind gusts that spoke 
chillingly to one’s very soul. As young kids we would run upstairs
in this evil house to hear the “Demons of the Night” moan and cry!

Old Hob always had a way to speak to all of us as kids in His House!

Anne-Lise Andresen, Liam McDaid, and Gary Bateman
A Collaborated Poem, Copyright © All Rights Reserved
September 7, 2016 (Narrative)

Copyright © liam mcdaid | Year Posted 2016

Details | Lyric |

Death Comes

Death Comes

All arguments and denials were fruitless;
The deceased fell prey to the Master Thief.

The “One” whose icy-cold touch is . . .
Just Too Cold to Resist! . . . They Say!

No worries though . . . They Say:
“He looks so life-like!”
“He looks like he’s sleeping!”
“They do wonders with embalming fluid, don’t they!”
“Who wants to live forever anyway?”

The deceased’s body epitomizes all four.
I’m sure the deceased appreciated them all . . .
As if the dead could talk and nod in agreement.

Alas! The body’s texture is . . . Cold-Rock-Hard.
No surprises here! 

The thoughts of what might’ve been,
Are now . . . 
What could’ve been and what should’ve been!

“I guess we’ll never really know.” . . . They Say.
“I wonder what he would say?” . . . They Say.
“But the dead don’t talk.” . . . I Say. 

That icy-cold touch of the Master Thief . . . 
It was just too cold to resist!

The sweet ‘n stale odors now so deep in the air,
Overwhelm everyone packed in the funeral parlor.

The loved ones, friends, and visitors all walk
Outside into the very frigidly-cold night air.

An anxious pale-yellow full moon awaits us all . . . 
It looms now larger-than-life across the cold-night sky.
It looks down at all of us . . . so sad and so forlorn.

All of us seemed to be momentarily spellbound by this
Mournful visage of the full moon on this very sad night.

Perhaps, this was an omen of some sort—I thought.

But what to do?
A life is over . . . A person is dead.

I walked away from the others in our group before 
Preparing to leave.

I needed take some time, some moments, to collect my 
Thoughts and memories of my dear deceased friend who
Was lying now all alone only steps away inside of the
Confines of dimly-lit chamber of the mortuary nearby.

As I slowly walked away, very deep in thought, it was only
A few minutes later, and then I suddenly stopped . . .  

When, I started to hear the faint echo of a deep-raspy voice
Sounding out some very strange words in the cold-night air.

These faint words had a definite imperative resonance,
Sounding almost like inexplicable, ethereous vibrations.
 
“You know the Myth, they say, is true my sad friend.”
“Yes, my icy-cold touch is just too cold to resist!”
“But don’t worry though . . . you won’t feel a thing!”

The faint echo of this deep-raspy voice sounded once more . . .
“No worries though . . . it’s not yet your time!”

The very last sound I heard before quickly leaving the area was 
An eerie rattle of frozen-ice droplets colliding intensely in the air,
Whilst making a high-pitched crystalline-like type of sound.
All very spooky for sure, I thought . . .  

These frozen-ice droplets reflected the macabre image of a faint 
Blackish-grey frozen hand, arrayed with jaggedly-long fingernails!

I then, momentarily gasped and paused—then gasped again,
Whilst transfixed in a moment of true fear and mesmerization!

It was like my mind, my very being was in a catatonic state,
A mental stupor of sorts . . . and then, I snapped out of it!
 
Yes, ah . . . I thought, ah . . . Oh No! . . . Oh God! . . . It’s Him!
It’s Death Himself!

He’s the “One” whose icy-cold touch is . . . Just Too Cold to Resist!

Death Comes!
May God Help Us All!

Requiescat In Pace.

Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved,
August 3, 2017 (Lyric)

Copyright © Gary Bateman | Year Posted 2017

Details | Free verse |

Dark Loss

He tried to fly flapped his wings High above him a dark duvet drizzled sadness Only yesterday, or was it last week his wings and feet carried him little raven didn't remember Carry me carry me he squeaked to his sorrowful parents We have to go they said hipping hither and thither He hid his head under his useless wings and waited and wailed *** September 17, 2017 for contest: In The Dark sponsor: Russell Sivey

Copyright © Darren White | Year Posted 2017

Details | Free verse |

Moments In Time

The sweetest sounds of burning trees
A gentle stroking in the breeze
The calm has lasted past the storm
Cloudy visions, Satan’s roar
Too many sights have passed my way
A time found only in the haze
The softest screams are running bare
My aching bones creak as I stare

You walk a distance towards me
The fall’s eternal, can’t you see?
I’m a memory in your heart
I whisper to you in the dark

The battle’s started at the end
No one is coming to repent
The sinners grab their wine from prey
No judgment calling here to stay
The sport is reckless to be told
The one is laughing at his souls
It falters nowhere to be sure
The power grows forevermore
Like a spirit in the wind
I have no say in where you’ve been 
But cross the line to come to me
And pay the price for ecstasy

You walk a distance towards me
The fall’s eternal, can’t you see?
I’m a memory in your heart
I whisper to you in the dark. 

Copyright © John Paluszek | Year Posted 2013

Details | Alliteration |

THE LAST DAYS

The days seem to go by so fast. there is a void in the air, the birds have lost their vibrant beat, the ocean has lost its luster, the soil feels solid and dry.
 
My soul feels as if it has left my body before my death, my dreams haunt my day, the tears stain my steps, my doctor says that it is depression, I say that it is reality, I am intoxicated by society,I am numb by perscriptions.
 
Why do I feel so isolated within myself? is there no one in my painfully tight shoes? can anyone understand my pain? can anyone melt in my sorrows? why am I this way? why is the world so cruel? why can't I be normal?
 
Wait! I am normal, what am I saying, I know now, the veil has been lifted, humanity is my enemy, the sins that drip from their sweat, the dread that follows their shadows, their souls of black, their intentions of greed pull a shade across their eyes.
 
They are destined for doom, they will not be saved, they will not find salvation, they belittle me, they curse me, they shame me, but they are right about one thing, I am different, unlike them, I will be saved in the last days.

Copyright © stephanie hanvey | Year Posted 2013

Details | Rhyme |

A Soul Awakened

She is the muse to her own sorrow; She is the digger of her grave. She is the painter of her ocean view and every fatal wave. She is the shadow of her Father; She is the darkness in your sight. She is the night without the stars surrounding pale moonlight. She is the music with no words; She is sweet love without the reason. She is your dreamer with submission cold by warmth with every season. She is your pet with cold intentions; She is your baby scared and shaken. She is the bold and pure- the lost and found, She is a soul awakened.

Copyright © Dana Smith | Year Posted 2013

Details | Quatrain |

Animal of the Night

The animal of the night has an evil courage as its defense,
And with simple lies it now catches the filthy beast easily,
And can now stand and bask in God’s purest of sunshine,
Whilst valor and glory speak all power to one’s destiny!

Darkness doth now pervade and drinks slowly from that
“Chalice of the Faithless Heathen” who hides among the
Soulless Ones who are consumed by their hateful actions,
And spit thoughtlessly at your good will and human pride!

Hades’ very own dark demons tilt their evil night shades
While justifying the hurt and depravity of an “Ugly Brute”;
A truly lost soul without any mercy, blind—as “He” throws
Freely a nasty spiteful spirit on your earthly fire of reality!

Hence, Hades’ mark and mask of utter darkness and terror
Descend now into the very conscience of your Spirit World;
Burning hot with the force of “The Furies” seeking revenge:
Tisiphone, Megaera, and Alecto all appear sans Merci now!

As their eternal gorgonesque spirits creep upon you furtively,
Your once handsome visage turns into a sad and horrid portrait
Of an old animal soul in the mirror never to see the Light again,
As clouds darkly shade your horizon and fate in Hades’ name!

In this eternal land of darkness, the dead do not suffer this fate
So easily, and cast not without honor in their chains the notion
That fear itself, vice destiny, cries out now for your forgiveness,
As One-Eyed Beggars seek and see the basic good within you!

Each day now fades into its own doom, into a dark mist of evil,
And hides carefully inside a “Mountain of Consciousness” where
Your ethereal spirit knows who you really are—as black snakes
slither slowly and silently toward your spirit-mirrored reflection!

You—that “Animal of the Night,” wear now your deceptive mask;
The reality of who and what you really are makes my skin crawl!
You can never return from this darkest “Pit of Hell” my old friend,
For thy animal-human spirit is doomed to all this darkness forever!

Gary Bateman and Liam McDaid – A Collaborated Poem,
Copyright © All Rights Reserved – November 22, 2015 
(Narrative Quatrain)

Copyright © liam mcdaid | Year Posted 2015

Details | Dramatic Verse |

Money

Money money, ringing in your tills,
Calling us to worship,
The hundred dollar bills.
Bend our knees in wonder,
Bow our heads in awe,
At the power of the liar,
Who now controls us all.
From the darkest deep caverns,
To the stars in the sky,
From the infinite universe,
To the strangers passing by.

From your inner most conviction,
To your laughing in the night,
From everything you 're  seeing,
To everything out of sight.

The new God has risen,
To claim the holy throne,
The one that we have emptied,
Our hearts all cold as stone.

The throne that we have emptied,
We killed the rightful king,
Sold his crown an sceptre,
Pawned his sacred  ring.

Raised his bleeding body,
Up on that bloody hill,
The silent lamb still bleeding,
As the money fills your tills.

Copyright © ness tillson | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse |

Candy Horse Vs Dark Kid

The center of a star reflects just like a diamond...
Returning a pearl within each silver breath that one treasures...
With faceted panels, I promised I'd never...
Sweep over a deep sea of blue waves unmeasured...

There is a pattern woven inside golden petals that kiss the inside of my heart...
Parts of my heart that I've thus' failed to start...
With soft fingers dancing, you're forever entrancing...
My star that's eternally far...


A co write written by Liam and Christian 

Copyright © liam mcdaid | Year Posted 2015

Details | Narrative |

- The Old Dark House -


This tale of “The Old Dark House” is one that’s replete with a
most horrid sense of pure evil and macabre, and is worth being
retold each year during the deep-dark hours of All Hallows’ Eve
before the chime of midnight, when the thin veil separating the
land of the living and the dead momentarily dissolves, bringing
both worlds together until the break of dawn.

Beware of this house’s mythical and ethereal presence in the
shadow dreams of the innocent, and be forewarned to never
conjure its image in your unconscious mind. If so conjured,
The Old Dark House shall become an unending reality to the
innocent and uninformed, and on All Hallows’ Eve, the evil
“Demons of Hell” shall come for your very soul!  

The Old Dark House is one that is bathed and cursed in utter
hellfire and damnation by Lucifer himself. It’s one that creeps a
chill and frozen reminder into the very frame of its nasty, putrid
structure. It shall guarantee you the worst possible nightmares as
your very soul cries in agony and pleads unrelentingly for mercy!

Your nightmares are, in turn, amplified and born into the very
structure of this house with ivy creeping as you palpably sense
the wretched ice-cold fingers of Hell opening the doors to the
cavernous basement were evil shadows of goblins, ghosts,
ghouls, vampires, and werewolves parade openly from past lives.

Everyone suffering the curse of the damned was captured here
when they visited, becoming prisoners to the darkness of true evil,
far away from the light, goodness, and eternal mercy of Almighty
God Himself.

Six generations of my family actually dwelled beneath the rafters
of The Old Dark House where demonic forces were constantly in
play—as hot sparks burned the tongues of lost souls who cried in
agony, and their world would enter the vortex of darkness whilst
blood-curdling screams could be distinctly heard during the night
on All Hallows’ Eve. Ghostly images would appear out of nowhere
supported by the frightening ferocity of Lucifer who is the true dark
presence and ultimate tempter of mankind!

The horror I felt as a young boy trapped in this existence is truly
unimaginable. The image of The Old Dark House still haunts my
adult consciousness, even today, as I would shudder in the cold
night-sweat of sleep to purge its eternal presence from my mind!

Cruel pictures adorn the hell-hole hall of imagination as a gruesome
and unbelievable power underneath wields its vice-grip of hideous
words, whispering in the coldest of ice without the living being able
to breathe in a cloud of mercy and forgiveness, within an ancient
language of evil and evil-doings that twist the shape of words to
suit one’s human fears and cold shivers!

I still don’t understand the full measure of things being lost in this
dark pit of Hell in The Old Dark House. It’s a place that’s devoid
of human meaning and worth as shrunken heads are disembodied!
I hold on to what remains of a past shame, hovering high in the air
as unclean spirits of a crooked vision-circle wander aimlessly as a
Blind Sheppard leads our lost souls to the depressing Dark Land of
Nowhere and Nothingness!

Every October as the full moon rises high in the dark-sky evening,
a ritual fire is set by a local coven of witches to celebrate the advent
of All Hallows’ Eve. These witches know well the power and evil of
The Old Dark House. Their burnt offerings and black magic spells
echo hauntingly as Hell’s own fury is unearthed, challenging all
things virtuous in mankind’s existence and in God’s world of beauty,
hope, kindness, and light.

These evil images of black magic and witchcraft haunted my sleep
entire. I couldn’t sleep at all before dawn. I constantly sense now
an awakening madness in my soul, as if it comes from hidden graves
yet to be uncovered. Images and bad memories of The Old Dark House
push me now toward the opening of unknown tombs. I can actually
now smell Death’s Sulphur-burnt flesh!

Doors begin to rustle behind me as I hear loud footsteps of a pin
echoing deep in my mind. The echo shatters any illusions I have
of human sanity and forgiveness. I feel the sheer horror and begin
suffocating as the stale air is trapped in each breath I take!  

I sit up now—immediately confused, looking directly at a lonely
and empty Black Void that goes on and on and on—to infinity!

Cell doors in the house basement were always closed tight with
rusted iron links bound by heavy chains. As a poor child alone in
this house with other condemned children, there were nice rooms
upstairs that were always barred and shut to us as we suffered in
the filthy basement below. In Lucifer’s Hell!

I recall now too, in my memory, a gallery of special portraits in
The Old Dark House, which formed a ghastly mosaic of pure evil.
These portraits were of key human disciples of Lucifer who had served
him well through the ages. All of these images were grotesque and evil
when taken as a whole.

What did I learn? Evil is what Evil is! And Evil does what Evil does!

I’m free now from the eternal curse of The Old Dark House. I escaped
this mansion of the macabre as a young man and found my soul path
to Almighty God and stepped into His holy light of forgiveness and
redemption! 

As a very old man now, I sleep and dream a lot. Usually my dreams, 
thank goodness, are pleasant as I draw toward the end of my mortal
existence here on earth.

Yet, despite all the good things in my life now, during October of
each year, as All Hallows’ Eve cometh closer in the deep recesses
of my mind—I remember clearly that the ground floor of The Old
Dark House always had these frigid-cold wind gusts that spoke 
chillingly to one’s very soul. As young kids we would run upstairs
in this evil house to hear the “Demons of the Night” moan and cry!

Old Hob always had a way to speak to all of us as kids in His House!








Anne-Lise Andresen, Liam McDaid, and Gary Bateman
A Collaborated Poem, Copyright © All Rights Reserved
September 7, 2016 (Narrative)

Copyright © Sunshine Smile | Year Posted 2016

Details | Quatrain |

White wolf, I bleed for you

Once upon a time
Distant memories 
Dawning of morning crystals
Glittering reminder of starlight tears
 
In sunbeam's brilliance
Lighting jewels shine
Songbirds break into chorus
The smallest fragment of a breeze alerts
 
The senses whistling
Melodies explode
Through the branches leaves lament
Observing nature's space hold in colors
 
Fruit of tenderness
Mellow your sunshine
Blossoms love supreme touching
Fingers raise deep golden feelings yearning
 
Addresses one's heart
Lonely dust remains
Breathing breathless light explores
In darkness echoes bounce off deep caverns
 
Cold howling shivers
Devouring warm blood
Into the bones whistling ice
Winds voice of the lost souls' eyes turn bright green
 
As the spirit leaves
Dark moldy shadows
Light of moon sources cravings
Beauties kiss eclipses rose bleeds scarlet
 
Immortal heartbeats
Life stops ticking bang
Seduced black velvet pleasure
Sinking fangs into the succumbing heart
 
Drum beats slow echo
Fallen unchained truths
Slithering lizards crawling
Underneath the skin a beastly vision
 
Storm roars through timbers
Translucent blood slime
Flowing toxic energy
Mutating hollers screech into wolf moon
 
Scalding hot flames breathe
When red embers burn
Into the lustful ashes
Born inside scarred remains breathing wounds
 
An itch that scratches
Onto the mindset
Greenish cornea expands
Opening curtains in a split second
 
Haunting prey on light
Affliction of need
Rasping rattle in the throat
Death yowls airless scream without sun visions


A Collaborated Poem with Liam McDaid and Angeline Lim

Copyright © liam mcdaid | Year Posted 2016

Details | Narrative |

The Demon's Shrill Cry of Dread and Horror

This tale of “The Demon’s Shrill Cry of Dread and Horror”
lives on in the mountain village of Gpeth Tor in the outlying 
region of the “Dark Forbidden Forest” known for evil, death,
and lost souls. This tale passeth from generation to generation,
to the present, and still frightens all people who hear its grim
message as it sends an icy-cold chill that stabs the heart of one’s
holy eternal soul!

A young boy who just turned six years heard this tale so told
by both of his parents who shivered with a great palpable fear.
Their story of the Devil’s Demon of the Dark Forbidden Forest
mesmerized this young lad, giving him gruesome nightmares,
whereby the Devil’s Demon whispers cruelly to him in the 
darkest corners of his mind and in his deepest moments of sleep!

The young boy’s recurring nightmares show him running each
night deep into the darkness of the Forbidden Forest while both 
shouting and screaming his desire to see and to serve this foul
Demon of the Wild, while forsaking Almighty God in his thoughts!
This ghastly dream world each night is like morphine to his brain,
as this young boy suffers, feeling the chains of its merciless torment!

But this story of the boy is now 22 years ago as he’s progressed on
to manhood—driven to the very depths of depravity and insanity
as he witnesses nightly in his padded cell the evil actions of both
Ghouls and Ghosts who’d open up the graves of past rotting souls.
This insane young man now sings paeans with a fulsome alacrity
as he celebrates the shrill and haughty cry of the Devil’s Demon!

Does anyone really believe in happy fairy tales when Hell itself
corrupts the mind and spirit of the young and unsuspecting?

Does anyone believe a young fairy princess who kisses a frog
and says that the frog is now a dashing, noble prince?

Does anyone really understand and believe there are real monsters
who roam the maze of one’s mind crying now into a dark abyss,
while Goblins and Ghosts float freely robbing the living of breath?

The Dark Forbidden Forest of this evil lore does indeed exist, and
it lives freely in the dreams of young village children so frightened 
and terrified by the dark-demonic-visage of a bile-black-blooded 
Bogeyman who resurrects himself nightly in their true dreams of a 
sweet innocence in the place where scars are born every waking day,
as the lid of terror is lifted open, spewing legends and tales of the
macabre stealing the very life-force of heartbeats leading to Death! 

The local people of this legend in the village of Gpeth Tor speaketh 
freely of shrunken heads in large glass jars deep in the bowels of the
Forbidden Forest, where the threshold of pain and absolute madness
knows no bounds of moderation, and tortured beings and lost souls
cry out loudly as the Dark One takes his due while the broken bones
of those who remain are crossed—weighted so heavy like an anchor!

Invisible and evil forces at the Devil’s command have taken control
of the Forbidden Forest, where nasty beasts with a rabid blood thirst
for torture live in the very cells of the chained and forgotten souls who 
have lost their way to Almighty God and His Angels in Heaven above.

Grotesque stories still abound to the present time in this century of the
perverse and maledictory nature of this dark forest that borders so close
to the ancient village of Gpeth Tor—of what can happen to those who
dare to speak of the unspeakable, as Specters of the Undead feast upon 
the heartbeats of innocent victims until they are fully consumed, and
their souls are condemned to an unending damnation and agony!

It’s been so many years since I graced my presence again in this ancient
“Village of the Damned.” Mea Culpa! Forgive me! A difficult journey!
I’ve now lost my way into the light and to the holy path to God Himself.

Gpeth Tor and its people live on into this twenty-first century as it is.
The frightful memories and presence of the Forbidden Forest are real,
and are still devouring the very living thoughts and ideals of the young.
Many moons later the sacrilege of this reality still lurks and crawls now
beneath one’s own human flesh as the divine answers to “God’s Truth”
lay, locked far away in the depths of Lucifer’s Kingdom here on Earth!

Gary Bateman, Anne-Lise Andresen, and Liam McDaid
A Collaborated Poem, Copyright © All Rights Reserved
August 20, 2016 (Narrative)

Copyright © liam mcdaid | Year Posted 2016

Details | Free verse |

CAPTCHA's Cruelty

HELP

The CAPTCHA took me by surprise tonight
Letters became ghouls in my mind’s eye
I listed them—
Noted them; words...begging, crying out for me

STAY

CAPTCHA was merely mocked
By millions of viewers on keyboards
I imagined all—
Tears began to fall

LOST

How may I help you, CAPTCHA?
Are you merely what they say?
Is there more—
Tell me, I pray

AAND

You bewilder my senses with your emptiness
The computer became my way to you
But all I could do—
Was imitate

CRYY 

I began to imagine someone stuck in CAPTCHA
A place where they harbored the weak
They took what they pleased—
Allowed them to speak

NNOW

Today it was happening and evermore
There was a reason I came to know
And now—
I want to know more

FOLL

I swallowed air and typed in the words
Feeling worthless and absurd
I began to believe—
There was more to this irrational dream

XOW3

The screen went black and then I was sure
I couldn’t doubt it anymore
The CAPTCHA wanted me—
The letters suddenly blurred and unseen

CAPTCHA
CAPTCHA
Let them go
CAPTCHA 
CAPTCHA
Full of woe
CAPTCHA
CAPTCHA
Take me now
CAPTCHA 
CAPTCHA
Tell me how to
CAPTCHA
CAPTCHA
Set them free
CAPTCHA
CAPTCHA
Knowing is free

Knowing is free

MMEE

For years I have copied your codes
Knowing you are there
Me—it’s me
Crying in the dark pit of despair

AAND

Though empty your words are to me
They are all I hear
All I fear—
In four letters on this electric trap

XXBX

What am I to do?
To follow would weary my soul
To save—
Would take its toll

FREE

What is this foreign word my dear?
Oh, how can you cut and paste it in my mind so clear?
Free—and then? 
Close your eyes and count to ten

The victims of the CAPTCHA remain a mystery to us all
Yet still we stare at the codes and merely imitate them
We are zombies staring our lives away
Trapped in CAPTCHA’s claws
Sad, deprived. . .
CAPTURED

I speak your language to stop this cruelty:

THEE 2TRUE TH78 IS9X BEF4 HOUR VERY EYES

Though we choose not to see
We choose not to fight
We choose only to IMITATE
We merely copy and paste

CRYY
CRYY
CRYY

GOOD
BAYE
BAYE
BAYE 






Copyright © Laura Breidenthal | Year Posted 2013

Details | Verse |

Letters On My Arm

you won’t listen to me, so i write to you on my arms. 
this one says i needed you and you weren’t there. 
this one says i’m bleeding but you don’t care. 
i wrote you this one out of despair, 
seemed like you always had to be at some other somewhere,
and it hurts, because it’s me you’re dismissin’, 
with no time to listen, just need your attention, 
it’s your touch i’m missin’, look me in my eye,
i know you see my letters, so why don’t i get a reply?
i guess it’s worth it just to try, 
to get you to notice me just one more time, 
write you just one last line, 
but i’m runnin’ out of time ‘cause i’m runnin’ out of ink, 
needin’ more time to think, 
but i don’t have it, so i sign my last letter and address it to you,
i hope this one gets through

Copyright © Erin Evans | Year Posted 2014

Details | Free verse |

The Dark Artist

Death,
A fate foretold 
Since the beginning of time

Master of time,
Misunderstood, 
And feared by many. 
Some say your power is a curse
Some a blessing

Emancipator of souls,
Bestow freedom 
On my poor soul.
Trapped in this prison of torture
Called a body, 
Which places limits on my true potential

I understand you, 
Hiding behind broken hearts
Are benevolent intentions, 
A noble purpose

Bringer of peace, 
You give rest 
to those tired.
You free those soldiers
Trapped in a game of kings

A dark artist. 
I see the beauty in your work.
With your scythe
You paint a masterpiece,
With your scythe 
You write a magnificent tragedy.
You are the perfect ending
To our tragic story

Copyright © Andres Rocha | Year Posted 2014

Details | Free verse |

I am so about this

Standing next to a fire hydrant Alone Sitting on a park bench Bothered by you rather I be alone Looking into a broken mirror Cliche' People bore me. That they do. I'm a person so I am also quite the Drag Silly vagrants honking horns, fancying party favors Yuck Find me eyed on my lap, Glued to boring my old shelf back Together All are you completely wrong about us I am so about this. Watching look that faces have right now. Right now is when? Tomorrow is yesterday while present in today. Tomorrow And Yesterday Definitely Today So, so lame as you mock me my case I rest. but I have too much to declare.
June 8, 2017 Contest: The Bleaker the Better Sponsor: Julia Ward

Copyright © Ir0nic ZiNk | Year Posted 2017

Details | I do not know? |

Lacrimosa

He goes by the name of Lacrimosa
He is the plain picture of a man
Those who don’t know him see him as a monster
But you and I know better that he is a broken friend
His smile drips of sorrow
His walk is that of a footless ghost
And should you accept his outstretched hand
And succumb to the adoring nature of his gaze
He will lead you away to a dreary place
That he calls home
And the monster will sing sweet nothings to you
And hold you safely in his arms
And though the smile on his orchid face may weep for you
Do not be ungrateful, as it is for you
You can shudder and shake and claw to get away
But you need him as much as he needs you
This puppet man who hangs from a single string
Neck crooked and marbled and hanging to the side
Will frighten and disturb those who can’t see his face
But he will protect you from the ones who claim to love you dear
He’ll hold you close and wherever you go
He’ll be there by your side, his cold hand grasping your own
He’ll be everything you need so you’ll never be alone
He’ll share with you his tears and guilt and blame
And for these gifts he asks nothing in return
But your companionship and smile for only a small time
He knows you cannot stay forever by his side
So when you’re ready to say goodbye
He’ll let you go
And he’ll insist that you keep his gifts
But in time you may throw them away 
And turn your back on the weeping thing
Who gave all he had in your time of need
And let his crying fade away
But don’t look back or you’ll see him there
Extending his hand, begging to hold you in his arms once more
And should you choose to return to him
He will always welcome you
And make a place for you by his side
And one day you may decide
To snuff out the man on a string
To throw the gifts he gave back in his blotched, orchid face
And run far far away
So that never again will you see his smile so grayed
Or feel the icy sting of his clammy embrace
Never again will you sigh in the arms of a love once held dearer
Now burdened whenever they look in the mirror
With the image of what they at one time feared
Of a sad smile painted on the picture of a man
Neck crooked and marbled and hung by a string
Dangling a smile loose to the side
Tears scarring his cheeks
His arms open wide
A monster posing as a broken friend
Who goes by the name of Lacrimosa 

Copyright © Bailie Tilton | Year Posted 2015

Details | I do not know? |

The Warrior

The Warrior

My pencil is my sword
My eraser is my shield
And when I go to war
My paper is my battlefield 
When life is to much
This is how I express the way I feel
And so I write such words
As murder, stab, kill
When people read these words
Misunderstanding they think I’m insane
But this is just how I vent
All my anger, frustration and pain
People that don’t know me
Think I look like a bad man
The people that say they do know me
Think I live the life of a madman
All of these things
Circling in my head
Sometimes I have to wonder
Would I be better off dead
I used to be a somebody
And my reputation would reflect
That I used to be a person
To look up to and respect
But now you can see
By the trembling in my hands
That all I am these days
Is a tired, broken man

Copyright © Michael Rowley | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse |

Lonely moon

Under that pale moon we fell,
deep beneath it's deceitful spell
the pallid beacon drew two moths,
each cut from very different cloths
sharing moonlight's loneliness, 
our curse; our void; our emptiness

Under that pale moon, truth died
two lonely hearts could not abide
their fate, to burn, perhaps to freeze
those moments in the moonlight seized
on fragile wings, on furtive flights
together in that palest light
  
We fluttered so, so far away,
each leading other's hearts astray
to other moons and other's pain
and other lies were told again
for love, forlorn, for sanity,
for isolation or, for vanity

Two hollow hearts beneath that moon,
where hollow feelings end so soon
the vacuum of an empty soul's
a cold, cold place, a black, black hole
where fidelity and pride may die,
underneath a moonlit sky

Copyright © David Brown | Year Posted 2015

Details | Haiku |

Sincerity of Slumber

The uncluttered mind ...
Thus, are dreams the children of,
Nightmares, its bastards.

Copyright © Gregory R Barden | Year Posted 2017

Details | Free verse |

Into Eyes of Ruin

I recognize your reflection ...

You're the eminent master-of-disguise, but I know you

Better than most, and all your faces are mine ... you're

Le Grand Séducteur, the big lie ... you're

The perfect lover, the Id Euphoric, the bitter bite at the

Back of my throat, the horrid relief, and the warmth in

My blood ... you're the answer to everything and nothing,

You're my salvation and my doom, my mother, my child,

My creator ... my scars and my stripes ... the divine

Wound of my failures, and the eternal weep of despair ...

You are the product of my fear, you are Ultimate Sin and

Dire consequence ... a child's laugh, a woman's sigh, a

Siren in the night, a final gasp of breath, and the wailing

Of horror unimaginable ... I love you with my integral

Heart, and despise you with my every fibre ... I drink

You in like a lover's tongue, and cast you off like poison

In my eyes ... I will protect you as an angel's charge,

And I will drag you screaming to hell ... you are my

Religion and my despair, my intention and my apathy,

My purpose and my hypocrisy, my deception and my

Utter TRUTH ... you are my birth, brought forth to be all ...

And my death, consumed and carrion-cold ... I have

Supreme victory over you ... and you have won all that

I am ... LOOK in the mirror at what you've created ...

Bless you ... damn you.


** For the "Mirror Mirror" Poetry Contest, Craig Cornish, Sponsor. **

Copyright © Gregory R Barden | Year Posted 2017

Details | I do not know? |

Light In Dark

You twisted and diseased creature 
Deceitiful little lies your best feature
Slithering around like a snake 
From my fantasy coma I awake
Into a much worse tragedy 
Into a worse and cruel reality 
Where you feel so at home
You decay my soul to the tone
Of your devil delivering laughter 
Pushing my peace and mind farther 
Into darkness where you dwell
My remaining light your Hell 
I'm here to bring an end to your crooked ways
Forced to change wherever your demon lays
I won't stop until I bring you back to life
No longer in darkness full of delightful blithe
In the eyes of the sun shining up on you 
My words in the end will prove all too true
This promise I make to you right now
See light in the dark I will show you how
Just open your pointed ears to me
A brighter world soon you will see

Copyright © Michael Scribner | Year Posted 2015