Best Incubi Poems
The crone can hear the children's laughter, cold as ice
And they exclaim out "witch", not thinking she can hear
Their parents then admonish, "Try to be quite nice."
Upon her thin, emaciated form they leer
Of love forbidden she has paid the awful price
Malicious magic powers all the children fear
She only wears black, mourning each and ev'ry day
Her world is full of dismal, somber shades of grey
She loved a wealthy cultured handsome gentleman
But she had not the clothes nor proper pedigree
And never would be issued any wedding bann
For poverty did not amuse his family
When finding herself great with child of his, she ran
She felt displaced, just like a dead uprooted tree
In bleak back alley child unwanted disappeared
No chance immoral tainted peccant child be reared
Although she lost her core, her heart, her soul, her mind,
She wandered dazed and crazy back to town she knew
Her fam'ly said, "We never have produced your kind."
There was no place to go and nothing left to do
But after mournful agony she came to find
Satanic powers very evil she would rue
She met the incubi in wooded forest glen
Although she knew it was an awful, grievous sin
Her soul and body raped by evil forces bold
Instilled in her the seeds of their foul awful pow'r
That grew more potent as she grew extremely old
Demolished, shattered self continued still to sour
Her sterile body, now quite barren, grew ice cold
A vile vexatious tongue lashed out at all each hour
Thus she became a bitter venomous old hag
While dressed in filthy clothes; on head, a dirty rag
She met a fine genteel young man, so good and kind
A person reaching out to all in charity
Attempted making better lives where he could find
He wanted human folk achieving parity
However, he had never met an evil mind
The succubus seduced his soul with clarity
She crippled psyche; took his cash, his bonds and stocks
Her languid lips convinced him caged; no keys for locks
Then when the moon was full one night, she murdered him
Around his vile demise all sorts of tales arose
She had dismembered rigid corpse each limb by limb
Disposed so very well of ugly bloody clothes
The whole ordeal had been a gratifying whim
Upon his naked body set a blood red rose
His corpse was never found; base tales do not abate
Today she suffers vile result of cruel fate
DIE THE DEATH!
(Dona eis requiem sempiternam)
Die the death and transcend vanity
O poor vernal flesh and bone,
Waned out of this primal valley
And sink like the moon beyond the coast.
All expectations, ‘tis the greatest
Reclined at the backdrop of the heart’s throb,
Relegated by mortal necessities in crest
Clouded by mist as the shrouding robe round a knob.
Farewell thee, to vanish from eyes.
Fear not, minds still shall keep thee
Though a while, less a bother to human plight,
The dire need for yen, companion and spree.
The undertakers trades fare supreme
And mourners sonorous rhymes are music prime;
Downing the lees of wine to spike faces grim
With throbbing drums, jigging feet and chime.
Great the awaited moment to close the eyes
And farewell the world with all her bother.
A descendance is paramount than to rise,
To die to live than live to die is best order.
Great ease is the last prize to pay
And refund the muck to its source beneath
Nothing else abide but merry mongers sway
Over nourished ordure, once a breath.
Why not sadness at the joyful tale of birth
And merriment at the woeful news of death?
Onward would be to the backyard of earth,
From incubi, toil and deformed breath.
Night veil drawn over our visibility,
In twinkle the pupil dilate a life span’s knell
Wedge in limbo, shrouded by mystery,
Knowledge only worms and flies can tell.
What need of life, fun, food or friendship?
All but a three episode script of dharma:
Ignorance precedes pain and then comes sorrow,
As circadian sculptor pruned our feature.
No mint can purchase back days gone by,
Neither riches to reverse a twinkle;
For a lifelong tie earn a profound sigh,
A spot on shoreline washed by sprinkles.
Poison, sickness, circadian effect and accident
Are final returns wherein all expectations lie.
Rather in life, in death is its fulfillment
And no further businesses have I but to die!
MY MOTHER
See her laden and brimming with the sheaves
On a hilly furrowed plane shrouded by leaves
Her way homewards she plods and heaves.
See her joggles on the spinning wheel
A textile she winds out the cotton reel
And made many hue garbs with great skill.
See her broil as she stirs the broth in the tripod;
Day by day the market and stream she trod
And fetch fire woods and make fine wares of gourd.
See her sit on a stool, behind the moon wanes;
She enacts folklores of ancient reigns,
Of men and animals, plants and bizarre planes.
See her upon her breasts life’s incubi weigh
As all her offspring upon her tender bosom lay
She cossets them from womb to tomb till she’s grey.
Banshees’ howl and werewolves’ prowl,
Medusa’s calling your name,
Under the cowl of vampiric fowl
You’re raising the stakes to the game.
A common greed, as succubi feed
Engulfing your final amen,
Planting the seed so all that you’ll need
Is the wisdom of darkness again!
Incubi mate invoking a fate,
Zombies seem so rotted out,
Cerberus waits, guarding the gate;
Screaming evolves from a shout.
Wendigo beasts and satanic priests
Infecting a poisoning pen,
Cannibal feasts, knowing at least
You’re welcoming darkness again.
Hessian witch, a smouldering *****
Cursing you all from the flame,
Spasmodic twitch relieving the itch
Still the figments of evil remain.
Entangled within a commoners sin
Corrupting the roots of our Zen,
Bleeding the kin and letting it in
Till we welcome the darkness again.
© Copyright 2013 Adam Parker
Poetry is a simple ride
through back road rural country side.
Alive with gardens sprouting corn,
white puffs of cotton being born
fodder bales lazing countrified.
Each turn a treasure to the eye,
white egrets stalking incubi.
The rolling breast of every hill,
reveals a pleasured puerile;
majestic hawks soar in the sky.
Every mile of black twisting tar,
is filled with country insular.
Greening orchards and baked orange clay,
clear blue skies enhance the array,
in panoramic ocular.
On the horizon clouds cluster,
summoned to a graying muster,
raging into darkened night
frightened white egrets take to flight
lifting into this blackened sight.
Muffled thunder bellows aloud,
awakening a sleeping cloud,
as lightening scratches through the sky,
ruffling feathers as they fly
white egrets in a pitch black shroud.
Rain blurs colors in distant trees
while puffs of dust attend the breeze.
Torrential rain, that once was held,
within the grasp of this great meld
descends in fits on congeries.
popular music
a beehive of incubi
buzzing in my brain
Why?
Why not!
Their point of view
Each Friday they drank
vengeance
every bottle drowned
another ache
Knights
shedding the end of a week
elegant shine
lost in devil may care
Needs
numbed in a 3-day marathon
Drink, drink,
drink until dread's dead...
Why not?
Coz they can't unsee
a view
ailments never quit
piling
rays gamma
radiation
ever shooting -
more cancer
reactions
'n side effects that conquer
In and out
they pass,
dysenteric E.coli
offsetting the once ominous
virus
polio
raked out but replaced
by a Covid war...
(12/25/2020: '96 Fun Country DMS; memories of Hoodless..)
II - Sharon and Adeline
So who gets the blame, for the perfidy of their young lives,
having shared of caustic adults and their lust-groping girth?
A petite, astute blonde with candid need of sexualized aura
Never concealed, she’d writhe a come-hither to grown men
Never liking the boys who were closer to her pretty preteen
Only seeking pernicious pleasures of a pedophile aficionado
Not contrite, she’d dance the pole, just as mom had shown…
As she envied voluptuous Adeline, perfunctory in beauty's miasma
Nothing contrived in her distrust of oglers whose gaze could harken
Devils from her past, piercing them with angry blues so condemned…
As her mom disabled, leaned on a man who made Addie his manna
Dined on precocious curves she’d wish had never been bequeathed
Exploding in tantrums she fought unable to suppress all the seethe…
Little girls lost in the littler woman’s world, of the big man’s brothel
It was a ruse that it had closed, for females still suffer these incubi
Nice asses openly paraded non-stop; lower wages that still demean
Elderly men joking with objectified daughters, still considered, wise…
(2/22/2021: DMS; memories of SCH)
State of perception placates
sun or moon
incubi or mindful art
dreamlike lays or lucidity
a place of rest where we are restless
turning in and tuning out
body's give but souls still shout
exuberantly in the echo chamber of the heart
arrows bent and often missed
butterflies all about
the clouds have the questions
captioned with quips
tied up and whipped
the cream always rises
it's on top
I skim the milky waters
you dipped in innocence
(k)not undone
I the moon/you the sun
Angels of death, thieves of hearts
You are trapped once their entrancement starts
The only escape of their spell is eternal rest
Hades enjoys using temptation the best
His servants are well versed in his charms
Demons of magnificent grace leading you into his arms
Their beauty hides malicious intent
Their master is Satan, from fire they were sent
To lure those on the brink
Into the merciless pits of anguish they sink
Succubi and incubi, creatures of darker than night
Look instead to the light
It is so easy to fall to their enchantment
Their evil shows not a hint
False feelings take away every care
Past everything, into your soul they stare
Unbearable is the loss of their presence
Heartbreak involving them is intense
Once you taste their power you'll always want more
Yet, be it by homicide or suicide, only the end is in store
Kiss me now, steal my last breath
My darling, my love, my life and my death
Oh... sorry, this was supposed to be a positive message...
I can't see very good through all these dark clouds,
veils of lies,
all being exhaled
by the faceless (shadows),
and sewn together
(because hand made is always better)
by pointed tongued succubi and incubi,
But for a moment I did see a tiny bit of light poke through, so small,
but I saw it.
But, none for me...
I chose the dark a long, long time ago... It was safer there.
If I was going to always be running into demons
I figured I had better-become friends with them.
Eventually, they became better friends than the so-called "Angels".
(Right, Left, Up, Down)
Two-faced hypocrites with all their lies of "Unconditional Love". Blegh...
I think they need to go read what unconditional means...
I've only known conditional...
From girlfriends to friends, to family.
Slip off the path (their path) and get written off just as quickly.
Nope, no second chances, pretty much no chances at all.
One time, that's all you get.
Now, go... Don't make any mistakes, and don't stress about it.
------------------------------He died August 25,1971 7:14 P.M.
Hiding in his mountain retreat; he escapes-
Into a fantasy world of a future life
Pretending to be a POET an illusion : untrue
Dreaming the same dream over an over again
The vivid nightmare of his past keeps on living
Disguised as a silhouette in the shadow of life
Presumed he has a loving heart: yet has no heart at all
At night the incubi haunt ; torture his dying soul
What is Life, friendship, Love he does not know
In his reverie he awakes in Eternity with his Love
L E N O R E by his side : Amen
Why do those lips
moisten my own - years on?
That labial goodbye, with its embrocate
of memory
returns as a tangible ghost.
A time-traveling incubi latches upon my mind again.
A hummingbirds sip,
a recoil of sensory jack-hammers.
Today, words are meaningless,
lips remain pursed to that goodbye moment.
I did not know it was the end back then, but
it is perfectly clear now -
I am over it.