Best Malediction Poems
As All Hallows’ Eve approacheth my thoughts turneth to darkest dread,
Whilst in old age I harboureth a deep fear of seeing this one’s grim head;
Methinks the Grim Reaper cometh this time with his scythe in hand,
Which striketh maximum fear in me and maketh him feel quite so grand.
Death and darkness doth pervade this spirit’s intent from that great beyond,
And bringeth one a chilling fear if one’s destiny be unending Hellspawn;
All Hallows’ Eve is the image I conjureth of my imminent departure,
But I hopeth for divine intervention and protection during this departure.
For I shan’t want to feel the fear and malediction of the Grim Reaper’s gaze,
As he eerily walketh in the deep mist to bringeth my soul into that darkest haze;
I prayeth then Oh Lord God, haveth an Angel escort me on my final trip beyond,
And spareth me the Grim Reaper’s terrifying visit and his image of Hellspawn.
I asketh thy divine power and all goodness in protecting my eternal spirit and soul,
And delivereth them to Heaven on All Hallows' Eve most sound and quite whole!
Amen! Amen! Amen!
Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved - October 25, 2014
(Shakespearean Sonnet)
The cockroach crawling inside a satin evil darkness
as one clown weeps into silken soft sensual feelings,
as a blinking starlight beacon awaits a tense message
of doubts from all living dreams becoming nightmares.
Bleeding trapped within a shadow’s eerie smile whilst
grinning through the hurt smiling at the joy cheering,
at twisted laughs with needles of pain, lust, passion
and gasping of a victim choking in deep-labored breaths.
Choking one heart now taken tragically away from us
with a nightshade vision as we blindly walk into the
dark night in the realm of the dead, forever gone now,
with sad ice-cold whispers playing aloud and so deeply.
A taste of Hell and a fool’s game of serious malediction
whilst cold whispers compel us ever so against the wind,
as a restless soul is cutting ice frozen in a time dreaming
of things past with hypnotic jewels of such a deepest beauty.
When little gestures that meant so much to us all, whilst lost
in a space-dark matter invading and pervading our lives now,
a mysteriously hot sulfuric fire burns down the mountainside,
as an ice-cold stream in the ocean now becomes a mystic dream.
Gary Bateman and Liam McDaid – A Collaborated Poem
Copyright © All Rights Reserved – May 15, 2015
(Quatrain)
Hey mommy I am here to play
Daddy and brother are on the way
To the underworld where I sent them
By gutting tummies and dissecting
Innards go to outwards on the floor
Faces you can’t recognize anymore
Low and behold they still breathe
So I drowned them in the kitchen sink
Mommy come here, don’t run mommy
Fine I will chase you if you wish
But now when I get you — Cheshire grin
I’m going to take your life to the grave
Your going to wish you had stayed
Sparks fly on concrete from my blade
Mommy — I call through the halls
Mommy — my newest leather doll
Mommy! I call through the halls
Mommy, my newest leather doll
Eyes once vibrant and full of life
Frozen in time within glass like ice
Taxidermist sand fills your rinds
Don’t struggle scream or fight
Or you will feel a slice from my knife
Mommy your lips quiver and shiver
Bound to the cold ossuary of mischief
Where I been killing kids that went ‘missing’
You raised the perfect little girl all along
Perfect at whistling a thanatopsis song
Memento Mori-bund and invictus
For I am the necromantic enchantment
Tragedy fused elegy viral malediction
Feel the sweet steel mommy, not fiction
First cut was to invoke submission
Writhe and twist against her sentence
Stand still mommy here comes number two
Mama's little chef, stirring a stew of soullessness
the final cut, a symphony of silences, as carmine trickles
a crimson recipe, where every piece is digested
and in the cannibalistic dance, I devour your essence
Glazed icons of madness, Mommy my macabre doll
stitched and serried in the butcher's gallery of my mind
where souls are naugahyde-wrapped, my taxidermied trophies
of terror, a cabinet of horrors, forever chilled in time
In mother's dark hymn, I'm the soprano of sin
warbling sweet nothings of blood and bone
as Daddy and brother join the hellish song
their voices silenced by my tender touch
mashed and drowned, the reapers brush
Black Cat hath the coldest green eyes of most hideous evil
Which chilleth my blood, causeth me the greatest upheaval;
Darkness doth pervade this creature’s most gruesome gaze
Giveth me unbridled terror, leaveth my soul in an utter haze;
Lucifer himself giveth this black demon animal its dark life
Only to bringeth me a terrifying malediction of most evil strife;
Black Cat with its visage and its promise of eternal damnation
Seeketh for me its vilest of intention and its darkest tarnation;
I prayeth then Lord God, saveth all my eternal spirit and soul
And delivereth them on All Hallows’ Eve most sound and whole!
Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved, Schoeningen,
Germany (October 8, 2014) (Rhyme poetic format)
Crown of Thorns
A trace of thorns you are
on my body,
I am an eternal traveller,
never stopping.
You are the bitter predicament
of my comfort,
Traces of sensual pleasures -
The mist of a veil is
my constant reminder.
You wound the stubble of my heartly thorns,
I stand alone on the dusty conflagration
Gazing towards an endless void,
I am bridled with the burning pain of the
thorns...
My gaze tirelessly roves,
Prickly are the thorns,
With malediction entwined...
I am drowning in a sweaty torrent,
I am plunging into thorny depths,
bloody and overworked
from the struggle,
I yield myself to
the decision of fate.
A vignette of domestic violence and the weird rationale of love amidst such
circumstances - adapted from how it was depicted to me by a female friend and
taken from her own personal experience.
I was defined china and porcelain,
Inlaid glass flowers and gently spoken;
Fragile in doe-eyed delicacy,
Pleading and begging not to be broken.
I loved him with total forgiveness,
Did not, could not, would not understand
The dark chaos mood of lability,
The spontaneous violence of his hand.
Blue and black bruises indecorously swelled
Question marks about tear brimmed eyes;
And I wept and despaired in confusion,
Smashed and grabbed by wherefores and whys.
How could he dream to hurt me so,
The brutish malediction of his touch?
How could he stand to hurt me so,
When he knew I loved him so much?
And now the years have drained away
Like sweeping veils of rain;
The agony of our breaking apart
Ever haunts me with anguish and pain.
I still see him some times,
Rarely, truly out of the blue,
On the old territory of familiar streets
When unconsciously passing through.
And always shook by the stalking truth,
A lancing bright-bladed knife,
And with dogmatic aching my heart lets me know
He was always the love of my life.
And I know there's no sense to be had
When I look to the heavens above,
Just the sad and lonely heart of the matter:
You never can choose whom to love.
blessing
sacred, divine
canonizing, sanctifying, extolling
endorsement, warrant, malediction, profane
vilifying, blaspheming, tormenting
wretched, damnable
curse
hope
desperate, cheerful
cherishing, reviving, encouraging
faith, expectation, desperation, anguish
feeling, drowning, dreading
profound, terrible
despair
Date posted: 07/28/2021
MALEDICTION
Evil in nature
Evil in influence
And evil in effect.
Becoming necessary
Baleful beast – filled full of ill-will
Greed seeps through the pours and infects
I – incarnated nemesis
Your Created adversary
Invented rivalry
An enmity prognosis
A new language my malaise reflects
Malign plots
Predetermined death
Predictive obituary
A murderous grift.
My corrupted destiny
Rank!
Like a malodorous crotch
Your sadistic future
Now a painful present
Hatefully happening.
Concurrently.
Rot,
The end,
April 19th 2015
By Joel R Thornton
Oh
Box of
Cookies, way
Up on the shelf
All I can do is
Stare at you, it saddens
me, for i am too small to
Reach you, For I am a toddler
Who has yet to learn to walk and talk.
I think its pretty funny.....
it is what we all think of toddlers
It takes a spine spun of steel
To forgive a hateful infliction.
Many are wont to let it fester
Mining malignity of malediction.
For them `tis a wound to wear
With self-righteous indignation.
They herald the hurt as if a gift
And announce it in celebration.
The soul though is not deceived,
It chides for scarcity of charity.
Holding a grudge for what is grieved
Presupposes mindless temerity.
Counsel to forgive eludes them,
Divine admonition they shame.
Seasons past before they grasp
They self-inflicted their pain.
Each night lurid visions danced before me in the dark
staring with eyes of an eagle, sharp beak of a hawk.
I woke, and in the mirror, my face was white as chalk,
screaming with the brazen voice of a raven's squawk.
It seems I'd been struck with some cursed malediction.
That's what a shrink said, "It's an abnormal infliction.
I'd like to observe you for a time, under constriction
and also suggest you might pray for a benediction."
Did he believe I was sick enough for extreme unction?
Or standing at the crossroad of a mental malfunction?
Anger was building, and I had the wild compunction
to run away before he ordered a restraining injunction.
He ran after me shouting, "I'm afraid you're delirious!"
I laughed out loud and shouted back, "Are you serious?
You won't lock me up! Stop acting so damned imperious."
Then voices started whispering. It was quite mysterious.
DELIRIOUS? NO, NOT ME!!!
Go away and let me be!
I heard them rant all day and night, in shadowed halls,
snarling voices calling my name from within the walls.
In dreams they cried out for me in deep guttural calls
I cowered in a corner each time I heard their footfalls.
What trick were they using to infuse me with insanity?
They moved much too close, robbing me of my vanity
I cursed them with vile words of unleashed profanity
then thought, is this a case of psychotic inhumanity?
Anger became the flint to ignite the flames of my fire
Each whisper became a thorn, condemning me a liar.
On and on they chanted, like evil demons in a choir
as the walls of my deep abyss rose higher and higher.
The beasts never tear my flesh; they claw at my soul.
I'm suffering with emotional stress and losing control.
There's no virtue left inside of me that I can still extol.
I'm being swallowed into cryptic depths of a sinkhole.
DELIRIOUS? Is it possible I may be?
Fiendish laughter vexes me.
August 9th, 2020
N-A Rerun 10 Contest
Sponsor: John Hamilton
Original Post Date: July 24th, 2020
Written for the Delirium Contest
THE PUPPET GAME I PLAY
When you are imbued with the uncanny ability
Wherein you can see beyond the shout of hosanna
To the dormant volcano
Of agitation, smouldering "crucify him"
Yet lurking within the inner recess of the well-wishers,
A great gift you already have.
When you can see through the veil of "there is no problem" Mouthed to you from them in your inner circles,
To behold the unspoken maledictions against you,
Seethingly seated in their outwardly bedecked sepulchre
Called the hearts,
A great gift you already have.
When you are so gifted,
All with these knowledge of the desperate animal called man,
And you were me,
A puppeteer you'd better become
To play the puppetry.
The Puppetry of the very ones
Whose shout of hosanna is but a re-echoing sound of their malediction;
Whose mouthing of "no problem" is but a heap of evil desires Deceptively interred in the sepulchre of their hearts.
Against such, offer no sacrifice of sincerity,
For a pearl counts but no sacrifice to a swine
But play the puppet of them
And bother not whereth comes the resource,
For their evil but hidden desires have already hoisted them
On a petard for the Puppetmaster's show.
In the dead of night,
I heard the cry of agony;
A shrill cry it was,
But a faint cry,
As of a heart fainting of strength.
It oozed out in a steady stream
Of soul-rending shrill
As of unending wail and groan
From a house lately frequented by the grim reaper.
"Owailo", mother had muttered in education,
Was wallowing in travail!
Her own slice of cross
she must bear,
Of the divine curse
Of travail appointed
To all eves.
Owailo travails unto death!
The divine malediction of travail
Becomes for Owailo,
The inevitable appointment with death
For her offspring she must never behold
Even as the offspring lives.
Oh hapless Owailo!
The ill-fated reptile of the shrubbery,
Who else has beheld your fate
To plead your cause before the Law Giver
Before whom mercy and grace abound?
THOUGHT OUT BY
CHRIS EDACHE AGBITI, ESQ
A Tale of Winter
Words in front of me in sight in their style and in some
weight on the type face I grin beaming with sadness
A crystal ball’s incantation gleams paranormal winter magic
and necromantic I reach out to the dead as a New Year dawns
My father survived frostbitten winters in Russia advancing
retreating dug into dugouts hanging on for dear miserable life
Abused and abusive he followed the crowds steam rolled
in naïve glory stripped to dead bones malediction abound
His quest was misplaced devoured humanity helped to
concentrate ashes like snow flakes melting in the chambers
of what remained crying out in silent pain in the ghettoes
boxed into madness plying its trade ever since and before
Alluring attraction I fled the winters and now sit in summer on
the southern side of the globe reflect cold shivering mind
Songbirds feast on tomatoes peppers spice up the garden
flowers seed beauty insects move on where we humans cannot
Somewhere today it is winter yet my grimace wants smiles
expressions of laughter’s simper ingratiation dignity’s grace
I am thankful for being conceived and conceive and with some
effort I vow that in small steps the wizard enchants from within
Carpe diem I must and fly on the carpet with lantern in hand
02nd January 2017
In the dead of night,
I heard the cry of death;
A shrill cry it was,
But a faint cry,
As of a heart fainting of strength.
It oozed out in a steady stream
Of soul-rending shrill
As of unending wail and groan
From a house lately frequented by the grim reaper.
"Owailo", mother had muttered in education,
Was in travail!
Her own slice of cross she must bear,
Of the divine curse of travail appointed
To all eves.
Owailo travails unto death!
The divine malediction of travail
Becomes for Owailo,
The inevitable appointment with death
For her offspring she must never behold
Even as the offspring lives.
Oh hapless Owailo!
The ill-fated reptile of the shrubbery,
Who else has beheld your fate
To plead your cause before the Law Giver
Before whom mercy and grace abound?