Listen to poem:
Hear the whispers inside
Chanting from long ago
Echoes come and go
Losing time in a soft eternal glow
A beautiful and delicate autumn mountain scene
Dry blue eyes enchanting melodies!
Voices fall from the sky; -Rising hymns release
-ancient demons that CLING to the soul
Darkness dwells under - gentle moonlight
Ancestors of the Spirit World!
Weaving Native smoke into the barren air
Indian spirits haunt the muddy Earth---
Moccasin makers rise from underneath; While
guardians of dream catchers - print the Universe
Smooth thread from the outer world;
Arrowheads, Ivory gems, feathers, and illusions
I stumble upon a florid kiss....... My veins;
Run Cold, like ice through a desert night.
Winds of enchanted drums - cry out for rain
Hollow chimes mesmerize, my ties, my eyes
An ancient rage begins to flare --- MADNESS!
- takes place among the sanity of who I am
The spear of the perfumed buffalo scrapes my skin
I remove the veil that covers my eyes
The hands that cover my ears
Drying the scalp that bleeds on my face
KINDRED IN EVERY WAY!
Raven silk braids and feathers on my hair
Dancing in a horrid hallucination of Peyote,
Waking up from the “American Dream.”
Holding out my arms, I am free, I can fly.
I AM A BIRD!
Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2013
-Quarantine of the Soul-
Tranquil pills fall deep like the night
A sweet fangless course
Bites with no remorse
Your eyes struggle to read my ageless soul
You open a heart under Quarantine
Stand in the way of what was and never will be
A contagious disease
I call "LOVE!"
(Past-- you came)
Somewhere deep inside --with you--
The Arriving Vessel of Light
I separated myself from the world
--to be with you--
I polished a new diamond night
With pleasures of meeting where our hearts began
Deep like the night, you woke my sleepless soul
Removing it from the safe harbor of the sea
-Isolated from all to see
No risk or chance, of smiling endlessly
(Present-- you set)
Tonight you fell from Mandalay
You spoke in a way that Cut my throat with truth
You detained my ego clouding the auspices sky
Allowing a smile
A tender peek into your heart
It spread in ways -- I wanted more
I kept deep until you found your way past the door
In search of eternity
Tonight lets learn to live again
With no fear, I remove all labels
Making the moon and sun rise together
My love, my life now depends on you
(Future-- you left)
With no explanation
The age of Quarantine will forever set
You came to me
Set me free
Just to leave
Now you are a virus --- Just like them!!!
Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2015
Seeing through these cold dead eyes now,
This world looks much different.
The scars of one’s life entire,
Appear now for all to see.
What once meant everything,
Really means nothing now.
I still see and sense things mortal,
But the earthly world can’t hear my words.
Lying on an ice-cold white slab this darkest night,
I see the pale yellow moon’s sad face in the sky.
With visions of people who’ve crossed over before,
I wonder when Charon shall finally appear?
Shall it be him who appears on this new horizon?
Or shall it be someone or something else?
The everyday mortal world moves on as before:
Regardless of one’s wealth, poverty, fame, shame, infamy.
I guess now all the ancient mysteries of the universe,
Shall become obvious and answered in kind.
I wonder what shall be said to me and the reception?
Thumbs up or thumbs down—I guess I shall find out.
The pale yellow moon now appears brighter . . .
As if a special message cometh soon from a winged angel.
Hope this helps to answer my lingering questions . . .
As the dark void from the mortal world grows greater now.
I feel a gentle tug pulling me upward now from Earth’s grasp,
Into the majestic arms of infinity and into God’s eternal light!
Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved,
June 12, 2016 (Lyric)
Copyright © Gary Bateman | Year Posted 2016
descending on the twilight streets;
Snow, in silent fields you lie pristine
beneath moon’s glow, a blanket shimmering.
Tranquilly envelop me in
the more you fall, the deeper that I go
Oh, sweet Slumber,
suffocate with pearly flakes
those of us the weary that repose,
long time having waited like the windrows.
As Boreas does blow,
lull and bury all in drifting, dreamy
Writer's Statement: In this poem, I have gone ahead and given a title that shows both the theme of nature and what it is a metaphor of. I think it just "sounds" better to write "Snow-a sleep" and then in the second half, I reverse it and write "Sleep - a snow." I think of sleep as a wonderful time when we can totally let go of our tensions and relax as if we were beneath "moon's glow" in "a blanket shimmering" We literally are under our blankets when we sleep, and in the same way that snow covers the ground, our dreams are blanketing us in "oblivion serene." In the middle of the poem, I liken "falling to sleep"to when snow keeps falling and falling and we, like falling snow, go "deeper" into slumber. I like the sound of "sweet Slumber" together, and so I address sleep that way toward the end of this poem. In the same way that snow buries the ground, the "pearly flakes" of sleep can "lull and bury all in drifting, dreamy snow."
Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2015
Love’s Alchemy is Eternal
Your look, touch, and scent now so perfect pure,
Enchants my true emotions and soaring passion.
I knoweth now our love shall always endure,
As God unites our souls as one by divine action!
Our sensual passion defines love’s spirit entire,
As we caress and kiss for this moment’s bliss.
Love’s alchemy maketh our spirits soar afire,
As we embrace our lips find that deepest kiss!
Our hearts beat now in a sacred tempo of love,
That reflects our real destiny, two souls as one.
This is God’s gift to us from Heaven high above,
As we wish these magic moments of eternal fun!
By Heaven, I pray our love’s alchemy forever,
And declareth my love shan’t leave you ever!
Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved,
June 27, 2016 (Shakespearean Sonnet)
Copyright © Gary Bateman | Year Posted 2016
~Sand Castle De Mal~
Beauty sails along the shores of life
Out there broken dreams form above sand dunes
Silent, God listens to the triumph of his creation
3 line verse
Copyright © SKAT A | Year Posted 2015
Walking through the land of shadows
wearing my yellow shoes
With each and every step
I created color and hues
The shadows started retreating
As color permeated the ground
Out of the shadowy darkness
I heard a horrible sound
"You do not belong here
I command you to go away
You are in the land of darkness
You must listen to what I say"
I kept on moving forward
Not sure what I would see
Where was the voice coming from
I looked behind a tree
Light and color expanded
Traveling up straight to the skies
The entity that so scared me
Was right before my eyes
As my shoes banished the darkness
The entity was reduced to tears
Without the aid of shadows
He couldn't tap into my fears
I then reached down to touch him
I told him that he was safe
He looked up with confusion
As I gazed upon his face
"Are you here to destroy me?
Have you come to take me away?
There is a purpose for shadows
They create hope for brighter days."
I heard what he was saying
The shadows have their reason
In order for spring to come
We need a darker season
So I removed my yellow shoes
Watched as the shadows returned
It was time for me to go home
With this strange lesson I had learned
Copyright © Richard Lamoureux | Year Posted 2013
Well hopefully you've read the last "Poetry for Poets", now here's the one I wanted to write, enjoy...
POETRY FOR POETS
(I own this- edition)
more organic than fertilizer
rooted in the shit of life
Some grow wild
seeking their light
through a gnarled thicket
or sprayed with chemical defoliants
they strangle themselves,
managing to blossom.
Poems thoughtfully precisely planted
to achieve optimum yield
poems require to be forged
beaten into shape
like a horse shoe
with a few holes
ensuring they will be nailed
to their purpose
dead words and metaphors
selectively snipped away
There are times when it’s best to live with your poetry
Cover yourself with its words until they stretch and become sloppery
For its comfort increases as the stanzas begin to fray
Patched elbows illuminating what you intend to say
And eventually you’ll have a poem to slip into by the fire
To savour with hot chocolate as it ignites your desire
more organic than fertilizer
flourish when tendered
Copyright © scott thirtyseven | Year Posted 2015
Listen to poem:
There's a chilly air where it used to shine
There's a misty breeze through the purple vine.
In a fading summer tick-tock sounds
move backwards marking every hour
Darkness falls down slowly upon each longer night
Stealing beewax gold of sunset's soft -glow light.
Against total eclipse, Foliage silhouettes make their return back
Bringing to his arms a Lunar death ... Her death.
Along empty walks, earthy drops drizzle regret
Regret with every footstep and heavy inward breath
Regret... Drops Thunder... Thunder and death
Death ! Dead ! Gone .. Gone....
Or does She live in his forevermore
Is that her reflection mirroring affection
Is it her hidden face that glistens in the lake
Is that the crescent moon that once showed him the way
A way to feel to feel again what it is like to dance and sway
Sway to lilting music nobody else could hear
to flow adrift in silent pause ,knowing She' s still there.
Knowing she is with him hovering in dreams,
beaming radiant shadows all over his cheeks
Believing She'll get closer without owning his lips
Because their bond was deeper than just a simple kiss.
Copyright © Charmaine Chircop | Year Posted 2016
I speak my thoughts with gentleness
The things I need to say with care
Thoughts held in my hands, gone through my fingers,
balanced on my fingertips...
... sent to my lips.
I speak my words with thoughtfulness
from my faltering tongue
The air swaying rippling with
I speak my words out loud, they land
where I want them to bloom
Sometimes as small white daisies
Other times as beautiful blue thistles
I watch them grow, my eyes follow their
independent will and stubbornness
With pride I stretch my hands
to pick them and arrange...
They grew on me.
September 21, 2017
Copyright © Darren White
Copyright © Darren White | Year Posted 2017
Devils deadly dime
The sign said no grown-up at the playground.
Tripping on a penny, like a mime!
My hand is in my pocket with the dime I found.
Its all mine, I asked for the devils hand that time.
Echoes in my head, bounded by a screaming sound.
Paying for a forgotten crime,
on what comes around goes around.
A prison with greed that carries an evil musical chime.
Jumping off the merry-go-round!
Encouraged by the devil,
the pleasure of his deadly nursery rhyme.
Now the world is measured by my blood level.
The devils delight feasted on my youth before I hit my prime.
Bashing my mind, with thoughts implanted by evil.
Entering the day with no beauty to my sublime.
Begging him to remove this anvil!
He laughed while he cursed me with a favor for a favor.
A fallout so violently in this world not civil.
One can only lust on the taste that only he can savor.
Hanging out by the swings wounding me with prey,
on two victims to his delicious flavor.
I climb my way to teach a lesson in hate not love.
Two siblings who always scream for each other.
Giggling as I offered each a push and a shove.
Stopping they give each other a big hug.
Defeating and proving love is a stronger disease
The devil wicked eyes looking at me like a bug.
Clawing at my inner guts with remorse that he will win this war.
Until another day one skips the penny,
and begs a poor fool like the devil for his dime.
Tossing heads for his tail when times hits rock bottom.
I will stray away from his deadly reaction time.
He will not own my soul so freak'em,
and his greedy deadly beg of a dime.
Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2010
In the silent breathing of night,
the darkness and the hush
(A heavy band of slave)
like black ants snaking
through the forlorn distance.
Grieving with tears
Of yesterdays burning anguish.
They hum a languid song
On the fragrant breath of wind.
A haunt that invades my trembling eyes
With a thousand boundless tears
That quivers through the night.
The dreaded echoes came down the black pathway
Like a thousand men
Galloping through the sultry breeze
(Were the heartless whips that toiled)
With dumb hands,
Feeding paled pink flesh
With endless stings of cruel misery.
The stars curled around their naked feet
As they trampled the grass
Wet with lurid dew and the masked
Beds of fragrant hues
Prancing in the hallowed night.
I could feel the storming of their sorrows,
The rock of their heart
Drooping with defeat.
Despair a master to their fading hope
That sailed across their faces.
Oh those foul notes budding with despair
Branched within their eyes.
The lulling whispers of their shackles
United with their treading feet like hooves
Cloaked with heavy weariness
(It surrounded the dead of night)
I hung up my fears
For I was bright with their pain
Oh I died that day
Oh I died that day
While drifting to the helpless East
To that damp cold earth filled
With drowsy mournful Asters
Then the smell of dead men came alive
Black dogs clustered to the earth
Their children beside them with gripping hands!
Copyright © Mustapha Mohammed | Year Posted 2013
The wonder of nature you describe with the color of feelings
that even the blind sees the beauty, for you anoint with your sight.
From my forgotten core, words you inspire gush forth in indignant prose
like the lion who protects her young, who roars in warning lest she devour.
You lend me insight from your wisdom and give me laughter with your wit,
you pump the pulse in my veins when passion and sensuality is lit.
You kindle the fire in this heart when love is found
and collect the ash from the burnt cinder that haunts, when love is lost.
You hold my breath in exhilaration when I soar to triumphant heights,
the balm that soothes my pain when I’m down, your song remains
the solace I have found when life is hard, and the one profound
expression of the myriad emotions that defy words of common use.
O Poetry, you bring tears to my eyes, when in your lines I feel God cries
as I endure and withstand the ugliness, the haughtiness, of someone’s pride.
Yet with the turn of page and time, you coax from my lips such radiant smile
for with each stage in this life of mine, a poem is birthed, flutters, and flies.
24 May 2015
Poem of the Week - 31 May to 06 June 2015
Awarded 1st Place for both A Poets's Worth Contest and My Favorite Poem Contest
Copyright © KP Nunez | Year Posted 2015
*Based on Plato's Allegory of the Cave
Numb fists with bloody wrists
chained to crumbling walls.
Glazed eyes that never spy
a single truth or fault.
Dim light impairing sight
in spaces dark and shallow.
Stone walls where lies are scrawled
by murky phantom shadows.
One breaks free on frail knees
stiffened by disuse,
to leave behind the dumb and blind
who welcome this abuse.
He climbs in pain against the grain
toward a distant light.
With bloodied hands, he finally stands,
exhausting all his might.
Dazed at first, he's cursed by thirst
beneath the blazing sky.
The sun is bright and plunders sight
from eyes too dry to cry.
Lesions crust as eyes adjust
to find a foreign land
with greenest grass and sea like glass
caressing strips of sand.
He stands amazed before this maze
of truths he's never seen
and vows to save those in the cave
whose ignorance demeans.
When he returns, his words are spurned
by those chained to the wall.
They have no will to brave that hill
or risk the chance to fall.
He cannot go back to this show
of living shadowed lies.
Now that he knows the truth below,
he needs the open skies.
And so he climbs to search, to find
the knowledge that he craves.
No more a slave to the dark cave.
He's left that mindless grave.
Copyright © Heather Ober | Year Posted 2013
Sunlight glistens off crystal snowflakes
As they float and flutter through the sky
Like butterflies in their freedom of flight,
Never knowing where they might alight.
They leave us awestruck as they join
Together turning the landscape white.
Closer view reveals no two are alike.
In this way, we as tender human beings
Have much in common with snowflakes.
We treasure our freedom, we are each unique,
And there is much beauty as we unite as an
All encompassing gift to each other
Bonded by the strength of coming together.
Winter is a time of rest and rejuvenation,
A time to prepare for rebirth in the coming spring
As the first bulbs push their way through the
Snow covered ground, slowly rising up in
A blaze of glorious colors, exalting spring hope.
© Connie Marcum Wong
Poem of the Day February 25, 2017
Thank you Poetry Soup Team!
Copyright © Connie Marcum Wong | Year Posted 2017
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
The pungence of heartbreak swelters
in the tangled dreadlocks
Take me somewhere exotic
to breathe not the foul aroma
of disappointment and despair
Show me fields laced
with frangipani and orchids
in colors sweet and light
Find me seafoam fields poppied
in pomegranate and honey
the opium of jasmine lilting
on a leeward drowse
the delicious sift of sand drifting
warm and soft between my toes
as coral breezes court flamingo scapes
with pina colada suns
and I drift in and out
of hibiscus euphoria
Let a mist of cockatoos flutter
in lapis skies puffed
with fat feather clouds
as parrots and toucans preen
like a rainbow shimmer
Tingle my pineapple senses
in the afterglow
of mango afternoons
in the cerulean
And never bring me back
Sponsor: Debbie Guzzi
Copyright © Dale Gregory Cozart | Year Posted 2017
I saw a sundrop in a field,
a daffodil to be exact,
stand brave upon the snow-filled tract.
In blighting cold it would not yield;
long since its fellows disappeared
to that one spot it still adhered,
though flurries did the winter wield.
The autumn did its namesakes in
before the hoarfrost could begin
and slicing gusts now unconcealed,
with falling rain becoming snow.
The way of death it would not go
as though behind a covert shield
that kept its sunlit attitude
when sleet unto the land ensued.
I saw a sundrop in the field,
in blighting cold it would not yield,
though flurries did the winter wield
and slicing gusts now unconcealed,
as though behind a covert shield.
Copyright © Dale Gregory Cozart | Year Posted 2017
-Dear, Mr & Mrs Poet-
Do you ever question where it comes from?
This poem's about you, sit down and get a load off
Tranquilize your pen, take heed to the ecstatic applause
The things in life we take for granting, in time get worse
From WHICH' our lives transverse, ascends a deep poetic curse
You write almost everything, rehearsing every living verse
Embezzling words, like Martha Stewart, ---NOT YOURS!
Withdrawing from your substance,
--yielding it to others, who aren't devoted lovers
Spacing your lines, ready for reader's digest,
Educating the mind, like Albert Einstein
You paint a different horizon for the color blind,
Drop a note, forecasting the news, that brings, Spring to mind
Your adrenaline, leaves people with a feel good faint.
At this level, Poet you're better than high speed Internet,
Anything that makes you feel this is the real deal,
Today, you write like there's no tomorrow, borrowing yesterday's clay
Inspiring ink, left to right, feeding the need to breed a poetic degree
Your dramatic dialogue, deserve 'The Peoples Choice award."
I love the sweet audio, when you lowercase every word
It's done so well, hell, let's never capitalize another word
Reaching a point across, when capitalizing every letter,
This is your world, take it, manipulate it, with the perfect stanza
Produce it like a poetic film, imagery, action, CUT it like Jerry Bruckheimer
One day Hollywood will incite a roll, looking for the best poetry soup rhymer
Your tears and affection, you pour on partial paper,
Showing every word you want to enunciate
A SHOULDER-- gone cold, drowning, forgetting the normal way
Writing about the pure religion that meets your light,
A beautiful flower under the moonlight
Hear the bells, Poe wrote about, adding sprinkles to the twinkle in your eyes,
A redolent scent not meant to be forgotten, from Eden's garden
Taking nature, by course, granting her a crown, before slamming us down
I will call her out --The evil and the fury of a goddess, a beast
This is my feast, I welcome you to my jungle, and the outer bounds of time.
If you ever question where it comes from?
Sit down and get a load off, listen---Where's the ecstatic applause?
I'm not afraid to say, -----I'm Proud to be A Poet Without A Cause
I do it for fun
Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2014
Inside a knowledge turning cogs on this wheel
born from the darkness a heart rules supreme
fear in one wish looking towards tunnel light love
All that will remain when all turns to dust threads of life dance
kneeling weak alone humble and meek finding a balance
Weeping rivers flow haunting sea waves turn the key
truth is something beautiful touching deeply chords
Chilling whispers rise warm oasis warmly embraces hold
creeping inside beauty beams within shadows
Dancing starlight kissing ocean reflections twinkle
sparkle glisten teardrops coldly ripple out
Floating on a cloud of breath precious beauty
a mystery that means something special
finest mother of pearl gem coloring rainbow jewel shines forever
Frozen dew quicksilver lining echoes time answers always
cold as ice crystals dazzling diamond stillness pure
Frosted vision clear cutting ivory white one cool snowflake falls
baptism in regal glowing crowning full face splendor enchants a ball
walking along golden strands looking across the sea midnight strikes
Sleepless nights held over and back destiny calls your name
utopia faraway dreaming our love complete
Copyright © liam mcdaid | Year Posted 2015
The King of Sanctimonious
Perched high upon his throne-ious
Clothed in purple pious-ness
Admired his own self-righteous-ness
The Queen of Sanctimonious
Tired of the King's baloney-ous
When he counts his hoards of money
To him, sweeter than his honey
In a court that wasn't courteous
The Queen cried, "you're oblivious!"
But he wasn't aware, nor did he care
He'd become a Royal hypocrite
Day after day, he counted each coin
The ritual put a flutter in his groin
Reveling in his Royal room
Soon became his tomb of gloom
The Royal epitaph was no baloney-ous
When the king was found
'Tis said he drowned
In a fermented bottle of loneliness
Copyright © Karen Anglesey | Year Posted 2013
Lapis lazuli mines with wide blue eyes
bringing to mind precious stones and
caramel scones; innocent and wise -
Wondering, yet without surprise.
Staring down the universe, a challenge
in your look though you are young;
The earth made only nine revolutions
since you came out to see the sun.
Unguarded and arched, your brows
betray high wire tension; enough
to light up a hundred moons and warm
plump cheeks to cherry bubble gum.
Be not impatient to grow; you smell
of open grasshopper meadows
and firefly lighted lakeshore walks.
You’re a mother’s envy and pride.
Red lips! Your passion for life exists.
Scarlet, lipstick would be a surfeit -
Today as then till many summer’s been,
your spirit will always be free as the mist.
After: Portrait of Carol Nye Rhoades (Robinson) (1915)
For Debbie Guzzi's Challenge: Ten Pictures, Ten Poems, Ten Days - Painting No. 2
Kim Patrice Nunez
08 January 2016
Poem of the Week: January 10-16, 2016
Copyright © KP Nunez | Year Posted 2016
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
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
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
Leaves talking, beautiful demise
If a leaf could talk, it would say, please, take your time
life is acted out in stages, every song has it's rhyme
When a leaf dies, its dynamic impressions in its flight
a stunning display of artistry, dazzling to the sight
Green turns to crimson, flaming tangerine and gold
a leaf's transforming demise is a beauty to behold
As sap runs dry, youthful vitality turns evanescent
the beauty of a leaf's demise is resplendent iridescence
A leaf's downfall, granted, is a casualty of the season
it's journey into oblivion, is transfixing beyond reason
When a leaf, takes its leave, exits gracefully the scene
We're left breathless with the vision, an event to be seen
Copyright © John Hamilton | Year Posted 2016
On such divine evenings, thus,
Are perfect odes not freely spun?
The Perseids, dancing their jigs,
Fleeting stripes of golden ire
Under a tapestry of wonders.
Watching rapt, ever-attentive,
Streaking, burning ephemeral,
As if the gods themselves
Trace their fingertips gently
On a phosphorescent brine,
But this, yet, a sea of suns.
Could it be they are fleeting?
The hopes of angels, perhaps,
Dying bright in the veil of Zion,
To the earth, fallen, as if mortal.
Perchance they're pearls of Sol -
Strands of liquid morning, pure,
To adorn the breast of Heaven.
Could be they're forsaken souls,
Given one last chance to burn,
And sign their id on the firmament.
Or even yet, the wishes of children,
Sparkling to life in the midst of their
Deepest dreaming, and then gone.
Oh, surely it must be that, just ...
Their bright, momentary glory is
Meant for such tender fancy alone,
The imaginings of youth the only
Fit and worthy vessel for such runes,
And I but an ever-willing caretaker.
Thus, on such divine evenings ...
** FIRST PLACE in the "Cosmos" Poetry Contest, Thvia Shetley, Sponsor. **
** Featured as "Poem Of The Day" on August 7, 2017 - thank you, admins! **
Copyright © Gregory R Barden | Year Posted 2017