Get Your Premium Membership

Best Myth Poems | Poetry

Below are the all-time best Myth poems written by Poets on PoetrySoup. These top poems in list format are the best examples of myth poems written by PoetrySoup members

Search for Myth poems, articles about Myth poems, poetry blogs, or anything else Myth poem related using the PoetrySoup search engine at the top of the page.

See Also:

Poems are below...



New Myth Poems

Don't stop! The most popular and best Myth poems are below this new poems list.

Autumn Myth by Kingston , Wayne
Ten Percent Brain Myth by harris, matthew
Its a myth by kandawire, patrick Denis
Myth Or A Mystery by White, Wendy
Teke Teke A Japanese Myth by Ng, Sil
Myth by Krampe, Agnes
God is not a myth by Garcia Howard Bramble, Patricia
Not a myth but a fact by Garcia Howard Bramble, Patricia
The Christian Republican Myth by Chos, Derek
Volcanic Myth by McKeithan, Oliver

View all new Myth Poems

The Best Myth Poems

Details | Myth Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Here, Again: The Autumn Equinox

Written for the Avebury Gorsedd, 24th September 2016  
I wish you well...

I’m here, again…
Come riding in, upon the western wave
My hair all wove with golden leaves, my breast
As pale as moonlight on a hidden grave
And all the sins of summer long confessed

I come, again…
In sweeping skirts, with white swan feathers strewn
To brush the summer dust from weary grass
Make ash of aspen, damp the flame of noon
Before the frost freeze water into glass 
 
I bring, to you…
Windfallen apples, berries from the hedge
Long shadows on the barrows, and the chalk
Wild winds to stir the willows and the sedge
And mist, and myth, down every path you walk

I’m here, again…
The promise of the harvest to fulfil
The energy of autumn, streaming through
The swirling springs that spiral round the hill
To drench the land in red and russet hue

I come, again…
Between the longest day and shortest night
To fill the blood and marrow of your bones
With all the orange glory of the light
Before the dark descend upon the stones

I bring, to you…
A cornucopia of ripened fruit
Dark juices of the vine in bottles bright
To nourish soul and body, to transmute
Your thought to dream, your dream to second sight

For I am She…
Am Autumn writ, in every field and tree
Am mistress of the Owl and running Hare
So yield unto my kiss, and blesséd be
And dance with me, oh Druid, if you dare…

@ Gail Foster 23rd September 2016


Copyright © Gail Foster | Year Posted 2016


Details | Myth Poem | Create an image from this poem.

A Psychedelic Whistle Plays a Rhythm into the Darkness

A 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 | Myth Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Blood Red Moon

Blood Red Moon

Deep devouring passions bleed now from this solar eclipse 
As black blood flows from an evil army of “undead” beings 
Whose fangs hideously and cruelly pierce the veins of their 
Mesmerized and unsuspecting victims who are held at bay.

In such silence burdens prowl inside deep sad heartbeats 
As ghastly living shadows creep eerily in and knot the 
Tortured guts of a twisted scared bloodless life falling 
Under the dark macabre gaze of the Blood Red Moon.

At night uncanny black magic spells are intoned in the 
Old Latin scripture as large spider webs cast a gloomy 
Presence and envelope now all those trapped by them as 
The misted breath bleeding hearts howl to Heaven’s roar. 

Standing upon a rugged and lonely mountain crossroad 
There can be no release from the devilish glare of the
Vaunted “Blood Red Moon” whose evil presence pervades
Every breath you take and casts a demonic derisive stare.

My senses are now frozen in place as a deep chill shakes
My soul to the very core of its primordial existence as I 
React to the cutting cold of a dawning maleficent darkness 
Invading every corner and space of my psyche and existence.

The wicked jaws of a rabid beast seek now to bite and rip
All beauty from me and all thoughts I hold close and dear 
As I gasp now for life and painfully feel my tired heartbeat 
Slow as my immortal soul numbs and cries crocodile tears. 

I’m cursed now to walk alone forever as my spilled remains 
Are cut now and my ties of human existence have disappeared 
Putting me on the ground on all fours as I ponder my ultimate
Fate in the hands of a supernatural force beyond any mercy. 
 
As the shadow of Lucifer’s Blood Red Moon passes over my
Tortured face I spy a look at one demonic siren prompting me
Now to follow her as my body is placed on a sacrificial alter
And my life ebbs away as I’m kissed by spirits of the damned!

Gary Bateman and Liam McDaid – A Collaborated Poem
Copyright © All Rights Reserved – October 11, 2015 
(Narrative Quatrain)


Copyright © Gary Bateman | Year Posted 2015


Details | Myth Poem | Create an image from this poem.

- 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 | Myth Poem | Create an image from this poem.

White Wolf And The Raven

Rest yourself, my white wolf friend
Take your time, until we hunt again

You've filled you belly, as I have mine
We have much time, until next we dine

Then tis I, who will take to the skies
Yes once more, I will be your eye's

I'll spy a creature, then lead you there
Where you'll snarl, white teeth you'll bare

You'll fight our foe, to provide our need
Fresh dead carcass, from which we feed

When seen together, it seems so rare
But that makes us,such an odd pair

So rest yourself my wolf, of fur so white
Soon my black feathers, will again take flight

10/18/17

contest;Could you please
sponsor;Broken Wings


Copyright © Brenda Chiri | Year Posted 2017


Details | Myth Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Halloween's Evil Visage Cometh

Halloween’s Evil Visage Cometh

Halloween’s Evil Visage Cometh now alive in this famous predestined time
Where dubious shadow shades run a riot as the ghastly ghosts of darkness,
Begin calling to all goblins, ghosts, ghouls, and witches in the graveyards;
To come alive—as black cats call out their signals to all lost souls seeking, 
Powerful black magic spells to aid the spirits of ancient alchemists as they
Brew their potions to dull the senses and conjure all the evil spirits on Earth.  

A falling silver-layer mist appears as these uncanny evil spirits invade our
Mortal plane and lost ghosts appear as hungry human skeletons looking for 
Sustenance and seem to be horrified at the stillness broken by a death-cold.
They scream as bloodless fingers touch cold shivers without a warm heart; 
And who knows for sure the sad and mournful song from an ancient grave,
As “The Undead” conjure ravenous demons seeking warm blood to feast on. 

Blended into the dust are the crows whose shadows as a “Dark Phantom,”
Begin to form and take his shape—yet fear not the potent occult light as
That special Halloween Eve super moon beams brilliant and bright making  
Its presence known as your destiny and destination are already decided as
The Ancient Alchemist beckons all of us to drink widely from his mystical
Chalice of Darkness as all malice is reconciled—the birds and beasts speak.
 
Life as we know it is offered upon the Demonic Alter as the Dark Phantom
Initiates all human sacrifices as a drool-dripping envy of all existence drops; 
And the lustful and vengeance-seeking Vampires scrape along the walls as
Sharp poisonous thorns begin tearing behind their secret inner-vision as the 
Deep-dark and dismally-damp curtains open and eclipse the radiant dawn as
An unpleasant and horrible pain visits and our heartbeats grow faint and stop.

An unending agony screams sonorously as a deafening silence falls over us. 
In this “Land of the Dead,” they make their own laws overwriting all limits,
As a vile, creeping, malevolent mist crawls down into the valley deep below; 
The Devil's Advocate slithers on in a nasty, vicious way under your own skin,
As shivering timbers of truth of a living being watches outside our bodies on 
This Halloween Eve as our individual dreams enter the Twilight Zone forever! 

The Devil’s clever wizards and witches concoct an ancient poisonous mixture,
As the boiling cauldron of demonically-enhanced soup is stewed with care and 
Fresh toads, spiders, worms, beetles, ticks, and tiny black snakes are added in.
This unholy and potent poisoned soup from centuries past is now blessed by
The Dark One—to take life from the living and give nourishment to the dead,
As the veil between The Living and The Dead disappears on Halloween Eve!   

Gary Bateman, Anne-Lise Andresen, and Liam McDaid
A Collaborated Poem, Copyright © All Rights Reserved
(October 1, 2015) (Free Verse)


Copyright © Gary Bateman | Year Posted 2015


Details | Myth Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Blood Red Moon

Blood Red Moon

Deep devouring passions bleed now from this solar eclipse 
As black blood flows from an evil army of “undead” beings 
Whose fangs hideously and cruelly pierce the veins of their 
Mesmerized and unsuspecting victims who are held at bay.

In such silence burdens prowl inside deep sad heartbeats 
As ghastly living shadows creep eerily in and knot the 
Tortured guts of a twisted scared bloodless life falling 
Under the dark macabre gaze of the Blood Red Moon.

At night uncanny black magic spells are intoned in the 
Old Latin scripture as large spider webs cast a gloomy 
Presence and envelope now all those trapped by them as 
The misted breath bleeding hearts howl to Heaven’s roar. 

Standing upon a rugged and lonely mountain crossroad 
There can be no release from the devilish glare of the
Vaunted “Blood Red Moon” whose evil presence pervades
Every breath you take and casts a demonic derisive stare.

My senses are now frozen in place as a deep chill shakes
My soul to the very core of its primordial existence as I 
React to the cutting cold of a dawning maleficent darkness 
Invading every corner and space of my psyche and existence.

The wicked jaws of a rabid beast seek now to bite and rip
All beauty from me and all thoughts I hold close and dear 
As I gasp now for life and painfully feel my tired heartbeat 
Slow as my immortal soul numbs and cries crocodile tears. 

I’m cursed now to walk alone forever as my spilled remains 
Are cut now and my ties of human existence have disappeared 
Putting me on the ground on all fours as I ponder my ultimate
Fate in the hands of a supernatural force beyond any mercy. 
 
As the shadow of Lucifer’s Blood Red Moon passes over my
Tortured face I spy a look at one demonic siren prompting me
Now to follow her as my body is placed on a sacrificial alter
And my life ebbs away as I’m kissed by spirits of the damned!

Gary Bateman and Liam McDaid – A Collaborated Poem
Copyright © All Rights Reserved – October 11, 2015 
(Narrative Quatrain)


Copyright © liam mcdaid | Year Posted 2015


Details | Myth Poem | Create an image from this poem.

The Bewitching Call of the Siren

The Bewitching Call of the Siren

She ululates a forlorn desire for a human love;
She’s pure evil, not from God’s Heaven above.
This siren’s seductive melody is heard on all seas,
And even on the largest lakes and flowing rivers;
Bringing even seafarers near Die Lorelei to shivers! 
Beguiling young sailors to such a ghastly death;
This vile creature’s venom is felt with each breath!
Her visage is one of true love and blessed pulchritude,
Yet Lucifer’s mask is dark with great evil certitude!
Her perfumed scent enlivens her victims’ senses,
While her dark green eyes and deep wet kisses;
Mesmerize her prey, oblivious now to all consequences;
Now feeling her fatal bites and hearing her hideous hisses! 
She taketh all pleasure in her world of this evil measure,
Enthralling all her sad victims to a most horrible death;
Now Lucifer counts with joy the lost souls’ treasure!
Always sans merci this siren be to those in her grot,
As her victims find their souls lost to Hell’s dark rot!
Beware say I to all good seafarers, do heed this tale well;
Be deaf to this siren’s call or your life shall end in Hell! 

Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved,
July 4, 2016 (Canzone)


Copyright © Gary Bateman | Year Posted 2016


Details | Myth Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Mystical Mermaid


hidden below the echoing cold indigo sea
     a mermaid dwells . . . 
mystical as told in myths if you believe
          breathtakingly beautiful and sensual .  . .
in her cobalt blue cave . . .  
she keeps gems and treasure chests stolen
      the sailors dizzy with lust
lured into the sea by her liquid musical murmur
and   D
           O
              W
                 N     they fall to be no more . . . 
and when the ship crashes into jagged rocks
     breaking apart and becoming part of the sea
she comes silently beneath the tumbling waves
             to take anything that shines 
to her watery underwater cave . . . 
    where they sparkle and glow for her
she loves to touch each one -
      so beware travelers of the open uncharted sea
a beautiful mermaid is waiting
to   d r o w n   you in the unforgiving dark depths
and steal all that sparkles
only to decorate her blue cobalt cave . . .   
_______________________
August 1, 2016

Poetry/Free Verse/Mystical Mermaid
Copyright Protected, ID 16-813-213-0
All Rights Reserved.  Written under Pseudonym.

Written for the Premiere Contest, Caves,
sponsor, Anthony Slausen

Fifth Place


Copyright © Dear Heart | Year Posted 2016


Details | Myth Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Eagle and the Dove


Gather around the sacred fire, my children
Let the embers' glow spark your curiosity
as we begin on this journey together;
to the time of how things once were,
to the time of how things came to be
In the beginning,
there was no war, only peace
There was no hate, only love
Harmony existed between all things,
it was the age when the eagle flew alongside the dove
Now the eagle lived high in the cliff of a great mountain,
and the dove lived in the lush valley below
And the seasons continued unabated,
from the summer's heat to the winter's snow
Then one day as the eagle sat, perched high atop his domain,
an evil thought entered his heart,
that only he alone over everything should reign
He felt because he was the most powerful bird,
his voice should always have the final word
So he gathered the other birds together,
to have them agree to make him their chief
The falcon and the hawk said they liked the idea
The raven and the owl said lets not be so hasty
The debate went on for days,
and the eagle grew restless with each passing hour
Until the stork delivered him a message,
during one spring early morning shower
The message said that the dove and the swan,
never came to a meeting, no not once
Thus, the eagle flew down to the edge of the pond,
and asked the swan about his absence
The swan said such matters concern him not,
let he who rule, let him rule just
As for the whereabouts of the dove, the swan said
he was in a cove by the big tree with the chestnuts
The eagle went and confronted the dove,
and accused him of stalling his coronation oblation
The dove replied with a gentle reproof,
saying to go down this wicked path will divide the earth into two nations
One will love war, and the other will love peace
One will hate killing, and the other will hate mercy
One will love freedom, and the other will love slavery
One will hate healing the pain, the other will hate causing hurt and misery
The eagle got angry at what the dove had to say,
and they no longer flew together after that day
So now you know, children, the story of the eagle and the dove
Which will you choose?
Will you choose to love hate,
or choose to live the peaceful way
Will you choose to hate love,
or choose to possess the spirit of a dove


Copyright © Freddie Robinson Jr. | Year Posted 2016


Details | Myth Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Irish Nectar of the Sun Goddess

Irish Nectar of the Sun Goddess

This mystical aura of golden radiant sunbeams so sublime
With a warm mead laying lovely below its enchanted neck,
Is breathless releasing gasps of white-hot-fire breaths now, 
All spiritual within one and a thousand sighs, it whistles too.

Brightly your radiance shines through the deep blue oceans
Where rainbows are misted with shades inside a desire born,
With curtains falling—revealing a beauty spot held precious,
Whilst in your heart glows warmly a true love priceless pure.

A royal crown bestoweth upon thine mantel of soft ‘n purest silk,
Now spangled as dewdrops glisten brightest on mirrored slippers,
As a divine swan upon one wave began dancing on joyous ripples,
An old Irish jig played on in this moment dancing you and I, as two.

The Merry Old Leprechaun looked on with his wee-soft eye twinkle  
As the Sun Goddess giveth her divine breath to this sacred harvest; 
Now to beareth the sweetest of fruit with warmest rays of gentleness,
So all can shareth this grandest garden moment of holy eternal glory.

We all shall now, forever and ever, prosper in this heavenly abundance
Whilst we sheddeth a most wee-curious light into this eternal paradise,
As you and I, and the Merry Old Leprechaun shareth a passion so true,
We drinketh gladly the sweet ‘n stout Irish Nectar of the Sun Goddess!

Gary Bateman and Liam McDaid – A Collaborated Poem
Copyright © All Rights Reserved (January 17, 2017) 
(Quatrain)


Copyright © Gary Bateman | Year Posted 2017


Details | Myth Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Within A Dream Divine

“Within A Dream Divine.”
By,
Michael P Clarke.

Within a dream divine we come together in our love
Your beauty shines as the sky becomes aflame
The sky now afire with the greatest desire
My love come to me in the heart of my dream
Everything merges in my dreams of passion
Soon i shall be singing love’s song
“Screaming Eagle” cries as he soars through a fiery sky
Soon he shall become man again while my dream does sing
“Prancing Horse” she is come again and she runs to me
She shall become the woman she was and my song shall sing
What joy my friends coming shall bring
The greatest joy of all lies across my legs
My “Running Wolf” is here and soon man again
Within a dream divine we shall all be together again
So many thoughts drift through my mind
My inner cosmos bringing my thoughts to an inner reality that does sing for me
Once more the blessed night shall give me life
Through my mind pictures shall dance forever
Love shall ever be mine and my friends never gone
I am “Star Maiden” and the mind is my home
“Running Wolf” do change as the last flame does leave the sky
Let us spend our night Within A Dream Divine


Copyright © Vladislav Raven | Year Posted 2017


Details | Myth Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Spirit Wolf - Villanelle

(Villanelle.)

“Spirit Wolf.”
By,
Michael P Clarke.

The spirit wolf stands his watch upon the rise,
He looks out on the cold white virgin snow,
While snow falls from the cold grey winter skies.

The wolves can hear his melancholy cries,
As the winter winds decide now to blow,
The spirit wolf stands his watch upon the rise.

The snow upon the ground oh how it lies,
The spirit wolf patrols the rise so slow,
While snow falls from the cold grey winter skies.

He calls upon the wind his sad goodbyes,
To those whose time has come to surely go,
The spirit wolf stands his watch upon the rise.

The spirit wolf watches new spirits rise,
His amber eyes they now are all aglow,
While snow falls from the cold grey winter skies.

His spirit power upon the dead bestow,
The spirit wolf stands his Watch upon the rise.
The spirit wolf his glory now does glow,
While snow falls from the cold grey winter skies.


Copyright © Vladislav Raven | Year Posted 2017


Details | Myth Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Buried Beneath

When the moon smiled crimson
weakness departs...
Set, you're the storm darkly clouding skies
across a red desert stained
in an ancient evil being
one spawned recoiled serpent deceiver
under the sands hides
bringing disorder mixed with violence
creating war destroying all good
where nothing else matters...

I turn around looking into your eyes
soulfully held captive with shadows
helplessly falling to the knees
as watchful eyes dart
to old desires pulsing ruby red,
perfect prey captured and held
forever in her clutches 
drags hearts to their fates...

Sapphire seas churn, storms pass the centuries
light years from now
when the breathless flame burns blue
an eclipse totally takes over the heart
once upon a time
weakness you fall by the way side
as strength is held
within a union of crowns
for she reigns as queen of the heart
owns every key to my demise...

Buried beneath the sands
and times forgotten
names and dates written
on the surface by her finger,
then blown away
on the same winds she rides,
free to prowl once more.






(A collaboration by Liam McDaid & Kelly Deschler)




Copyright © Kelly Deschler | Year Posted 2016


Details | Myth Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Loch Ness - Constanza


Oh, Loch Ness monster, there you are,
from depths below to surface came...
and Nessie you are called by name.

'Neath eerie moon that glows afar
and thunder clouds with battle cries
that summon lightning to the skies,

you raise your head, just like a star
in monster films, yet you seem real,
and slink with prehistoric zeal.

You come and go...it's so bizarre;
a myth, non-fiction, no one knows,
so short-lived are your sudden shows.

What world below has met your bar,
within the Loch Ness mystery,
that grants you space in history?

Oh, Loch Ness monster, there you are.
Neath eerie moon that glows afar,
you raise your head, just like a star.
You come and go...it's so bizarre.
What world below has met your bar?


Sandra M. Haight

~1st Place~
Premiere Contest: Loch Ness
Sponsor: Thivia Shetley
Constanza Form
Judged: 01/31/2018



Copyright © Sandra Haight | Year Posted 2017


Details | Myth Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Night Mares

The ceiling's dark is swivelling to stars,
but something stirs the sea, turns skies tidal:
the nightly mares who call from moon and Mars
and shake the shackle of daylight's bridle.
They plunder each planet with hooves of hell
and dream-stampede across black plains of night,
past Jupiter, silent as a dead bell,
whilst midnight milk-mists swirl, shining whey-white.

Moonlight churns pale curds from the Milky Way,
snarls clouds around gnarled trees' peridot knots.
The mares will maraud until break of day,
pulverize Pluto to an ink-black blot,
scrape shadows to scar Venus's fair face,
gallop to the outer limits of space.




2 May 2017


Copyright © Charlotte Jade Puddifoot | Year Posted 2017


Details | Myth Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Twilight's Song

“Twilight’s Song.”
By,
Michael P Clarke.

Listen my beloved to Twilight’s Song
It sings of love in spirit’s peace
Of two who loved at river’s bend
Twilight sings its song of love
“Star Maiden” come to tree beloved
Lay down your cover with stately grace
Remember nights of love’s own pleasure
Your “Running Wolf” by your side
Two shining as one by the river
Oh what peace memories can give at twilight 
Listen “Star Maiden” “Running Wolf” he calls to you
His voice sings on the wind
“I come to you my beloved “Star Maiden””
She waits patiently for her love to come
High above “Screaming Eagle” calls to her
“He races the wind to reach you”
Star Maiden smiles within herself 
Twilight’s Song sings on the breeze
“Wolf Runner” stands alone on top of a hill
This hill at the heart of the forest
It is time now to race the wind
To feel the wind ruffle his fur 
As it tries to halt his progress to his beloved
Nothing shall ever stop “Running Wolf”
The spirit wolf runs with such ease
Down the hill he shoots as straight as an arrow
Every paw fall sure
Amber eyes seeing through all to his beloved
His “Star Maiden waits for him
Swiftly moving each muscle working hard
Propelling him ever so quickly to his love
Through the trees this spirit of nature
Moving with ease singing nature’s song
Oh spirit divine love does call you do answer
Run on run on to glory that awaits
A way you know so well "Running Wolf”
As suddenly as you entered the trees
You spring out before “Star Maiden”
The smile that illuminates her face
Her arms outreaching to her eternal beloved
Go to your love and await the dark fall
Then as “Running Wolf” a man born of night
Do fulfill all the wants of your lady
In her arms you feel her joy
Each ruffling of your fur makes you shiver
But the anticipation of what is to come
Lie down by her side and await the end of Twilight’s Song
My children darkness comes and passion’s dream


Copyright © Vladislav Raven | Year Posted 2017


Details | Myth Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Death and Forlorn Time in the Shadows of True Evil

Death and Forlorn Time in the Shadows of True Evil

Death and Time holdeth onto eerie and most frightening shadows
Whilst pervading deeply within that infernal region where the dark  
Evil and uncanny mists occlude the terrifying presence of a great
Dark Doomsday cult of vicious and horrifying beasts that are now
Perpetuated from a putrid Hellspawn by Lucifer’s own command!

Corrupted with the presence of sacrilegious beasts of true violence
Who hate all aspects of humankind with their spirit of maleficence,
And wince not whilst decapitating the heads of those who disagree 
With them, and creating a mindless havoc of unparalleled tragedy 
That’s become an expected, sad occurrence of Mankind writ large!

Brandishing a razor-sharp, coal-black-blade is their evil incarnation, 
Of a time, that’s totally indicative of their chaotic rampage of bloody 
Burning attacks as battlegrounds are drawn into an eternal darkness,
From whence there may be no return since there’s a dark, blood-red
Poison, from the dark afterlife, in which every drop of blood is toxic! 

Every drop of this spilt blood-red poison has a deadly demonic aroma,
That produces nasty swarms of ravenous locusts to torment all innocent
Victims caught between the machinations of Almighty God and Lucifer.
In this reality, these evil spirits cast their malevolent spells without any
Scruple, wishing for Mankind’s swift destruction by Lucifer himself!

Gary Bateman and Liam McDaid – A Collaborated Poem,
Copyright © All Rights Reserved – November 24, 2017 
(Quintain)


Copyright © Gary Bateman | Year Posted 2017


Details | Myth Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Ancient God and Modern Woman I

A vision held my dream hostage....
here let me better explain........

breathtaking azure blue eyes entered on a moon's silvery beam
piercing thru my soul disturbing my lovely dream
Upon looking up i gazed to see dark glistening auburn ringlets framing dimpled cheeks, soft sweet pale rose colored lips with chiseled Chin
to leave me just standing as I  grin

Twas a true god's face to sit atop buffed wide shoulder torso adonis style and waist so slim it holds promise of many sleepless nights....
Thighs so thick could make one choke, muscular calves  down to his feet, more perfect than mine
No mere mortal was this, Twas a gift from gods divine 

What goddess let you go
When he left surely she cried "Thy mustnt go , please no!"
An outstretched hand reached for mine pulling me ever close

Melting unto him I become submissive
Whilst his vibrating touch left me to feel quite delicous 
Awe struck whilst I gazed into his eyes
Ancient Gods touch....errr wait I realize

Alas I am but Modern woman our words don't even mix.......
he then leaned in whispering into my ear "Twould be an easy fix!"






Copyright © Brenda Chiri | Year Posted 2018


Details | Myth Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Here In This Place Today

                           V

Indeed, it is so far, far, far back where last I
Stood in sight of all her unnerving ambiguities...          
This overstated manner inborn of an innate
And intimidating elegance.                                  
The calculated deliberateness accentuated by the 
Slowed turning of that stern head: a vague sense            
Of violent menace that never failed to make
Me feel ill-at-ease;                                        
For what fool would'st knowingly displease                  
This fierce countenance?                                    
Even the uncaring Gods themselves were divided in 
Their garrulous opinions;                                  
Some demanded a sacrifice -- soon a kings invincible
Hands stained with blood! Then the countless                 
Assembled minions                                                                                                                                               
Setting sail upon an opportune wind; 
But, in retrospect...she never was one to give the 
Old rituals but a passing glance.                           
Troubled I find myself wondering if it was 
Just mere chance                                            
That I should find her, alone and waiting, here 
In this place today?                                        
Those ancient immortals she always tried so
Hard to ignore:-                                            
How she detested how they had held great sway                 
In determination of all those things which have
Gone before.                                                


What price now, I ask, of the dire consequence's
Spawned of that woeful oath?                                
Was the soul of even one heroic life really
Worth the cost of that mirthless smile?                     
Oh the staggering magnitude of that deceit! And 
All the long while                                          
The secret assignations...you full knew, both               
Of you, how, eventually, it would end. His boastful
Troth --                                                    
Ill-made right from the very start!                         
She, drunk with all the lewd ecstasies of Dionysus.         
Thus it is, and looking upon her indifferent arrogance, 
So unlike the distorted softening carved into that 
Alabaster bust,                                             
I find I am prompted, once again, to quietly remark                
On what the inner-workings of such a sterile heart          
Could possibly know of love?                                
For they do say the union of beauty and modesty
Is extremely rare;                                                 
Rarer yet the greater dignity required when enabling
Beauty to rise above                                        
An imposition of regal splendour. I suspect the plain 
Truth simply being she just did not, in all honesty,
Ever properly care.            



Copyright © john fleming | Year Posted 2018


Details | Myth Poem | Create an image from this poem.

The Song of the Wren

The wren is singing, high up in the tree
Come, lay your crown beside me on the ground
Come lie with me, my love, come lie with me

For every bloom on earth there is a bee
For every queen a green king to be crowned
The wren is singing high up in the tree

I wore a gown of bright embroidery
I wear my hair with heather flowers wound
Come lie with me, my love, come lie with me

I’m wanton, wild, alive with energy
I want you brought to me in oak leaves bound
The wren is singing high up in the tree

Oh aye, what then, why then I set you free
Oh my, and we get dirty and profound
Come lie with me, my love, come lie with me

You are my king.  I shut my eyes and see
Your silhouette, with sunlight all around
I hear the wren sing, high up in the tree
Come lie with me, my love, come lie with me

© Gail Foster 21st June 2018


Copyright © Gail Foster | Year Posted 2018


Details | Myth Poem | Create an image from this poem.

The Ode To Olaf Olafson

“The Ode To Olaf Olafson.”
By,
Michael .P. Clarke.

(Story Poem)


Alas son of the North
Your end is come
Olaf Olafson
Mighty Viking
To Valhalla soon to go
Child of Odin warrior strong
Your life is a wondrous song
Long it shall sing in memory

 In this twilight of sorrow
Your people remember their Lord
In silence they await procession
All eyes upon the ground
Oh man of the North
The sadness lives this night
A final journey soon to begin
Your longship now awaits

A strong ship
It shall bear you into eternity
Mightiest warriors await you
The halls of glory sing your praise
Oh true Viking son
Your glory is known beyond the stars
On the last day your glory shown
Soon you sit in Odin’s halls

King Harold
In his majesty displayed
Standing on the jetty awaits
A sly smile upon his face
His greatest enemy now gone
Betrayal did kill Odin’s son
On foreign field of England
Olaf’s life song did end

A village lies silent
The North does cry its tears
The Valkyrie ride the sky
Their white flashing trails
They crash down upon the earth
Odin’s thunderous voice calls out from Valhalla
Come my son we await you
Suddenly all becomes still

The rain does stop
The lightning does cease
The thunder does speak no more
Just sorrowed silence
All await you oh son of the North
The preparations complete
Now take your final journey
Valhalla awaits

Silence in the lord’s hall
Tonight it lies dark and sombre
The hill on which it stands bleak
The doors open
Two men come forth with torches
The brazieres are beginning to be lit
The hall of Olaf does seem to come alive
Now the hill not so bleak

Oh son of the North
Lie still upon your wooden litter
Oh man of strength and power
Odin awaits you in the kingly halls
Now let your song end
It is time
All are ready for the final walk
Come to Valhalla

The night is cold in the North tonight
By the jetty a mighty longship moored
The fjord in darkness awaits a death ceremony
From Olaf’s hall on the hill a woman wails
Sorrow does permeate the Northern air
On the sigh of the breeze a hero is called
The ceremony of death shall soon begin
A Viking Lord shall sail into Valhalla

To Be Continued..........


Copyright © Vladislav Raven | Year Posted 2018


Details | Myth Poem | Create an image from this poem.

A Mythical Creature

The sun dulled to a shade of green,
A creature hanging there I hadn't seen
Wings of webs and sparkling coloured hues
Seeming to be smiling at me, head tilted

A mystical creature there only I could see
The sun eclipsed; the darkness brings
a creature hanging with webbed wings,
seeming to smile at me, with fiery breath.

A mystical beast, a Dragon I could see.
It was not a span ago I remember,
they needed and had asked of me.
To think of their form so bold,

to give them the life they knew of old.
The mighty dragon hanging so near,
brushing away clouds of innate fear.
Pulsing wing beats shattered the glade,

yet held me safely in his mystical shade.
A voice of an Angel touched my ear.
"Thank you, for seeing my presence clear.”
“My Dragon's form in infinite perfection,

asking of me a new conception”.
"Do tell me of this Earth so changed,
now no castles and dungeons dwell.
Where I did roam for many years,

there maidens fled in horrifying tears.”
“Oh mighty creature, It is sad to say
those things don't exist today.”
”It has been a long, long, time for you

just wait I'll see what I can do?”
I sat thinking for an unusual time,
but could only think of fable and rhyme.
It did come to me in the end,

where a Dragon could happily blend.
Disney was looking for something new
Harry potter was in a right stew.
”Can you fly when asked my dragon of fire”?

Snorting smoke, he flew higher and higher.
I told him of films and fun so grand,
of castles Built in another land.
"Hold on!" I said as I found a strand.

"Can you fly to New Zealand?"
A nod from him and a smile so wide,
on his back I flew on, an incredible ride.
To star in The Hobbit was my dream too,

my dragon and me headed for pastures new.
A cloud of steam emitted from the stream
the mighty Dragon was just a dream.
At the bottom of the hill dust settled around,

I felt such a fool, as I hit the ground.


Copyright © Ian Howard | Year Posted 2011


Details | Myth Poem | Create an image from this poem.

A Day on the Farm

"You really wanna know? Cause I'll tell ya if you really wanna know. You'll be thinkin' I'm crazy before I'm done, but I'll tell ya... ifn' you really wanna know." The day started like any other, up before dawn, breakfast and fuel for the combine. Outa' the window I saw the sun rise above the horizon, no clouds in the sky, waves of heat pulsing like slow heart beats above the drying wheat fields. Already the fields are half bare. The twenty two acres out past the barn were harvested last week before the weather started to change and the 40 acres at the bottom of Rocky Point was finished just yesterday, hell'uv-a-place to plant wheat, what with all them rocks that broke three disc blades and the boulders that we had to plant around, too late to dynamite 'em by the time the rain stopped last spring. The plow got stuck in the muck for a whole day before we got the seeds in. But we did it and reaped a good return on our efforts that first year, thank God. I remember that piece of land from when I was young. We used to have an old green barn out there where we kept the live stock. Paw said it wasn't much good for nothin' else, said you couldn't grow anything out there. I think he was just scared to. There'd always been rumors 'bout that place. Some folks said that Indians had buried their Chiefs under the big boulders, and prayed to their heathen gods up on the hill that looked over the valley, said that some day they was gonna come back and reclaim this land for themselves, at least that is, that sacred part below the hill. Every morning around 6 o'clock me and Johnny would run out to that barn to feed the chickens and slop the hogs. He was always faster 'n me so he got to choose whatever he wanted to do. He liked slopping the pigs even though they smelled to high heaven. He liked ride'n on there backs. I'd laugh my head off when they threw him in the mud and he'd have to hide from Paw so he wouldn't know. Paw would wack him good if he found out. I can hear him now, "Boy I'll burn your hide if'n you don't keep off of them pigs. Your gonna break their backs. Your gonna wind up kill'n one of 'em, one of these days." Johnny would always be quick to reply, "But paw we're just gonna eat 'em anyways." Hard to believe I always like them hams so good at Easter after smell'n 'em for so many years. "I know, I know, I'm git'n to it. Give me a minute. I wanna get it straight. It ain't easy to talk about and you weren't there." I saw the clouds rollin' in long before I got out to the good fields on the other side of the creek. This was where our best grain was grown. We bought this land the year that Paw passed. I remember the tears Maw cryed when we got it. It'd been a dream Paw had for a long time. He was gonna put a road through it to the main highway so's to cut our drive to town by five miles. I've always felt bad that he never got to see it. I went on watchin' them clouds wonderin' if we might just have us a late fall twister brew'n. They was nasty look'n and it's been nasty hot for this time of year. I pulled the choke on the old combine and it coughed to a stop. Didn't see any rain fall'n as I neared the creek from the Rocky Point side but it was get'n aweful dark, and the clouds were startin' to swirl and boil way up in the sky. As I watched I swear on my Paws grave that I saw a horse runnin' across the sky. It was like the ones you see when your layin' on your back in the grass on a hot summer day lookin' up at the sky and pickin' out shapes in the clouds,... but it wasn't. It was breathin' and glarin' at me with fiery demon eyes. Then out of the darkness I saw another shape. It was a face, all white with dark puffy round cheeks. It looked like the pictures of Santa Claus we used to take with the kids after the Thanks Givin' day parade downtown. He'd huff and he'd puff and his cheeks would billow out and all-a-sudden he'd let out this big bellow, "Ho, Ho, Ho, Merry Christmas," but when the face in the cloud bellowed no sound came out, just ice cold wind. It near 'bout froze me to my seat in that old combine. The windows glazed over with frost and my hand got stuck to the steerin' wheel for a second, pulled some skin off get'n em free. I turned on the headlights and wipers and as the Window cleared I could see ice twinkling like jewels on all of the wheat stalks. Down by the bridge I could see the weeds reflected in a thin layer of ice covering the water. Then all Hell broke loose. Thunder so loud I couldn't think clear, and lightnin' everywhere striking every rock and boulder. Mist rose up after each hit like ghost risen' out of the grave. I forgot about the cold cause the storm froze me solid. A bolt of lightnin' hit the top of the combine and the thunder shook the cab so bad I hit my head on the back of the seat. For a few minutes I was in a daze but as my head cleared I could see fires all over Rocky Point. I didn't have time to do anything but start the engine of the combine and move it over the bridge to the next field so it wouldn't burn up too. I watched as all the grain left at Rocky Point burned to cinders. Funny thing is all the other fields around that one were OK. Not one never burned. It was like someone drew a line around the place, strangest thing. The weather guy on TV tried to explain it. What'd he call it? Oh, a micro... something, blow, burst, something like that. He didn't explain what I saw, but that don't matter no more. It's over and done. Lost all that good grain, though. Had some scientist from the college down in Lawton come by and do some lookin'. They kept scratchin' their heads and mumblin', looked kinda befuddled to me. We talked and they said something about the soil ph was wrong and there seemed to be salt all through the dirt, maybe all the way down to the bedrock. Well, All I know is I'm guessin' nothin'll ever grow in that field again. Can't rightly say for sure though, never plan on findn' out.
11/20


Copyright © James Inman | Year Posted 2015


Details | Myth Poem | Create an image from this poem.

The Nearsighted Dragon

To celebrate his new glasses,
home a nearsighted dragon, did fly.
the doctor had truly, helped his sight.
A party he’d throw, full of savories; 
on many delicacies, his friends would feed.
All night they’d party, till morning’s light.

His patio torches, he’d blow on to light;
water spots, he’d removed, from every glass. 
He decided a menu, for his friends, to feed.
Off to the grocery, with his bags, he did fly;
oh, how he did savor,
his brand new, eyesight.

Dragon, in flight, was a curious sight;
with bags full of food, he did alight.
Dragon truly savored,
his shiny new eyeglasses. 
but as turbulence hit, off they did fly; 
causing him to drop his many bags of feed.

With no food, for his friends, upon which, to feed; 
he dove, in an attempt, to restore his sight;
that nearsighted dragon in half-blind flight.
He looked drunk as the dickens, in broad daylight.
Though he recovered his glasses; 
his sight, again, to savor.

Now he could see, to recover, his savory
menu and headed home, for his friends, to feed.
First he tied on his glasses, 
as to not, lose his sight.
The coals on his grill, he simply blew, to light, 
as his guests all arrived, in true dragon flight.

Hungry dragons in flight,
arrived, dined and savored, 
the meal, he’d prepared by torch light.
On mushrooms and steak and potatoes they did feed;
oh, it was such a bright, festive sight
and they toasted him, with a great clinking of glasses.

Twenty dragons, still too full, to fly;
bedded down, in his cavern, by the morning light.

In dreams, they’d re-savor, 
the spread; what a sight!

Dragon’s friends, just as planned, he truly did feed;
all thanks to his shiny new eyeglasses.


Copyright © M. L. Kiser | Year Posted 2015