Best Symbolism Poems

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Symbolism repost for a fallen soldiers by loving iii, john

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The Best Symbolism Poems

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THE ROSE

~THE ROSE~

This is not a poem about a rose
Nor a poem, about diligence and beauty
Today, I sit and stare at the walls
Walls, that bare the complexity of life
Every breath, every tear I shed in my room
Set out to pollinate every seed, every bud-
Life     once - was the perfection of everything
Now, water drops as I drown in my sentiments
--- Sentiments that no longer hold meaning
I feel so empty now that you are gone.
 
This is not a poem about a rose,
Rather, it may be, I write about death
Death is a man with no face
A man who sits every night
Patiently, he sits on the edge of everything
Waiting and waiting,
For the thorn to prick the stem of who I am,
Who I used to be, in hopes I end the suffering

Every night he sits on the bedside  
Watching and waiting 
As I gaze deep into the dark watery walls
I lose the strength and resilience in my eyes.
Creating a dormancy, that shuts out the light
In a place where darkness prunes itself another day
There and only there,
I draw the silhouettes where life once bloomed
The echoes of my heart still call out your name
A name that no longer exists by my side
Slowly, the musk withers into the air 
In remembrance, you were once here
Perfection Gone, ~And a rose is just a rose~

:) 4-16-16


Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2016

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The End

The End

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

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Love's Alchemy is Eternal

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

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The Age of Poet Destroyer

A diamond in the Frost ... I am Emily, gazing through the years, 
Like Poe from rancid taste and dark smoke shadows
Florescent waste escaping a decrepit yet dulcet wilderness
Backward capabilities frontal verse, I am her the almighty universe 

Ascending from yesterday's fall, literally and visibly
Swore to be everything you loathe most - a felicity of illusions
You will dream of me, a parasite you can't get rid of
Ripped open by paper and pen, rising to a new destination
A Destroyer begging to be free in search of a tender rhapsody
Blind by mediocre poets who tend a false nebulous star
No longer, will I impart into defeat - give in to trophy trust
The time of age, my allies whom I call my friends 
You are more than words on any God-Given-Day

To those unworthy of me, can march away from my parade 
Crying wolves, backstabbing clones, long gone stones
Each file is forgiven & forgotten, however, still trespassing 
Under a microscope, some remain to be a decade of lost words 
Grazing a forest grown for old news dripping water on my belly

No matter, after starvation, I found my way back to the same horizon
Finding time and space among a new docile nation
A buried treasure finding face among a fresh myriad generation
With anchors up, I'm headed full force, against every secret endorsed

I am the one you should not fear, I relish this wonderful community
I am she mounted above all years worn rising like a newborn sword 
Forged by the earth summon by the pirate's moon political creed
Ascending to a sweet ascension with the best kind of immunity
With paper and pen, I sit to please and prosper my poetry need
To you I leave --- Echoes of snow, numbing you with a poetic soul 

Love The Poet Destroyer


Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2015

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Texian Macabre Arena

The First Texian Macabre Arena Ballad (The extended free-fallen edition)
 
In another life, is where I first saw your face!
One summer afternoon, lying wounded next to the dead
Unopened gun powder, mass destruction, a land of disgrace
A blood thirst battlefield is where I first saw your face
The sound of war, hidden behind bleeding hands
Crawlers, render their lives giving grace
 
Jaws of steel, broken, embracing, warm feelings
Summer rain, lungs filled with blood, one last post
Glorious by numbers, screaming blades
Gemstone in touch with the Holy Ghost  
Soldiers come in a little close 
Crawling, missing limbs, 
Twisted nightmare with no ending

Macabre reminder, retracing the aroma of eternal life
Secrets buried like a treasure under walls of sudden death
Revolutionary tears found on a rusted Bowie knife
Lanterns, crackling against the dying wind
Dirt piles of crushed windpipes -- sudden death
Rummage like garbage, the dead Texian
A Falling Alamo Star, taking one last twinkle upon the sky

Forgotten Patriots, I can't remember the names
Written on walls, I can't remember the names
A folktale arena is where I first saw your face
Fairness of stuttered surrender slicing through iron brace
Crawling, with the hunger to live, a clean finish with grace
Exposing, scars needing mother's hands, mothers face

Across infested meadows, the aroma of burning skin
Distant, before Texas and her annexation, 
Gruesome, before I lived, Texas and her mortal sin
I pledge, my love, the honor, a legion, I'm a full blown Texian
To Every Forgotten Texian Patriot----- We Win!

By: PD


Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2014

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BASTARD

"All Children Are Beautiful"

His heart of white, deep shallow wells, yet beautiful
He smirks, a grin, an ego that won't let me in' -he's beautiful
Bastard of beauty, running ashes without a name
A face with no claim, a young man pound from shame 
What is his sin, he's beautiful!
I want to breathe from his ashes, swim through his veins
I want him to come into my light, like a good dame

I sing and tell a tale, a Bastard through the night
His eyes, I waged, I was young and poor, I was saved
Lying down, in the arms of my white knight
My hair he caressed, he came to my light
The furnace burned, the night was fast becoming trite
A lover, he did it well then went back to his wife
A moment so golden, the ages live, his son is born

Another Bastard brought into this world

By: 


Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2014

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Diamond Cut

"A Broken Demo"

In a desperate cry for help
She hires every jeweler
A cheap sheep crying, Wolf!
Using old repeating politic
utilizing lies * manipulation 
To cover the Glass Paste on her face
     Diamond-like - Stonecold and Crooked!

Her true shape -- unveiled -- predictable 
    A Thief Among The Mines
In a world where certainties are few---
Promises! Promises! 
A shallow cut - with high class
   no shape --- no spark, a dark mass
Smashing success when opportunity hits
The worst gem in disguise
The diamonds in her eyes -- gone -- expired

If you look, you will see
A twisted reflection in her evil grin
A sinister smile -- waiting to win
Her Vice - a victim --- her puppet
  blind * believing her lies
Cutting the light performance -
   -Without realizing most see past her history

We the people are more than a cubic step
Lighting the madness of her soul
Just remember, every day she sits on her pedestal
Without a twinkle --- she stares into night
Knowing nothing she stands for is right
 
Innovation - incomplete 
A man-made she-demon trying to wear white
Like the swan, dying every night
She refused to hear the trumpet play
A new moon soon will open our eyes
EXPOSED  ---  Diamond CUT
Hillary Will Not Be President 

#The Poet Destroyer


Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2016

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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

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The Ballad Of Poet Destroyer

"The Ballad of The Poet Destroyer"

Destroyer, and creator of words
Flying high on the wings of a bird
Drowning every inch, by foes and friends
Where has she gone?

When push came to shove, 
She continued standing tall after every fall
Falling fearlessly like the falling star tapping the lips
Topaz, a star in the eyes of envy the enemy
A dreamlike, miracle mirage, fresh like mints
No reason in remembering yesterday's sad song
Slightly she moves in with the new barren breeze,
A maze in disguise, no way out
A feeling so good, you hate
The naming of names, that won't escape you 
Your eyes of lust, imitate PD's sweetest touch, 
Destruction, with pleasure
A new day, killed by the morning after pill
Everyone gone, shadows remain
Where, has she gone? 

A feeling so good, you hate
Your unmatched precision, wobbles your stability
She'll give you a taste of rays, despite your low self-esteem 
Happiness turns to sadness, making every jaw drop
Where has she gone?

She's not the painting of Mona Lisa, 
However, it does not stop you from spending your cash-
-To see a picture painted with a frown,
Look what you've done!

Never to return, what was, what is!
You say you love her, then you run
A dry barrel, an empty gun, 
Never will the enemy be number one, 
Nothing but a shadow, a rug for PD,
Like a dream, her imagery is haunting
Love her or leave her, her pen name remains
Poet O' Poet where are you?

Advocate of smiles, enjoy her copy paste kiss
Trace her silhouette found in the midnight mist
Blindfolded, indulge by the wind
Breaking, the Texas Hold EM' Hand
Her freedom, her land
Gone insane, she laughs, 
Untouched she remains, she lives
Inside of me

By; PD


Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2014

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The Old Dark House

The Old Dark House

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


Copyright © Gary Bateman | Year Posted 2016

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Whisky Moment

~the Fear of Never~ A DRINK TO REMEMBER!


   And the fire catches every time, my heart needs a sip
I bear no shame pouring, poisoned pabulum whisky down 
Lost in a place with hungry whores, ink paying  gigolos 
This night a respected gentleman put's on his evening gown
He sits in front of a mic playing the same old sad song
Fitted out in drag, his wife has no clue
Holy breeders trying to change my shoes
Lingering from the Cute Chinaman, running his tab sky high
Bluebirds of jealousy, set round the vintage Barstool like fools
Minds overpowered and threaten to the very nub

I am drunk-- in his eye, 
He receives a macabre confession of possessiveness 
I am drunk-- in her eye,
She has a sick confession of subconsciousness 

Broken loose from a negative, regressive state of mind
Sit and enjoy this broken bottle of champagne 
Unspoken rage in every empty can left behind
A shot glass drops from my unstable hands longing to hold a pen
I look into a mirror and embrace every meaning of stability
Blotting out the madness behind a metal cage of reality
At times, I feel the need to bring down this masquerade 
A drink so hostile, I can't even remember my image and name 

Too many scars, from the foster of paper and pen
My dependents are drunken demons from a traumatized childhood 
Tonight I will legislate a special thanks
Holding up my cup, until death finds my note 
I will smile, at every Judge and Jury, during karaoke night
Shutting down my eyes, fantasizing everything's gonna be alright
I will not  jilt knowing, writers block haunted my days away
Insecure hoarding monsters enjoying spoil forgotten words
Tonight I thirst like never before, my tongue inscribes around a tin cup
I am not eating up by it, no matter how long I've drowned in it
This is my kind of whisky, my thoughts, my days of ammo 
To tell you the truth, I possess no desire to drink
It's all about the love of poetry and how sober, I become (WITHOUT)
The monsters that reside inside, have one thing to say

"Give me Poetry, or give me Death!"

by: PD


Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2014

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Soul mates solace

When my final shadows cling on desperately
Where I fight formidable battles
to merely hold the light
I send you loving vibrations
and soul sustenance
Deep from the cathedral
of one heart to another
where today no choirs sing
nor symphonies play
Yet it is here where we meet
in spiritual solace
here to surrender 
and exchange inestimable treasures
recollecting memories 
like unopened letters
Galaxies are stretched
over chronicles of shared history
Nebula birthing stars
will be exposed
in forth-coming conversations
bringing short-lived fulfillment to you
Hungry to feast
now will be the time
to approve your blood art vision
and with my own haunting surrender
as dappled shades ink stain your chest
I will reside with you and share, mesmerised 
pens - by branding
as this will be your written reams to me
your artist's pallet or brushed canvas
no need for words
and yet creating
mysterious magical moments
Bitter-sweet the music
that dances taut guitar strings
but now blood approved
please go kick your heel up
return to your laughter
and ride on the breeze
for not all are lost
change not
for I am with you always
to love, listen and comfort as one
with you in me and I in you
as masterpiece


Copyright © Anna-Marie Docherty | Year Posted 2013

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Fool of Infiniti and Queen of Fate

Fool of Infiniti

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


The Queen of Fate

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


Copyright © Suzanne Delaney | Year Posted 2013

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- The Demons Shrill Cry of Dread and Horror -

The Demon’s Shrill Cry of Dread and Horror

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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


Copyright © Sunshine Smile | Year Posted 2016

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The Demon's Shrill Cry of Dread and Horror

The Demon’s Shrill Cry of Dread and Horror

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


Copyright © Gary Bateman | Year Posted 2016

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Promise of the Pomegranates

Outside the city where the pomegranates grow,
where a heart is free and the sky is wide
where time is slow like a rivers flow
and the crow that flies is your only guide
In orchards wild and row upon row
the pomegranates grow in the countryside.
Such dreams of peace relieve the crush
And guide the sweep of the painter's brush.

Outside the city where the four winds blow
Prolific with seeds the pomegranates grow 
And when in winter all covered in snow
the promise of spring and summer bestow
 Outside the city where the pomegranates grow
 I wait with the wisdom inside that I know
That seasons may come, or seasons may go
And the winds of change may toss us and blow
But in our hearts is a place we may go
Outside the city where pomegranates grow


Copyright © Suzanne Delaney | Year Posted 2016

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As Liquid Fire Melts

As Liquid Fire Melts

As liquid fire melts with twinkling sunshine in your eyes, 
Opening wings now embrace deeply all of my true emotions.

Feeling the warmth of your beating heart now fluttering so,
I see a radiant chain of daisies growing in the deep green grass.
 
Every choice I have ever made throughout my long life,
Has led me now to you at this very special moment in time. 

Beholding ivory silk starlight whispers of Heavenly angels true, 
I have now a clear vision of my life, my fate, and my destiny. 

Becoming the richest person in this giant, lonely world—
Means finding you and sharing our love unconditionally.

All real emotions we have beholding in this life of ours,
Are part of that God-given sensitivity from the Almighty.

Truly, as liquid fire melts beyond in great stars of the cosmos,
I think of you, our love, and the starlight whispers of angels true!

Gary Bateman and Liam McDaid, A Collaborated Poem 
Copyright © All Rights Reserved – April 21, 2016
(Unrhymed Couplet)


Copyright © Gary Bateman | Year Posted 2016

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Ancient Shadows Awaken into God's Light

Ancient Shadows Awaken into God’s Light

Underneath the deep seabed the stirring sands of time have passed on.
Ancient shadows continue to haunt all of us from the oceans’ depths,
And insidious and violent nightmares portray bloody and evil visions,
As an old treasure chest is opened and a gull’s cry foretells tragic stories.

Untold riches awaken Neptune’s deepest waves as the tides turn inward,
And a star-gazing dust trail turns into a golden circle of subtle measure.
The dark moon’s horrid howl sounds in its crimson cradle over the ocean 
As the cruelest beast from evil Hellspawn creeps and invades all energies.

The moon’s beam feasts on poor and lonely souls under the cover of night,
Whilst savagely touching the sad forlorn places between Heaven and Earth.
These unholy places of dark origin beckon the spirit of a vile Vampire who 
Cometh from a deep-darkness creeping around under the Devil’s own aura.

This Prince of Darkness bringeth enchanting soft-sweet kisses of solitude,
Tempting now the innocent silhouette of a ravishingly beautiful young lady
Whose true desire and passion for love leaps over an ice-ruby magical fire,
As her robust heartbeats incite the Vampire’s ravenous thirst for her blood.

The sensual fire stoked by this lady’s heartbeats and lifeblood burn sold 
Down a macabre river of true darkness, all perfect up, as she gasps aloud
For air, wincing and moaning audibly, as she expires with a most ghastly
Death rattle as the Prince of Darkness gleefully smiles at her godless soul.

This gruesome image invokes a blending of human bread eating into the
Suffering eyes of salted fish bait trapped and gasping for air, for mercy,
Just like a trapped drunken sailor now swallowed inside hungry ghouls
Who haunt over dark sea whispers that chill to the bone mankind’s future.

Those souls lost within the land of this living dream bask now positive as
The darkness turns into sunlight in God’s own yard of supreme radiance, 
Metamorphosing into a lovely butterfly emerging from its silken cocoon,
Now so cotton-soft and swallowed by the bright light of the human soul.

The soul’s lucent energy of heavenly radiance comes forth for all to see
As the Devil’s dark beast now sings its paeans of utter joy as this terror
Transforms itself—yet ever so slowly—into a calm sea of true change.
With this miracle change cometh a peace sanctuary of God’s angels!

That’s a thousand of God’s angels now chanting with a pleasured delight
As a heaven-sought change comes to nurture the plight of all lost souls.
With this aura of change, love’s sacred light shineth now so ultra-bright,
For even the darkened heart of the beast can find peace in Heaven’s light!

We await to see where this beast shall go and what shall follow in kind.
Shall this former beast of the Devil himself experience a final epiphany
To be like the blessed butterfly or to return to the black heart of the crow?
Almighty God does indeed move in the most mysterious of ways! 

The Prince of Darkness laughs no longer as his long-lost soul burns hot
And blue-bile-black-red in Hell’s own deepest, darkest inescapable pit!
No redemption for him and for his master, the Devil, confined below.
By God’s holy command, all ancient shadows shall awaken whole into
Heaven’s eternal and radiant light! All by God’s divine grace and mercy!

Amen! Amen! Amen!

Anne-Lise Andresen, Gary Bateman, Liam McDaid, and Michael Clarke
A Team Collaborated Poem, Copyright © All Rights Reserved
November 16, 2016 (Narrative)


Copyright © Gary Bateman | Year Posted 2016

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We Walked The Night Sands, Moon Shining Down

We Walked The Night Sands, Moon Shining Down

Walking the white sands by the windy sea
Lost in my deep thoughts of love, you and me
Nights in private, locked in long held embrace
In hearts glow, our most cherished hidden place

I walked flowing hills, where we once danced
Waded flowering meadows, where we romanced
Sun and blue sky both reminded me of you
If only, once again blessed, we could do

We journeyed into Nature and love's bliss
O' how that time, I now so sorely miss
We lost our way, coming storm tore us apart
I could not forgive, when you broke my heart

We walked the night sands, moon shining down
I still see you, in your white flowing gown

R.J. Lindley
June 11th, 1975


Copyright © Robert Lindley | Year Posted 2016

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Live Or Die, You Couldn't Do Both

Live Or Die, You Couldn't Do Both

Upon that dark ground, life was bloody and blue
all dark mists brought more than was due.
Dusty storms, blew about with black hands of Fate
lost as hurt seemed to escalate.

Within hidden shrouds, nights ate sad, dying souls
you cried within odd rhythmic rolls.
Never again, never again, your sworn oath
live or die, you couldn't do both.

Crying for rest on that spirit-eating ground
dancing along but with no sound.
Whenever that rare day's gleaming sun did shine
you grabbed it fierce, saying its mine.

Greatest of dreams was life would find saving lights
hope shown, banishing blackest nights.

Robert J. Lindley,  11-13-2016

Sonnet form, Lin 11, 8  ...


Poem Syllable Counter Results
Syllables Per Line: 11 8 11 8 0 11 8 11 8 0 11 8 11 8 0 11 8
Total # Syllables: 133 
Total # Lines: 17 (Including empty lines)
Words with (syllables) counted programmatically: N/A 
Total # Words: 102


Copyright © Robert Lindley | Year Posted 2016

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9 11

                                    
                                                               
                             America the Free  ~             America the Brave ~
                           Freedom with price              Capitalism attacked
                            the many taken                   hearts broken still
                              one World                           try to rebuild
                            sadness and tears               fall hard with fears  
                            guilt by association             many accused still
                             souls evaporated                shattered dreams 
                            tears fall on innocence          left with anger 
                             The proud fearless             knew the inevitable
                              policeman fireman             many lives lost
                            grieving does not stop           12 years later    
                               New York city once          proud  & shameless 
                             refusing to let fears in          protecting ours 
                                left in shock still              question's unanswered                    
                               nothing learned                     nothing gained  
                                ready to attack                   many left behind
                              anger greets denial              anger meets rage 
                               unacceptable still                 refusing new love 
                            wanting days to rewind           let us go back in time 
                              acceptance  allowing           the victims leave in peace
                              the brave taken young           leaving us sadly old
                               haunting dreams                     lost spirits dwell
                               no answers to hate            never forgetting that day
                               Evil entered suddenly              unforgiving fate
                                entering our City                we stand with the fallen
                                 How to fix                            how do we Change 




           
            This can be read many different ways ~ This is a poem I am so proud to write ~









          



Copyright © Shanity Rain | Year Posted 2013

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Nihilist

Farcical, extravagant 
My birthmark is a scar 
A speckled blotch ...
A spot of pox 
An icon from afar 

I'm an upstart, I'm an eyesore 
Ranting with a flair
In a tempest, I'm a rabid bird 
Setting fire to the air 

As dauntless as a hellhag 
Unmoved by love or care 
I can hold up in a cyclone 
Feasting on your fear 

I'm your last hope 
As a laughingstock 
I'm your courage in a dare 
As audacious as a terrorist 
With death-defying hair 

When it's time to play the tragic fool 
I'm as flagrant as a glare 
Seething with a vengeance
In a tantrum of despair

Written by © Raven Drake






Copyright © Raven Drake | Year Posted 2014

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I AM AN EAGLE

As father gave the push, my mother whispered, “Fly, my child!”
Resplendent in my feathers, yet was frightened of the wild
unknown for that where I grew up, I had to leave and find
the reason for my wings and claws, and how I can’t be mild. 

The rush of warm wind cushioned me as I took my first flight,
majestic bird who gracefully flew to such soaring heights.
From that day on I fed myself and did my parents proud
for they have taught me not to let the prey escape my sight.

For forty years I roamed the land and soared over the sea,
but then the time had come to make the choice that’s hard for me.
Up on the steepest rocky mount, I went and by my own
removed my brittle beak, talons, and old wings painfully.

Why did I have to go through all the changes and the pain?
Those parts were worn and have become my weakness and my bane.
So now that God has given me another thirty years,
behold me after my rebirth, the eagle soars again! 



*For those who would care to see,this is a 3-min video on the eagle's painful rebirth
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yXTrWPvP0iQ

Eagles: illumination of spirit, healing, creation, Divine, Spirit (feathers are sacred healing tools)
PICTURE YOURSELF AS A BIRD POETRY CONTEST - 9th Place
SPONSOR: ANDREA DIETRICH
13 May 2015


Copyright © KP Nunez | Year Posted 2015

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Honeyed Words

She felt his hands so gently lift her hair
Her fingers trembled on the moistened quill
She knew his lips would graze her shoulder bare 
Her writing she kept up to mask her thrill

He pressed into her back his angel face
as thighs of steel closed in on rounded hips
Her line of thought she could no longer trace,
for she was lost in wonder of his lips

Her sonnet all forgot, her quill fell down
She felt his hands undo the single bow
that loosely held together evening gown
She smiled at wanton ways she’d come to know

With patience born of love he did undress
She leaned back on his chest till she was freed
His hands sought out her breasts with sweet caress
and in their palmed embrace she sensed his need

She stood up to her feet, and she turned round
to face her lover seated on his chair
She drew his face to taste what hands had found,
for well she knew the pleasure he found there

She watched his mouth and tongue dominion claim
A moan from deep within escaped her lips
She felt herself go weak, and he untame
for grip of hands just tightened on her hips

And soon she found herself on bed of love
Enraptured was her body and her mind
With trembling hand she touched his face above
as he plunged to her depths release to find

As morning light tinged sky in pink array,
she slipped out of his arms and sat to write
The honeyed words dripped down without delay
and soaked the page in rhyme of love’s delight

Eileen Manassian


Copyright © Eileen Manassian | Year Posted 2015

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Fall from Grace A Roundel

Before the beginning of time when Chaos ruled Hell and Night
Into the depths of this Cosmos, a Paradise, perfectly placed.
Above this darkness, a heaven drawn forth in a burst of light
Before the beginning of time

From the Garden of Eden, henceforth, Adam and Eve were disgraced
Lo!  A fallen angel  changed himself to a serpent in Eve’s sight
Banished, they fled before God to a wilderness, forever displaced.

Forbidden fruit had shown them the difference of wrong from right.
In Pandemonia,  Demons conspired, sin and death be interlaced.
God sacrificed his Son to save them  - from Hell's eternal plight.
Before the beginning of time

Suzanne Delaney

For Suzette Crous
Roundel Competition


Copyright © Suzanne Delaney | Year Posted 2013