Max her thirsty axe accompanied her into every battle.
Enemies cut down, sliced up upon approach.
She fought for birthright, castle, subjects and cattle.
They could keep her mother’s silly wedding broach.
Her name was HyMcintha the Gore. Her game? Bloody war.
Reputation proceeded her and her mighty magic axe.
She would fly into a battle with her dragon Fire More.
Fire More would take the left plank along with her axe, Max.
Her fiery hair flaming, her cheeks steady, excited and true.
An admirable, formidable opponent, her enemies would flee.
When they saw her coming at them, they would turn terrified blue.
Gave them no mercy, was blood thirsty as a human could be.
Is she not a Goddess? Some asked, watching her fight.
With her blazing blue eyes and her tummy so happy and tight.
Some suspected her to be Mars daughter; she had such an inner light!
Whoever she was, she came swiftly out of the darkest dankest night.
HyMcintha the Gore would be talked about until the end of time.
This blood-thirsty woman who always got out of line.
I loved her to death. She was a favorite great aunt of mine.
She was marvelously gallant, a hero, strength personified and so fine!
Categories:
dankest, 10th grade, 11th grade,
Form: Rhyme
As the days grow shorter.
A cold wind whispers to the trees.
And the leaves begin their journey.
Carried in the winds of Autumn.
Into the rivers and streams.
Some will travel far into the oceans of our world.
A few will be chosen.
Directed by whispers in winds of Autumn.
Into the lakes and ponds where the Lotus lives.
Where they settle into the cool dank bottom.
As the years pass they form the rich mud.
From which the Lotus or her cousin the Lilly live.
Only there in dankest mud will she live.
For she makes her home in places no other flowers will grow.
Here she will grow to be one of the rarest and most revered.
For her unique beauty.
One petal at a time will open over the course of days.
In the still water were little else will grow.
She will slowly reveal her inner beauty.
Then ebb back into the cool dank water.
From which she emerged and the mud were she lives.
Only in the latter days of Spring when the first warm breeze.
Send ripples across the pond whispering to the then warming mud.
That she will awaken and rise to the reveal her inner beauty.
Categories:
dankest, beauty, environment, metaphor, nature,
Form: Free verse
In dankest corners danger lurks,
unseen to human eye
hide creatures from the realms of hell
where none can ever die.
For demons of the lowest plain
cannot a body wear
for they’re destined to feed the pit
with those lost to despair.
These demons lurking all around
seek food for torment’s fire,
there’s no escaping if they smell
a soul they can acquire.
They drain the essence of your life
if you approach their lair,
the only warning you may get
is prickling of your hair.
By then I fear it is too late
incarcerating souls
they drag them screaming through the gates
that lead to Satan’s holes.
So tread in fear when pathways feel
uneasy, not quite right,
for all is lost when being stalked
by shadows of the night.
Ivor G Davies
Categories:
dankest, mystery, people, places, lost,
Form: Rhyme
I have traversed the lonely map
Of incalculable backroom bars
Where the whiskey breath of love and death
Robbed me of my dreams;
I have drained each beer tap
Until a dust was left behind
To swiftly coat the drying throat
Where lodged the silent screams.
In the dankest roach motels
I have sprawled upon the floors,
The railway lines and neon signs
The company I kept;
I have lived where sadness dwells
And it ripped my heart in two,
And it broke my bones like fossil stones
Until I bowed and wept.
I have been poised before the night
When sheer nothing stood between,
An endless chill upon this hill,
Siberian winds and I;
And thus frozen, frail and white,
The whispering of the stars,
An evaporate that cannot wait,
A fleeting, wordless cry.
Now that all of my mistakes
Are the ghosts of my own hands,
Twitch pale and gaunt and always haunt
My selfish, shadowed ways;
Like a living tree that breaks,
By Siberian frosts exploded,
The whispering of the stars,
The vacuum of my days…
Categories:
dankest, angst, death, visionary,
Form: Verse