we are all descendent of
the African man
tribes of hunters and gatherers
we are all God's children
in the beginning
there was darkness and
out of darkness came the light
the seeds are planted
in dark mother earth
Adam was made from
the dark clay first
the hands of God moves
this dark universe and
we are made in the
image of the black creator God
because your dark skin
is a blessing but not a curse
Before his hands form frost upon my breath
And pierce me with his dark immortal night
I plan to play a game of chess with Death
Distant and in the dark he took my Beth
I fear not; but her eyes...this fright I'll fight!
Before his hands form frost upon my breath
Must I intake myself amounts of meth?
To win a match and moments more of light
I plan to play a game of chess with Death
My strategy shall speak of Cain and Seth
And Abel's life, trapping his king and knight!
Before his hands form frost upon my breath
Methinks myself more morbid than Macbeth
My throne is life, fear vanish from my sight!
I plan to play a game of chess with Death
Before my coffins' head is crowned a wreath,
Before my eyes evolve forever white,
Before his hands form frost upon my breath
I plan to play a game of chess with Death
Wind blowing dust into the
air, as i hide from it.
Skies that a little while
ago were dark blue,
are now an ugly grey.
As i watch the clouds
slowly moving into outer reaches,
i hear voices in the wind,
telling me to move on
danger is heading my way.
I start to walk a little faster,
seeing a farm house a little ways down the road
and seeing people getting into the storm
cellar, I yell at them to hold it,
as they scamper down into
the deep dark hole i
turn around to look
and see a Tornado
heading our way,
feeling relieved that
i had listened to
voices in the wind.
Can’t sleep again for some reason
perhaps I’m drinking too much tea.
Well, whatever the cause, it’s done.
I’ll try again later…maybe!
Meantime, I’ll work on this poem-
A way to pass the time away
until black-robed Nyx finds me home
And cast her spell without delay.
My mind grows weary, she has come
Whose dark light falls from nighttime stars
And Man and gods all must succumb.
Her sightless eyes in one dark sweep
induces half the world to sleep.
Dark poets reunite and we share our poems
online. As far as I know we are doing really well
without the fuss or the bad that the people think
we do. Like a bat with rabies that is on the verge
of coming after anybody or whoever moves.
Wow, what a scary situation! Dark are the posses
of the gothic clothing. Any songs you wanna sing makes
the Dark Side an illusional concept in rock n roll.
However, a bad day comes and it brings you down,
write a story, a song, or even a poem, to bring your mood
from down to radiant. Feel as wonderful as a free flying
black crow. A love for music makes anyone happy.
Just like the love for poetry that has different sides to it.
I AM A PHENOMENA; LIKE WALKING ON WATER WITH MIND OVER MATTER.
I AM DARK AND COMELY; FULLY COOKED AND DONE; BAKED BY THE SUBSTANCE OF THE
SUN. I AM A DISPENSER OF SOUND PROVERBS LIKE LIFE-GIVING WATER; A GIVEN GIFT
THAT SHALL NEVER FALTER. I AM A COMMODITY; A FORCE REQUIRED TO BE SEEN BODILY:
OR SHOULD I SAY A GODSEND; A DEMAND LIKE A SUDDEN COOL HAZE THAT DESCEND.
ONCE UPON A TIME, I WAS NOTHING IN THE SAND--REACHING MY END...THEN, LIKE A
PRAYING MANTIS WITH BENDED KNEES, I RAISED MY VOICE FROM THE EARTH, THE DARK
FILTHY DIRT, AND MY CRY SPURT, TOOK ROOT, SPROUT AND BLOOM: IT WAS A MASSIVE
EXPLOSION...BOOM, LIKE A FETUS FROM THE WOMB--OUT OF THE BOWELS AS FROM A
TOMB. NO, YOU'LL NEVER FIND ME FOLDING, SINKING, OR DOWNRIGHT LAYING DOWN TO
DIE...I'M SOARING UP IN THE SKY, WITH NO CAPE--FLYING LIKE A BIRD ON HIGH.
SO WHENEVER YOU WONDER AND PONDER MY EXISTENCE AS A LIVING BEING, BY ALL
MEAN, TAKE A SECOND TO REVIEW THE FORESCENE: BUT BEFORE YOU CAN SEE THAT I'M
THE TRUTH THAT'S COME TO LIGHT, BE SURE TO GRAB YOUR SHADES 'CAUSE I'M WAY
TOO BRIGHT!!!
She came out of the sea at twilight
Weak and trembling, bent with age
Her hair entwined with seaweed
The pounding surf a watery stage. .
She stood awhile and listened
then with the most frightful groan
Beaconed with a bony finger
To her minions in the foam..
Out of the waves they scrambled
Creatures from the dark and deep
Unleashed this one dark night
From their prison did they creep..
The danced the Funky Monkey
while the stars shown overhead
With abandon celebrated freedom
From their dark and watery bed...
So had the sun and stars aligned
Just this once in untold years
To break the spell they suffered
And dry their unending tears..
And with the light of faintest dawn
They turned from their heavenly shore
All crept back into the thrashing sea
And their likes were seen no more
Co-written with my grandson Jordan..9 yrs old
In the cemetery I walk, so dark it is this night.
Hoping that the Ghouls won't start to bite.
I feel the tug of the dead, as each grave I pass.
Thankful this nervous tension won't last.
Armed with my Animation supplies,
I stare out at all the green glowing eyes.
A chicken for my blood sacrifice,
Raising the dead, there's always a price.
The salt keeps the dead inside.
Using the machete our magic, we'll ride.
Salt is for everybody's protection.
Cold steal seals out any deception.
To prime the earth so the dead will rise,
cast the blood and create our ties.
Focus my energy and the ground starts to shake.
Winds whip through the area and the on-lookers quake.
I command all that is at least 3 days dead.
Just enough time for the soul to move ahead.
Born with this power as a Necromancer,
When I will my power all the dead have to answer.
I look to Sandra Hudson, who hired me,
to raise the dead and hear their screams.
I call Illyanna De La Keur from her deep, dark grave.
Her words are scary so be very, very brave.
For John Loving III's "Haunted Poets Society"
The bunny ran across the field
as the trees fall in despair
and as clouds rain overhead
her cup runneth over
into frayed sunlit nights
and the stars weep molten tears
carrying into yesterdays tomorrow.
Poisonous fumes fill her soul
to light the unlit places
with dark matter dew drops,
spiderweb dreams in attics cold
yellowed picture frames rot in purple metal boxes
for the weeping morning mother
and the bright smiles last until the next day-
the boats float in starry places under
the dark blanket of maturity, where small children die and adults sob.
The censorship of the Holy Bible
causes opinions to burn, like
people holding a kiss inside
unable to release it and unable to forget.