Long Introspectiondark Poems
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It is a dark world they inhabit, dark and filled with a flood of blood.
Many bodies lay entangled, red and dark. Confused with the creator,
The mighty fellow who made them, so small and useless, having a heart
which bled, a flood of blood. Men came at night, some during the day
Looking for love, in this well of blood, this land of the dead, of unconscious
self, the engulfing dark, limbs entwined left to decay amid the lying money
The ghost of past women, recapturing mythology, an ambience of dread
This frightening flood of the blood, sucking and leeching away the soul,
The psychic inheritance of the ego, the dark near dead experience.
What sheer joy, it was to me;
to be bounced upon your knee;
to be lifted into the sky;
my arms outstretched as if to fly.
‘Pon shoulders high to view the sea;
within your gaze to climb a tree,
to feel my fingers all entwine;
within your grasp, my life line.
To see my world within your eyes;
to know you listened for my sighs.
How can any one man’s love compare;
to the fondness that I found there?
How can any single lover vie?
Or even dare a single try?
to place me firmly on HIS knee;
to lift me high so I can see?
Or perhaps to simply ask?
If this was not to be MY task?
to plumb the dark depth within;
to light my OWN spark and begin.
Will I admit and ever find?
what I’ve sought in another’s mind?
Can I stop looking full of sighs?
for my life in a man’s dark eyes?
What sheer joy, I’m sure it will be;
when I have learned and I can see;
that all I really need to know;
I’ll find within if I just go.
In the Dark of the Night
It really doesn't matter
How much snow is on the ground
Or how deep the frost has penetrated
Earth's sacred and hallowed ground.
Moonlight plays with shadow
Moonlight listens to the wind
Sunlight hides with daylight
Waiting patiently for the next day to begin.
The temperature dips well below the mark
Of when waters can run clear and flow
The rivers have become a silent force
Beneath their smooth fascia of ice and snow.
Trees loom above the horizon
Their silhouettes like wooden lace
Their patterns created from the heavens above
No branch seems out of place.
In the Dark of the Night
Heartbeats feel strong
You can feel their pulsating rhythms
Breathing and Silence go hand in hand
Proof of an existence and a reason.
(December 28, 2010 Wausau, Wisconsin)
(c) Copyright 2010 by Christine A Kysely, All Rights Reserved, except the right to
forward and to share with friends - with credit --which is held to be a good idea and
thus encouraged.
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In the mind where high mountains dwell
Wretched with pitfalls of dark wells
Old wounds that cannot be dispelled
Pangs of fear, lion’s lair
Oh, how dark thoughts have cliffs to fall
Deeper than devil’s snare
Conquered hurdles, may find a view
In contrast of the one we knew
Through the shadows, we tunnel through
Dark pits, and valleys deep
To find fears of imagined hue
Putting the black to sleep
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In honor of Dr. Ram Mehta's Contest: Rime Couee
A waking up, do I, Dark Poet, need
to shake my creature core from sheltered sleep.
A seed has taken root as bitter weed
that sprouts from disappointments buried deep
inside me, where a well-hid wild thing
with armored skin lifts groggy head to breathe.
No fire escapes its mouth, for it must cling
to courtesy although its blood should seethe.
If roused, the beast could overstep its bounds
and though I’ve tamed it well, I sometimes hear
in dusky dreams its melancholy sounds.
Before the dawn its murmurs disappear.
On bitter weed subsists my dragon child.
Oh, should I let it rest. . . or wake the wild?
For Irma's Dark Poet contest