Long Undead Poems
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Count Dracula lives in my attic and he has a coffin for a bed.
He has bitten all of my family members and they're undead.
I've told many people but they don't believe my texts.
All of my family members are vampires and I'm next.
Dracula prowls during the night and returns before sunrise.
My family prowls with him but people think I'm telling lies.
I've kept the vampires away so far by locking my door and wearing garlic.
They haven't bitten me yet because they fear that I will make them sick.
I fear that sooner or later, I will be turned into a vampire.
I've looked online but I can't find a monster killer to hire.
I'm sick of hiding like a coward, I've had all that I can take.
I found a knife and I just got done carving a wooden stake.
Dracula is pounding very hard, he's trying to break down my door.
He has succeeded but I stabbed him through the heart and he just hit the floor.
Because Dracula was the original vampire, my family has died as well.
I feel so calm and relaxed because my life will no longer be a living hell.
Hey my friend,
Look over there, yonder through the myrtles,
Can you see them? The living dead,
Burying the dirt of a million graves,
Embalming the streets with their dead screams.
Oh please, grace us with a few words.
No one in our family ever got buried,
Without a scripture reading or a baptizing.
Silently they pass by the deceased one,
These undead dead.
Everyday I hear them moan and wail,
Everyday I see them saunter like doomed peacocks;
These undead dead.
“Welcome friends to this slaughter of evil.
Please join me as we pray to the Unseen;
Perhaps a cool cocktail for your cold mechanized souls?
Oh, I do find you creatures so low and so needy, indeed!
You are just statues.
Just soulless heartless statues, that move,
Screaming statues that squirm and writh,
Like mindless snakes in a furnace.
Look at me, my friends!
You are not alive!
Though you move and process thought,
You do not exist!
Though you inhale and exhale,
There is no life in you.
There is no sequence or spasm within you.
I now pronounce all of you dead!”
Hey my friend,
Look over there, yonder through the mytles,
Can you see them? The living dead,
Burying the dirt of a million graves,
Embalming the streets with their dead screams.
The sky is black as liquid ink with not a star,
Hushed and silent is the forest this dark night;
I walk a snow covered path seeking him,
The tangled intertwined branches creaking.
Groaning under heavy precious crystal icicles,
That dangle suspended like brilliant chandeliers;
The harsh, wild wind takes my long raven hair,
And my purple gown presses against me.
Every night I walk this cold, lonely forest path,
I come willingly and without any fear for my soul;
Even though I know that he is the undead,
His voice, his scent, his beauty devastating.
I have no strength to fight the love that I feel,
In a distant clearing he stands waiting for me;
His dark flowing hair blows wildly in the winter wind,
His skin so pale it mingles with the falling snow.
I am somehow floating, drifting into his sweet embrace,
And his dead, cold blue lips are at last on mine;
In a frozen kiss and I am lost in total utter rapture,
The wind is swirling and twisting and turning.
And I find myself in bed . . .
________________________
May 22, 2014
Poetry/Narrative/Cold Blue Lips
Copyright Protected, ID 05-568-308-22
All Rights Reserved, 2014, Constance La France
Submitted to Standard Contest 258,
sponsor, Brian Strand, Judged 05/2014
First Place
______________________________
Submitted to the Premier contest, Best Poems,
sponsor, Shadow Hamilton,
Second Place
________________________________
Submitted to Best Love Poems,
sponsor, Poet Destroyer,
Second Place
It is Halloween, Hollow Eve's dark night,
my friends and I are dressed like vampires and witches;
with a purpose of candy and also to cause fright.
The neighborhood is an alien landscape,
I am one of the undead- a blood sucker parasite;
and a big part of my costume is my silk black cape.
We walk with vigilance- our steps cautionary,
as we pass monsters dreadful and sinister;
a shaded form opens the gate of a cemetery.
His smile is trickery for I sense evil in that smile,
those white teeth look quite long and very sharp;
he appears diabolical with a gaze quite vile.
As he comes closer I am paralyzed with fear,
I seem to be powerless and frozen in place;
suddenly, he is before me and his face is more clear.
But before I can scream out at my abduction,
he carries me among the tombstones and graves
oh, he is beautiful and I am in a trance of seduction
Entering a crypt the light is growing dark and dim,
he places me within a coffin and lays beside me;
and with greed drinks my blood - but it is not grim.
With groans of pleasure he takes my vital juice,
and I take his sumptuous nourishing plasma. . .
each night feasting - oh, from his spell I will never be loose
__________________________
October 20, 2020
Poetry/Rhyme/Hollow Eve
Copyright Protected, ID 10-1296-612-20
All Rights Reserved, 2020, Constance La France
Written for the Premier contest, Halloween Challenge
sponsor, Emile Pinet, Judged 11/7/20
Fourth Place
Whispers Beneath the Cemetery
Is love undead?
Is love fate?
Is love just holding on—
a ghost that won’t abate?
Does death mean I must give up on us,
let go of what was?
I stare at your grave—
hours slipping by—
Will you resurrect?
Will you rise or die?
A strange peace lingers—
a burden I can’t lay down,
The silence, the stillness—
haunting and profound.
I feel you more—
the loser, the lost,
The trees sway wild,
wind tangled in their ghostly frost.
Maybe they agree—
whispering secrets of old,
But life moves forward—
with stories left untold.
Unspoken words,
forgotten memories,
Yet love lingers on—
like shadows on the breeze.
I feel alone—
loneliness like a cloak,
But now—
a fragile peace I invoke.
Time has softened the ache inside,
That love still lingers—
but I’ve learned to abide.
I accept your absence,
your faraway flight,
I won’t wait for your return—
I surrender the fight.
In this quiet acceptance,
my mind finds its rest,
With questions unanswered,
with forgiveness unexpressed,
And love, still burning—
a fire in my chest.
Welcome to my mind and open the door
This is where the first nightmare begins
Looking back now to what happened before
A child too little to be punished for her sins
The night had set. The child was hungry but sent to bed
A child lay in dirty sheets among the undead
In the distance, creatures stirred whispers that said
Creatures of night deformed images dancing in the child’s head
Their pleasured screams could be heard tonight
So scared the child was hiding alone and about to cry
It’s then the alterations began causing a fight
The struggle within the child’s mind beginning to die
Not the last; dying, dirty, about to wet the bed
The child crept to the door, fearing creatures of undead
The voices inside louder, with more to be said
Screaming in pain and hurting for the undead
It would be their time for an atonement for sins
The child’s mind no longer conscious of time
Through the door, this is where the mystery begins
Some might even say possibly the scene of a crime
The creatures lay strewn in complete disarray
Approaching slowly the first of the undead
The voices inside louder, and nothing would sway
Unsuspecting would be the victim, the undead
The instrument of their pleasure lay close by
Filled with hate and mind-altering thought
What would happen? The child said with a sigh
Use this instrument to gain a peace long sought
Morning is come. The child was hungry but crept to bed
A child lay in dirty sheets among the undead
In the distance, creatures stirred whispers were said
Different though, there was one less among the undead
It was the worst thing that I've ever seen.
It happened in my town last Halloween.
A horrible monster attacked and it was undead.
It disembowled people and bit off their heads.
It made Michael Myers look like the Pope.
If you're wondering if it was easily destroyed, the answer is nope.
It killed four hundred people, including every cop.
I knew that this freak of nature had to be stopped.
It didn't hurt that thing when I drove a stake through its heart.
But it did destroy it when I used a bazooka to blow it apart.
Nothing can bring back those four hundred unfortunate women and men.
But people can rest easy because they'll never see that foul monster again.
(THIS IS A FICTIONAL POEM.)
After imbibing the humbling blend
Constituting the mystical knowledge
And the techniques of martial art
Dr Strange awakened his third eye
Became a powerful sorcerer.
He derived his supernatural power
From the energy of the universe
Acquiring high level of mastery
Over magic to shape and manipulate
Tangible concept of energy as mystic artifacts.
He could also cast numinous spells
By the entrancing miraculous mechanism
Of the specific formula of destruction
With the obtained fiery energy
He was capable to incapacitate his enemy.
Against Dracula, the emperor of the undead
Dr Strange, the supreme sorcerer
Applied the Montesi formula
Destroying the vampires by spell that broke
Reviving them for the clash to continue.
________________
August 31, 2022
Contest : Doctor Strange Spells
Sponsored by : Robert James Liguori
There are werewolves among us, or so it is said.
Not unlike what you conjure when you think “lycanthrope”.
They plot and they scheme for the blood they will shed;
they lurk in the shadows and feed on lost hope.
Their lens to the world is a skewed microscope.
They're drawn to the viral; it’s vile what they spread.
They must devour others in order to cope.
There are werewolves among us, or so it is said.
These modern day wolves are not of the undead,
but they snarl and they howl at your heels as they lope.
They roam social media; in blog feeds, they’re bred.
Not unlike what you conjure when you think “lycanthrope”.
They strain all the norms, and they push envelopes;
they fill decent folk with much horror and dread.
They dox and and they gaslight and tighten the rope.
They plot and they scheme for the blood they will shed.
They’ll beat a dead horse and make sure it is bled.
Far from gregarious, these misanthropes,
avoiding the spotlight, in darkness will tread;
they lurk in the shadows and feed on lost hope.
So don’t be a victim, there’s no need to mope.
The truth is their wolfsbane, aimed square at the head.
Be a tiger, a lion, not a weak antelope.
The idea seems quaint, but don’t be misled:
there are werewolves among us…
—————
for the One From The Dark Side Poetry Contest
sponsored by John Lawless
written 06/08/22
What sinister secrets
lurk within my mind,
What raging storms
grip my heart,
What malicious maelstroms
swirl in my eyes,
What demonic forces
torment my soul...
You don't wanna know!
It will only entice you
in its dreadful dragnet
And drag you through
an undead necropolis.
I thirst for the blood
And subsist on the
life essence of living creatures,
Prowling relentlessly in the
shadows of the moonlit nights
awaiting my next meal.
CROSS your heart
when you see me,
CROSS your heart now
when you read this,
I can feel you breathe
Sense your heart pounding
Smell the sweat of your fear --
So I said so in truth,
So you have been forewarned!
~06/25/2013
~Deep and Dark II contest by Laura Loo