The Monster is massive
with fangs and with claws
all lacquered and sharpened
sticking out from its jaws
The Monster is ghoulish
with deep, sunken eyes
it speaks whispers of wicked
and paranoid lies
The Monster is cruel
it sneers and it spits
always waiting for something
to tear into bits
The Monster is hidden
from inside its dark lair
just plotting and pacing
in the dank, musky air
The Monster is mournful
it wails and it weeps
for its heart has been broken
but the pieces it keeps
You know of the Monster
you've heard the tall tales
and despite what they say
no terror prevails
The Monster is cared for
and treated with grace
because the Monster writes poetry
from behind a fair face.
Look at where your behavior led,
to the candles in my bedroom;
Close enough to smell my perfume;
Come, tear into this silken thread;
You may use the nickname instead,
I tend to call it a playroom;
Look at where your behavior led,
to the candles in my bedroom;
Wax dripping where it’s intended,
your glow on me turns to a plume;
Ready to give in and assume,
look at where your behavior led.
she often appears in his dreams
wearing pink carnations and other flowers
those sky blue eyes staring through him
he cannot stop looking at her pink red lips
she is prettier in death than she had ever been in life
a woman who is forever twenty-two
he stares at her alabaster skin
those eyes stare back and tear into his soul
I am sorry, he tells her, I should have never been driving drunk.
the blame has stolen his life for the past twenty years
she puts her pointer finger to her lips
Reassures him, tells him to release his guilt
You are an angel, he whispers, but I am to blame
I need to focus on this, I need to suffer
A soft hand strokes him on the shoulder
She lets him know that she is where she wants to be
She was a marvelous friend, a great co-worker
A terrific listener, and now she is his guardian angel
Release the guilt! She tells him.
This was meant to be.
He has no other choice.
Tears overtake him, he sobs until he feels exo
things might fall apart
tear into many pieces, it happens
before any great happens
December, as the winter solstice dances in the sky,
cheery children's voices echo "Christmas joy is nigh."
No longer is it summer in the Northern hemisphere,
as magic snowdrops whisper, “Wintertime is here.’’
The sky’s a sea of cosmic lights, diamonds of the cold,
casting down on virgin snow a silver shadow bold.
As winter’s kiss with brutal love caresses lips and hands,
heavier days and longer nights will visit polar lands.
The wind has wicked fingers that tear into your clothes
chilling those emotions from summer to dispose.
Above all there is hoping that winter will be nice,
bringing gifts of subtle snow but barred from any ice.
The North has turn toward darkness, away from brighter sun.
While this is not the case on earth for all and everyone.
No great cause to “bundle” in the Southern Hemisphere,
as magic sunbeams whisper, ‘There is no winter here.’’
11/9/2022
December or November Quatrain
Sponsored by: Caren Krutsinger
Bride of Frankenstein does not like the scene she is seeing.
Her husband looks so delightful, he might be peeing.
Elvira Mistress of the dark is losing her clothes loud and proud.
Her large headlights are shining and showing, collecting a crowd.
The werewolf is groveling down low at the hussy’s feet.
Tasting the hem of her gown, what could be so sweet?
Bride of Frankenstein is furious, going to tear into them all.
When Elvira says “Frankenstein, your wife is a doll!
She is protective and personable, and I like all her ways.
She is even sweet-tempered on those womanly days.”
Bride of Frankenstein begins to rapidly take all mean ideas back.
Elvira might be nicer than she thought, so she begins to back track.
As soon as she is gone Frankenstein says this was a close call!
I know says Elvira, who is not truly that much of a doll.
Dracula is still trying to figure out where to sink his pointed teeth.
Werewolf is eating bugs out of Elvira's hem a carnivore relief.
He deserves such softness.
Bony hips bruised on the corners of card tables and rough edges
Three different lifetimes worn through his young skin.
Skin bruised beyond its years and demanded tougher every day.
He shall be anointed with the softness of my palms and fingertips
May my lips show him his hunger and thirst is all that matters
The folds and curved edges in my mirror were overfilled in my mind
But it is not my mind that needs cushioning
It is his.
I will be his softness. Whether to lay a tired head upon, or to devour hungrily.
Like a peach, my skin, too, breaks easily, and he may tear into my sweet flesh
But for once, I can see him nourishing himself
And I can be his softness.
First comes friendship
then comes lies
Knowing each will not surmise
What other feelings come to be
when each is asked of less to be
When all are working for the cause
of doing other's parts
Not seeing each for what each has
That each will tear into the las'
And leaving others for the flaws
When knowing nothing much of passion
When all they see are lost reaction
Mirror
It's not only the dark circles under my eyes,
It's the darkness in my eyes
That drains the happiness from my face.
Demon’s tear into the corners of my vision
Waiting to thrill, to
Devour its fill and leave me in darkness.
Before night falls....
And you tear into my flesh
I gotta say something that's been eating away,
at my chest
The moment our eyes met
I wore the veil of lust
We kept the nights warm with a perfect
mixture of bodily fluid and blood
Love took it's time
When it came it felt like finely filed fingernails
running down my back
I could finally see
And what saw was the most beautiful thing
that would be any mans downfall,
You Succubus
Now rip out my heart before I say these last three words
Your words like a blade
Tear into my soul
Leave me breathless
Unable to respond
My mind heavy with fog
Fighting through these thoughts
Explain to me why you have forsaken me
I must at least deserve this
Dark is my disillusioned soul
crying in the wilderness
Alone with the specter of despair
creeping through timeless moments
For you have gone
The world no longer is a place of joy
held in lover's palms of emotion
once filled with green meadows of sunlight
allowing blooms to flourish
beneath blue skies and white clouds
floating slowly between our eyes
Clouds are dark now, filled with ominous storms
blooms have crumbled and fallen
tumbling to the barren ground
swept away by the winds of unforgiving torment
burning each tear into the flesh of the face
leaving a pained scar of perpetual twilight
that will haunt the loneliness of sunsets
and spoil the ripe dusk of mornings
in a bubbling cauldron of madness
that leads the soul into an endless cycle
of dark disillusioned wilderness
6/6/20
A Zombies violent behaviour is so much more than what you can see on the outside.
Inside is a battle.
Fight, after fight, after fight.
There's a war going on like that of two wolves.
The infection,
the virus
that causes such a primeval effect,
yet doesn't quite kill...
So now you're not quite dead,
but you're not at all alive.
Undead.
And everything else seems surreal.
The space inside, just an abyss,
no longer a star in sight.
Crash landed ships.
Spewed debris and shrapnel slice.
The innards of decaying carcass,
insides pour out when pressure is piled on.
Except nobody patches up holes on that of which is already dead.
The burning hunger that growls verbrato.
The stomach empty,
body empty,
heart empty,
mind empty.
Hungry for not only brains,
but an insideous desire for all parts.
Your inside screaming power as you tear into the head of some naive victim of your circumstance.
Full now,
for a second.
Always more.
Wanting more.
Wanting more.
Needing more.
And that feeling takes you to your knees.
Or was that a gun shot to the head?
Stabbed in the back?
Right in the heart you say?
You might say it's for the best.
Do your politics define you…
are your views then left or right?
Does the axe you grind cut sharp and clean
or tear into the night?
Do the precepts that you claim to own
just end up owning you?
Is every word what you believe
—and to thine self be true?
(Villanova Pennsylvania: January, 2019)
Our mouths open, you leave we gaze
Asking weather, yo’ river or wind?
Like floods you come,to sweep the beauties
Our eyes you leave, we wipe we sob
The best you wipe, the worst you swipe
Like a wind so you, blow off the value
The orphans the widowed, not your business
Our eyes you leave,we wipe we sob
Like an angry monster, you tear into lives
Chewing soft the tissues, the hearts you break
Displacing human souls, rosely bodies you empty
Our eyes you leave,we wipe we sob
All a while we toil, cultivating the soils
We plant we harvest, to conquer the soils
From nowhere we lie, in the soil conquered
Our eyes you leave, we wipe we sob
I command I command, the secret I hunted
With brains God provided, to conquer your might
There is hope Jesus did, your power he ruined
Our eyes you leave, yours shall we defeat
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