Tuesday, August 16, 2016

Dark/ Horror Poetry

Dark/ Horror Poetry
 
 
Dead or Alive
 
 
 
Dead but alive and thrown in this hole,
Buried deeply in a place no one goes.
My screams and cries were breath a wasting,
Liquid across my lips blood I was tasting.
He did this to me. He tortured and teased,
Cutting the binds I begged for my release.
I meant my freedom, not a horrid death,
I would tell no one I promise, just wasted breath.
I should quiet myself, give up, give in, I cannot dig anymore,
Not even a box, nor even the clothes that I had worn.
Loose soil moving, spinning, filling my nose and mouth,
Struggling wildly, please, please, let me out.
Darkness. I saw darkness but not the ending black,
Was a sliver of moon and cool breeze upon my back.
I coughed up dirt clearing my nose as well,
Breathing fresh air released from my hell.
But how? Perhaps I had no wish to my source,
I must leave here, I must set my course.
He stood shovel in hand and I almost screamed,
His unearthly smile captured in my dreams.
I should run, but my legs had no movement, my feet still,
Trying to raise my arms was even a test of my will.
An impossible task for I was now a puppet on a string,
Not living, not dead, just a toy; his lifeless thing.
“Welcome back my pet. Now will you behave?
Your actions will keep you from the grave.
For again and again you will feel my wrath,
And once again we will journey on this path.”
There is no escape, for I am no longer alive nor dead,
Only a nightmarish dream in a demon's head.
Am I real? Am I even human anymore?
Once again he binds me and locks the door.
 
© Cynthia Clark
 
Lulladie
 
 
 
hidden behind thoughts
polished through the years
thoughts that dig holes
filled with brandy tears
fears dressed in smiles
denying the screaming sheep
on a reddened river espied
she lies asleep
that Little Bo Peep
who lost her sheep
© Michael Victor Jackson
 
Soul Circus and Corn Dogs
 
 
 
Behind midway lights live shadow souls
waltzing through dreams, devoid of life.
Excitement flares with the first customer
as fair patrons hunt cotton candy stands.
A favorite game of the screaming insane
launch an arrow high into the night sky
run around in wonder, where it will land.
Perhaps in the sand, or your right eye.
Tractor pull is on, rumbling the coffins
tilt a whirl spins, grasping for dear life
hide twixt the rides, young are smoking
pick your own poison, puff puff, cough.
Games shutting down, midnight is here.
dancing on the strip as the lights go low
parking lot empty, as the masks come off
swap out the booty at a corn dog stand.
The hideous and dark gather stolen souls,
stored in a dybbuk box; off to the next town.
The trucks roll the back roads, moving slow,
Summer in June, now down goes the moon.
 
 
© Ken Allan Dronsfield 2016
 
Of the Deeper Wood
 
 
 
A madness descends upon one who attends
the clock on the wall after those who recall
in the hiding or seeking and soft squeaking
in a dilapidated cottage of the deeper wood.
Harlequin colors within an irrational swirling
find a mind spinning in the haze of red wine
and I can't find my way through night or day
blinded by the tock, as the tick seeks to rock.
Standing there bare, while the cat's on the chair
dizzy and fading while the clock sings a sonnet.
Feeling no pain within a numbness of the brain
salvation's a meal, confined in a maniacs creel.
Dance by the fire, whilst absorbing warm desire
within the fistula of life, a steamy purge of strife
moving with a gallop through the life of a trollop
cast spells in the dark, to a stars reddish quark.
I am whom you think, wasting away in the stink;
listening to "Lunatic Fringe", on tape in the parlor
readying the knife, I'll dissect your wretched life
within a dilapidated cottage of the deeper wood.
 
 
© Ken Allan Dronsfield 2016
 
Committed, Rev 3
 
 
 
I laughed in their faces
as I committed to flight
within the dimmed night
of a vast swirling haze
sprinkled with delights.
Awaken a spirited grin
from a darkling gaze;
a chalice of warm gin
and unicorns danced.
We all recited a ditty,
"Race your dragonfly;
Grasp a shooting star;
Whisper to the Moon;
Dance with the Fairy."
Your Devil warms up
on the Summer's grill.
The dissident from hell
begets jollies here still
I missed the bugle call
whilst dipping my quill
as I escaped in fright of
a soulless zombie bite,
in the eve of a raucous,
contemptuous dead night.
 
 
© Ken Allan Dronsfield 2016
 
Penny's Last Quarter
 
 
 
Creating a rhyme with
the loss of my last dime;
what cost be peace in a
world without empathy.
Preach to a deaf choir,
amorous heated desires.
Penny gives a last quarter
all to hasten Jesus home.
Eucharist served chilled
just before the bugles call.
You give what you don't have
to those who truly have it all.
Memories of icy burnt offerings;
stoic gazes from shaded eyes;
open the Book to pages ablaze;
feel a tear from darkened skies.
Ply demons with poison candy
angel's breath to a black vapor.
Penny's at the altar rocking away,
humming, choking on the wafer.
 
 
© Ken Allan Dronsfield 2016
 
So it begins
 
 
 
Cats eyes, silent dreams,
Never really meaning anything.
War rages, ships roll in
Another tragedy, now enemy once friend.
I thirst for silence, destruction’s end,
A taste of calm, life on the mend.
A knowledge of nation’s peace; quiet voice.
Power, greed, such is their choice.
The cannons, the gunfire; Oh how I long to run,
Conquest of darkness replacing the sun.
It is obvious is it not? Bones ground to ash and dust,
I weep for them; I fear for a life unjust.
And explosions echo the hillside, smoke upon the breath,
Screams, such agony whispers harshly of death.
Terror invades the soul, lost sanity the beginning of never.
Time is endless, this moment forever and ever,
Upon the wind ride suffering and pain,
Tears of blood fall in the midst of rain.
The eyes fail to see for enough they behold,
Hands weigh heavy, Blood runs cold.
Spinning memories, eyes flash and thunder roars,
Stop! Please, I cannot take this anymore.
Retake the monsters that hold this land,
Capture the beasts that spout their demands.
Fire feeds the land, its wrath a touch of insanity,
Perhaps we have forsaken all forms of humanity.
Find the demons that haunt the human mind,
Stop the madness. We are running out of time.
 
© Cynthia Clark

"Harley Quinn Romance"
 
 
 
I'll be the joker
You be my queen
We'll be bi polar
And everything in between
We won't care about living life
To the letter
And we ain't getting older
We're just getting better
The more they tell us No
The more we'll do it just because..we're us
I need my kinda crazy
And I found it in you
Your asylum insanity
My perfect cue
Let's take a chance
On this insane romance.
Cuz we ain't getting older
Were just getting better
We don't care about
Living up to their letter
Lets just go
Be us.
© Jason Cueto 2016
 
 
 
"A Broken Heart & An Empty Pack of Cigarettes"
 
 
 
So I've spent all damn night...
Trying to say this right....
Trying to get the right words
To Write this wrong.....
With you it's always a fight
You think your always right
Well times are changin
And you might just be in for a surprise...
I was a fool, you were a bitch
Fell in love, and I woke up with a twitch
A broken heart and an empty pack of cigarettes
I should have known it was too good to be true....
Been sitting here all day...
Trying to get out this stain
You left on my brain and
find a way back from your insanity
Now I don't know wrong from right
Can't stop trying to fight this
I can't seem to find any way out....
Maybe it's wrong tonight.....but it feels so right.
Let's forget about tomorrow and just be here now...
So I was a fool.....you were a bitch
I fell in love, you gave me a twitch
A broken heart and an empty pack of cigarettes
So many times I wanted to quit ...before it ever got to this
But I was a fool----you were a bitch.....I fell in love,
Woke up with a twitch, a broken heart and an empty pack of Cigarettes
You put my broken heart in your empty pack of cigarettes...
© Jason Cueto 2016
 
 
 
"On the fringe of lunacy"
 
 
 
My clarity comes in a bottle
My sanity comes in a pill
Another night tossing and turning
Alive in my own personal hell
Do you know what it's like
To feel schizophrenic
How did i get here
And why am I so jaded?
Buried alive by life
Were all living a lie
Drink. fight. fuck. Work. Die.
It's all so predictable
Follow the money
Not your dreams
Society's lies
Material things
Fake tits, fake lips,
Bad songs, bad scripts
Say anything
Fuck everybody
Drink yourself half dead
Wake up
Comeback to life
Only to do it over again.
© Jason Cueto 08/2016
 
 
 
 
THE DEVOURING SHEPHERD
 
 
 
 
 
 
Hunting men
Killing women
Butchering children,
Belittling mankind
Desecrating humanity
Preserving cattle
Dignifying livestock
Grazing in residential area.
Maiming men
Wasting women
Crushing children,
Melting mankind
Hijacking humanity
Choking the earth
Suffocating the world.
Band of wolves
Legion of lions
Cluster of tigers
Grazing in farm land.
The devouring shepherd
Roasting men for his beast
Idolizing his cattle
Immortalizing his livestock
A bloody missionary
Hunting human
Safeguarding animals
Awkward shepherd
Satanic shepherd.
© Ngozi Olivia Osuoha
 
 
 
Ephemeral Comfort and Halcyon Days



Far away people tried as in the past

to create the feeling of those halcyon days

when celebrations didn’t end in mayhem and death

joy did not turn to sorrow from a truck

as it crushed delicate bones with tires meant to

roam on asphalt and concrete

not on the backs of innocent people

whose eyes were distracted by the wild creations in the sky

ploughing through as if it were invincible

the driver in the end only a man

deluded to believe his was the cause to end all

riddled with bullets the vehicle finally stopped

its one passenger on a senseless mission

the cloak of terror was to be lifted

the weight of it creating a self awareness

of never being safe in public

the comfort of past years obliterated by

the acts of terrorists had been destroyed

and now when soon life would go back to normal

this happened and again there are body bags in the street

reminding us that we can never take off this garment

We must wear it until all shreds of these angry people

are obliterated as the driver finally was in a hail of gunfire

At first we had thought this to be ephemeral

gone as the danger decreased

pulses went back to normal

life returned to its usual ebb and flow

and now we are realizing it must be buttressed

with a new robe woven with the threads of dignity

spun from the minds of all who wish to overcome

We must weave into it the hopes of all who yearn for,

strive for, and desire it

The cloth thin as a whisper must remind all who

wear it that it is possible to have this

in the end as more and more don this vestment

invisible to the eye yet known by the heart

it will be possible and with the help of all

peace will reign and conquer all who dare to

prick its fabric.

copyright 2016 by Barbara Ehrentreu


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