Posts Tagged ‘Horror’

To most who look,
Poetry looks a glorious act,
A noble act,
But it’s a lie,
It is butchery,

I hack and cleave,
Words into prime cuts,
Punctuation into mince,
It is a foul process,
The table glistens with grease and crimson,

Exsanguinate the prose,
And remove narrative viscera,
Carve a strip of exposition there,
And rend from it superfluous fat,
My pen thirsts for more,

Boiling bones of expression,
Reducing them to grist for future ventures,
Everything is red,
The grisly work is done,
For the punters to love and hate,

Caked in blood and gore,
Of projects discarded,
I am no writer,
No poet,
I am a butcher.

A crossroads in my life,
I remember it well,

Mundanity one way,
A tiresome future,
A pointless existence,
Eccentricity over yonder,
The way of the top hat,
The path of the face-paint,

I chose the only path I could,

Now I jaunt along it,
A cane in one gloved hand,
And a pen in the other,
A jester marotte in my pocket,
My top hat standing tall,
A capricious design upon my face,

Where my grin goes,
Kaleidoscopic and macabre images follow me,
There can be no end to the madness,
This procession of the asylum continues.

MFM Team

A continuation of ‘Festival Of Blood‘.

I was a bad man in life,
A nightmare in a mask,
Bringing luscious bloody release to innocents,
Before my festival of gore was cut short by firing squad,
But I’m back,
I claws my way out of hell,

But something followed me,
Something wants to drag me back,
Drag me back with fang and claw,
This infernal dread has a name,
Cerberus,
A real bad doggy,

A mass of muscle and maw,
Dark as the night,
And far more foreboding,
Three canine heads of such freakishness,
A trichotomy of insatiable mouths,
Slavering with the essence of hell-fire,

I am prey now,
A target for this unholy behemoth,
This guard dog of the underworld,
Its eyes seethe with crimson voracity,
It will hunt me for all eternity,
I can only flee,

I was a serial killer,
An apex predator,
But now me and my soul are just panicky prey.

Cerberus

This is the suburbs,
Residential utopia,

Gardens disheveled and unkempt,

Children with blank faces,

Creaky marred front gates,

A young lady who hears all manner of sordid gossip,

A shed kept from prying eyes,

A policeman with lewd secrets of his own,

A community full of cliques,

A weary young man who keeps his basement locked,

A husband and wife who never look at one another,

A girlfriend head-to-toe in Stella Artois contusions,

A widow still in a black veil,

A crowded yellow school-bus never to get home,

Some utopia,
When perused closer,
Even the suburbs aren’t so idyllic.

I gaze out of my window,
And up into the sky,
That sapphire display of experiences and worlds unknown,
That projection screen for hopes and fears,
I see other worlds that are out of reach,
Or are they imaginary?

The great azure sky looms over,
Acting as a backdrop for my minds eye,
The sun illuminates it,
Acting as a catalyst for what I see,
The clouds act their little plays,
Trying to obscure the enigmas I see,

I see worlds of splendor,
I see nightmare-scapes,
I see fiends and seraphs,
Horrors unbound,
And otherworldly monsters,
Oh the monsters,

Alien worlds that are wholly unknowable,
Stars shimmering every colour of this world,
And many that are not,
Worlds of untold beauty and potential,
And worlds of misery and black lightning,
I’ve seen these before in my dreams,

Then I become cognizant of something,
I was staring into a mirror all along,
A window into the human soul.

Unknown

He’s coming for me,
Even the storm outside does not cloak his steps,
Mr. Ash,
The frigid wind tries to hold him back in vain,
The rain whispers “flee”,
Each stroke of lightning is a plea of “run!”,

My attempts at going underground failed,
My thieving insult to him will be repaid in blood,
I glance out of the window fearfully,
I see him nearing even in the black,
It’s like staring into evil itself,
It’s like looking at the apocalypse in slow motion,

A demon,
A God,
Or something altogether more alien,
Long spindly limbs,
Pale and hairless,
He is dressed literally to kill,

His emaciated limbs bear barbarous claws,
Claws that have ended lives since time began,
And perhaps even before,
His mad eyes are wide open,
His grin filled with murderous intent,
He’s coming for me,

His form appeared at my door,
That grin still glistening,
Despite the horror that was about to ensue,
His rangy form must nearly crouch,
But I still feel like a frightened child,
The monster under the bed is real,

Even the bravest slink in terror,
And fear the name of Mr. Ash,
Even the maddest see reason,
And fear the name of Mr. Ash,
Even as my body is torn limb from limb,
The storm continues unabated.

MrAsh

The accordion plays on and on,
Its player masked and humbly attired,
An apocalyptic accordionist,
Tight-lipped and stoic,
Longing for the end of all things.

On and on,
The world falls apart,
Flames jig to the tune,
The land quakes to each note,
Civilization gives a final emphatic applause.

The world moves to an inaudible drum beat,
Waiting for its execution,
The noose tightened,
And the guillotine lifted,
An accordion at the end of the world.

Each keystroke is a crescendo,
Each scale is a finale,
And each note is a curtain call,
An Armageddon,
So the accordion may cease playing.

The end comes,
The accordion plays on.

Accordion

As I stare blankly at the page,
Me and my mind make a pact,
A pact with this book of nightmares,
This monster I put my pen to,
A sanctum for every horror that crosses my minds eye,
Or perhaps an asylum?

This is my unholy gift to you,
A window into my mind,
Full of horrors and abominations as it is,
I must continue to write regardless,
I must keep creating these literary monsters,
The book demands it.

I begin to write,
And the nightmares come out to play,
Letters and words creep from recesses,
Punctuation slivers hither-and-thither,
Sentences of madness begin to form,
I’ve released a monster.

Or am I creating it?

BON

Beware the fiendish imp,
Eyes burning with a devious glee,
Hell couldn’t possibly contain its mischief,
It’s been known to tamper with reality you know,
Now it’s coming to play a malicious prank on you,
Do you think you’ll survive?

You hear it giggling to itself in the dark,
Or is it creeping ever closer?
Under the bed or behind you perhaps?

Imp says read each first letter.

Imp

Hello there inmates!

I hope you’re all having a great day. It’s Halloween! Or some may call it; Samhain, Hallow’s Eve or All Saint’s Eve! It’s the holiday of scares, it’s the time for spooks and scares and the best day of the year for dressing up like a loony. Halloween is like a second birthday to me. It’s the only day of the year I can dress as the Harlequin and not get darkly sinister looks from strangers. It’s a time for monsters, a time for haunted places and a time for standing under the glory of the full moon. I have frequented many a Halloween party in my time and they are always the best. It is my favorite holiday (in concept) and I adore it!

I thought I’d do something a little different today. Instead of writing a poem or piece of writing specifically for this special day, I’m going to post some links to some of my freakiest and spookiest poems on the blog. Similar to what I did in my “Reminiscing On Previous Madness” from a while back. I decided to do this simply because I tend to write a lot of poetry that could fit quite well with Halloween. It’s a celebration of my weirdness I suppose. I’m going to showcase my favorite poems about monsters, serial killers, ghosts and the moon. These are some of my personal favorite poems in general too, to be honest.

So here goes, prepare to be mystified and terrified! Oh, and enjoy!

Tarquin
It wouldn’t be Halloween without creepy or otherwise otherworldly house servants. Tarquin is a poem about one such man. A poem about an ungrateful (and murderous) butler.

Ghost Of A Clown
A small set of haiku’s about an ethereal clown with dark intentions. You’re not afraid of clowns are you?

King Of Scythes
The undead are a staple of Halloween. This is a poem about the monarch of the mortuary, the lord of the underworld, the king of the dead. Ghosts, skeletons and ghouls, oh my!

The Old gods
Halloween. HP Lovecraft. Cthulhu. Enough said?

Cannibal Heart
This probably fits more into horror rather than Halloween, but I’d say that cannibals and killers are monsters too. Cannibal is a tragic poem of one such monster.

Grinning Moon
The moon is a symbol of Halloween. Whenever you see a “Halloweeny” picture, you can bet your bottom dollar that there will be a full moon in it. It is as sinister as it is beautiful, and this poem reflects that.

A Bloody Legacy
Serial killers are the monsters that reside within human society. They can be anybody you see. They could be me, they could be you, they could be that guy standing right behind you right now. Don’t turn around, it’ll only provoke him! This is a poem written from the point of view of a particularly dire killer.

Festival Of Blood
A continuation of sorts of A Bloody Legacy. Even serial killers have homes, they too need to take a load off after a long day of maiming innocents. Allow this one to describe his den to you. In very graphic detail.

Beast Of Eyes
The night can bring out all manner of terrifying beasts, from the out-rightly brutal to the devilishly subtle. This being is an original creation of mine. I wrote a poem describing its desire to kill with a glance. Or several. Enjoy!

So there you have it my friends! I hope you check out some of my older poems, it does mean a lot. I hope that you enjoy what I have posted, and that you aren’t too spooked! Ha! There may or not be another post later on tonight, something of a more musical nature. We shall see how the time goes! For now though, I hope you all have a very happy Halloween and that you enjoy this very special day!

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And as always, have a very crazy day!