Everyone's poems and/or works

[Willie]

This is what happens when you speak; I mean my penname is “Marquis de Joker” yeah I’m a clown but I don’t have any jokes, I am the joke, makes me a mime. Mime No More… might find out Saturday, my writing was certainly a joke with HR, maybe.

~Mime No More~

And he would have been sorry
if he could get a grip
of his love-struck heart; boring
But a pink slip
is gruesome and gory
This is it

With his name on the dotted line
He would walk right out the door
Or he would pretend this time
Only what’s the truth there for
Fine
He’ll ask God once more

Oops
right, he was too damn loud
Talked at all, big whoops
Because he’s a clown and how
For just one big group
Mankind… and he was bound

To want to be one of you
Because of “her”
Pretend, that’s what they do
Wouldn’t you rather…
Well it doesn’t matter; he told the truth
Why was there laughter

if he wasn’t funny
Not enough or too much
Well anyway there goes the money
Where is the love
Suppose he should die really
Because what’s to become should he see

It’s all there in black and white
Line by line, and they didn’t have to find
pencil, paper, evidence in sight
Can’t you see his crime?
Guess it wasn’t very bright
There goes his job of being a mime
Sorry is the word that never comes out right

Copyright © 2015 Will A. Bradford Jr. All rights reserved.

[Willie]

~The First Impressionist~

The first impressionist
A guess
As to how I will be perceived
Me
What I am
And what lands
Against life’s canvas
But the truth is

The joker made joke
Because I choke
On any reason of mine
And become the punch line
My smile a tool
That makes me look like a fool
I am made jester
Laughter not treasured

The power… I cower
Neither now nor any hour
Do I rule or decide
I’m waiting on death to die
Thunderstruck
And I’m caught up
Being a slave
Everyday

The artist made picture
And I’m not any richer
A picture worth a thousand words
Millions meant nothing to the pretty girl
Siren’s song sung
I should have run
As for today
I’m not even part of the play

The player being played
Not making love or laid
Chivalrous
Yet Cupid missed
Nice guys finish last
Both good and bad
Which am I to be?
She never did see
The lover made other
Not man but beast, girls shudder
I’ve been in love, at least I think
As the song goes “love stinks”
And yet the funk
Makes me a punk
Because I can’t help myself
And so I want to be somebody else

An impressionist
A guess
As to what I should be
If more than me
Because the first impression
Is always the wrong direction
This impressionist
The truth is…

[Willie]

~Drowning In Because~

A pool too deep
Angels fly
But where will your feet
Lie

I’m drowning because
It’s you I seek
Drowning because of us

A lake too cold
You are my light, so warm
But you I could never hold
If I were never born

I’m drowning because
You, I’ll never know
Drowning because of us

A river too dirty
Corrupted, violated, muddy
You were naughty and flirty
And I wanted lusty and slutty

I’m drowning because
I was so nerdy
Drowning because of us

An ocean too blue
Or black or red
Filth made true
Unheard, unsung, unread

I’m drowning because
I thought you knew
Drowning because of us

A sea too perilous
Too say hello again
Of you, never enough
Your heart, your skin, and sin

I’m drowning because
You I still love
Drowning because of us

Such is my love
My history
The two of us
Such a misery
Drowning In Because

[Willie]

~Checkered Past~

Jumped and thumped
Bumped and dumped
Across this board called life
Why must I fight

A game I don’t want to play
Anyway
But here I am today

With dreams to be king
Isn’t that the thing
A dream to win
I do but sin

And am made false
At such cost
Waiting for that final loss

Checked again and again
Where do I begin
To leave such a predicament
Confidence?

When I am surrounded
Astounded
Yet bounded

To head to the other side
Try and survive
This board
A want to be more

Than a drama queen
A king
I want to be…

Oh checkmate
I am far too late
Because of what is true
And what I was made into

That’s my ass
At last
My future is my Checkered Past

[Willie]

~Before I’m Broken~

Break
When I’m awake
Life’s no dream
Please
Just let me sleep

Breaking
No future making
All the days
Someday
Which is no way

Broke
With no hope
No gold
To hold
And yet I’m sold

Broken
A token
Paying for
More
Yet the score?

Before
And evermore
Stays zero
Yet I’m the hero
Of this tale
I tell
I won’t be saved
From this fate

To not be awoken
Before I’m Broken

[Alp]

Oswald's Lament by Alp Mortal

“Dumah;
My heart melts for him 'til the dusk of day.
The night, so lonely now,
leaves me vanquished and confused 'til dawn.
I pluck a memory from the air like a petal from the bloom of peony perfection and hold it ‘gainst my breast.
Imbibed of a sorrowful winter’s hoary dawn, my heart is rapacious cold.
Hell would be my preferred reality.
Eschewing reason, embracing insanity; t’was no choice exercised of free will.
Love is no more certain than where the smithy’s hammer falls.
Love; the planished surface of a medicine bowl. Every dimple, evidence of the craft; not so blind; not so random. I am well; love makes me sick.
The smithy is no fool; he does not strike his thumb, does he? Not he, adorned by blood blisters and contusions of hopeless fools.
Cannot be true that love was so barren that I taste only ash; I remember the thunder roll between our thighs; a refuge from confusing rain.
Our love was bold; red like the wound. Our love was wise; sagacious as plums that ripen only in the act of picking, else held in stasis ‘til observed.
Our love was delectable, like scent floating in the breeze.
Our love was fervid; a naked prophet, possessed and revered.
We, but acolytes of beauteous truth; seekers not yet believers; pedestrians and passengers; mere spawn; embryonic demons with one horn. Unformed fruit; a question mark for a cock.
Love him? I did; swear it was true. Worms may eat my brain but thought is undiminished and emotions hunger for marrow; I swell in servitude of the gift.
The deserving man craves the least; the undeserving man, the most; I, now, the fulcrum of the scales; craving more makes me ugly; desiring less, angelic.
Goodbye sweet, rotten flux; momentary delusion; eternal, infernal and carnal; my chalice will never be full.
Dumah! I love you.
Adieu

[Justin]

What happened to this thread? When I was on earlier this week I noticed it was gone lol. Or was I imagining that?

[Wade]

Alp wrote: "Oswald's Lament by Alp Mortal

“Dumah;
My heart melts for him 'til the dusk of day.
The night, so lonely now,
leaves me vanquished and confused 'til dawn.
I pluck a memory from the air like a petal..."
Thanks!! Post some more when you're able to.

[Aaron]

Kind of slow here lately so,

Words lead to dead ends
When you fight yourself
Memories rise up
And parade past you
Nothing can be changed
Time is frozen fast
Lovers ghostly kisses
Pale lips still so sweet
Music playing softly
Behind everything
Songs that still have power
To turn a heart awry
Pain, sadness, passion
Thunderstorm of the heart
Bridges never burned
Roads never taken
Friendships lost and gone
Love not forgotten.

[Wade]

Friend talked about having dreams. Older song intro I had used this:

I dream of far-off realms
And dreams withing dreams crack me
Into a golden birds' nest, of fine... wool...

As for bridges burned, too many have become
Spans leading from indecision, nowhere,
Can never love that so: Torches!

[Boyko]

Thanks for the invite.
My Wandering Feelings is now free on Amazon.
Best wishes,
Boyko
http://www.amazon.com/Wandering-Feeli...

[Joanna]

Justin wrote: "On the Eve of Doom

As the time ticks away slowly creeping
The life gives away fragile and weakening
No means of an exit or ways of escape
Darkness all around, falling like a curtain drape
For all ..."
I really, really like your poetry, Justin. It's bold and it loiters round my mind.

[Joanna]

I'm just loving this feed- hooray for gothic poetry!
While my reading tastes are gothic the poetry I produce isn't so dark... but here's a sample...

Barefoot child climb towards the moon

From the darkened window, waiting, 

She sees the soft moon

Baiting children to come and play 

Amidst the downy rays that shape 

And hide the sleeping night,

Now brought alive!
Leaving the house as she embarks

She feels no perils of the dark.

Through the high-grass field, run lightly. 

Through the shadow-dark wood, run soft.

Forest pine-pins make a gentle rug

For tiny feet in the glorious dark.
Barefoot child, climb towards the moon 

Beneath her weight, the ancient giant moans

But limb by limb his height he yields

Raising her towards star-fields.

The cosmos, trembling, growing bright, 

Baptises the child into the night

With moon-water whose drops reflect

The glowing goddess as she blesses.

Believe in nothing, love the earth

This is the story of thy birth.


This is from my poetry collection Songs of the River - If anyone's interested in reviewing I have free pdf copies, just get in touch! Indeed if anyone would just like to read more I'd be delighted to pass it on :)

[Justin]

Joanna wrote: "Justin wrote: "On the Eve of Doom

As the time ticks away slowly creeping
The life gives away fragile and weakening
No means of an exit or ways of escape
Darkness all around, falling like a curtain..."

Thank You Joanna! :)

[Justin]

Three poems from my book The Macabre Masterpiece: Poems of Horror and Gore:

They Without Morals

Who dares disturb those who sleep in deep slumber?
Deriving us from our caskets and tombs
Whoever you are it is but a wonder
And onto you I curse and cast doom
You have ruined our peace and tainted our dirt
Do you have not any shame?
For this I summon onto you the deadliest hurt
And inflict blasphemy to scorn your name
Now let’s see you get into heaven
Knowing you’ve angered those already there
I plague you with the deadly sins of seven
Until your distraught and can no longer bare
A cemetery is a confined place for the dead
You did not come to pay your respects
For every step in which your feet have tread
You shall feel the mortifying effects

Declaration of Decadence

We hold no truths here and nothing is evident
No soul is treated equal this is no sacrament
Those that are here rot, they are not endowed by their creator
They are alienable, have no rights and the devil is their savior
There is no life without death, liberty without tyranny
And the pursuit of happiness here is just irony
You need no consent cause here your just a slave
Your body on earth decaying in it’s grave
Let this stand as your only rights given
You don’t deserve any since your no longer living
This goes way beyond any sacred document
Consider it to be your final event
When you lived you went by independence
Here you believe in the Declaration of Decadence

Summoners of the Unholy

Off in the distance chants can be heard
Conjuring up beings from the written word
From bats to demons to grotesque monsters
They are the real things, far from impostors
They speak in the form of the ancient tongue
Casting their words deep from the lungs
It’s hard to understand what’s being said
Unless you understand the Tibetan Book of the Dead
This is the text in which the strange spells derive
The innocent better run if they wish to stay alive
Soon a whole army of terror will be present
Things are about to be vile instead of pleasant
Is there anyone that dares to act boldly?
And put a stop to the summoners of the unholy

[Preben]

Josie wrote: "The Storm of the Dead is upon me now,
though how it started, I haven't a clue how,

rain pours down and lightning flashes,
the whole house creaks as thunder crashes,

I walk outside and find that ..."
That was a lovely poem with a great rytm. You even managed to make a hint to Poe. I'm a pretty new member of this group so I've just noticed your topic today about posting dark poetry. Maybe I can make something myself but I have to give it some thought cos I want it to have at least some quality before I put it on

[Justin]

Three poems from my book Like A Box Of Chocolates:

Relics, Realms and Rituals

Cherished artifacts forgotten, value in the dust
Once a high commodity that lost quality and trust
But now the object is nostalgic and possession is a must

All power that’s in it comes deep from within
Out will come the souls and spirits filled with sin
Knowing they will be free the spell can begin

Let the methods of practice open the portal
The chants cast out loud praising the dead and immortal
They who do not understand and never learned the moral

Relics, what we once knew all but disappeared
Realms, the scope of force to which power is revealed
Rituals, all that was one sealed will now be feared

Satanic Whispers

Sitting around in silence a soft sound is spoken
The air becomes cold, the ice has been broken
Faintly heard are yells, gentle screams and pleas
Like a ringing in the ears that just won’t appease
There is sadness in their tone but yet also demonic
While reality is still the other side is catastrophic
The reason they are heard is because everyday is torture
The reason they burn is because everyday is a scorcher
When you sleep at night and hear voices that’s them
Softly spoken yet scraggily hoarse with spit and flem
If the voices don’t drive you mad the nightmares will
Yet as much as you wanna wake up you remain still
The essence of their words are like straps to the bed
To make you so insane your wishing you were dead
Dead like them making the same tearful whimpers
Just another victim making satanic whispers

The Mortuary

The sight is somber and peaceful
As silence screams in a deadly tone
There is no movement here
Just a creepy and odd feeling
Yes this is life but this is also death
Where those here are confined to rest
Temporarily until eternity comes
For the moment this is their home
And the director makes them feel right at that
Even getting in a quick feel of his own
Blessed are those who sleep here
Yet that feeling of the eerie and strange
Such an elegant and well-designed room
The view is but a beautiful nightmare
Those who occupy it always rigor
Motionless, emotionless, thoughtless
As they stay still in a dead parlor
Until they rest in peace
They wait patiently at the mortuary

The book is actually a collection of poems within many different genres but there are a few in the horror/gothic style that I thought I'd share.

[Kurt]

Hermes -
Like Orphans we look into
The arms of Night,
Drowning in the uncertainty
Of our own Ref lection.
Between Dog and Wolf
We are born unbidden,
Shadows from out the distant flame.
Looking forward we look back again,
Sedentary slumbers and Lethargic rites,
Memories gleam past like receding tides,
What is unwritten is unseen,
The Future an illusion,
Neither what is nor what should be.

From Endymion or The State of Entropy

[Justin]

Kurt wrote: "Hermes -
Like Orphans we look into
The arms of Night,
Drowning in the uncertainty
Of our own Ref lection.
Between Dog and Wolf
We are born unbidden,
Shadows from out the distant flame.
Looking forw..."

Very nice