Dark Poetry's topics - tribe.net

as i see it

William — Wed, 02 Jul 2008 00:09:52 GMT

As I see it
The universe is imploding
Perhaps it is gearing up
For some apocalyptic orgasm
I wonder if we are situated
In the groin of it all
Waiting for the meteor
Or asteroid
Or both
To show up
As the polar ice caps
Melt

as religions find their messiahs
Prepose their justifications
For cosmic conditions
For extremist deeds
As cyclones of thought
Tsunami’s of fear
Line up as forplay

with earthquakes that just fall off
Into some kind of
Volcanic ejaculation
That spread legs
consciuosness
sunsets
unexpected misalignments
that appear as perfect chaos
doing a striptease
at the galactic equator
where a quick fix
shifts perspective’s
a tad enough to call it
even
when it is odd

posted in Dark Poetry - 1 reply

Three Sheets

Alex — Sat, 28 Jun 2008 05:55:59 GMT

Pour a shot
And let it chill
Let me drink
And have my fill
Leave me be
I'm trying to buzz
I'll drink and drink
Until the world's but fuzz

(hehe, I said butt fuzz)

I'll bring the jack
You bring the coke
And together we'll enjoy
An alcohol soak
We'll trip down the road
Of whiskey dreams
Where reality is fuzzy
And more fun than it seems

Let's toast to life
And all that stuff
And we will decide
When we've had enough
Let's drink it all
And let it flow
Until our names
Even we don't know

Let's lose ourselves
In beautiful numbness
And set free
Our inherent dumbness
Let us embrace
The freeing of emotions
And welcome in
Transitory devotions

So drink to the night
And all that it holds
The wonders of joy
And loves many folds ( <----double entendre, in case you missed it)
Let's groove to the music
And the tribal beats
Of life unencumbered
And it's attenuating treats

So raise up a glass
And give honor to all
That would join us tonight
And help us as we fall
Then salute our friends
Both far and near
And let us imbibe
'Til we are free of fear

Let happiness reign
And truth find home
In flights of fancy
And thoughts that roam
Let inhibitions fly
And hearts find their beats
Until the wind takes us
And our three sheets

posted in Dark Poetry - 0 replies

Good Words

Thu, 12 Jun 2008 02:40:49 GMT

Alex's "Poems" reminded me of this poem I wrote a while back:

Good Words

Good words
Are like a good stretch
When all the vertebrae
Snap and pop like
Syncopated snare smacks
Releasing residual relics
Of past ages
Past sages

Good words
Are like good sex
When love possesses
Your soul and crotch
Maddening symbiotic obsession
Of divine lust
Devouring flesh for flesh

Good words
Are like good love
When moments of profound silence
Envelope this dream's faint horizon
And an infinite glance
Stirs an ephemeral tear

Good words
Are like good kicks without paranoia
I'm talking about a
Walk-into-a-coffee-shop-in-Amsterdam-
And-procure-a-prerolled
Type of nonchalance

Good words
Are like good times
When moments rush at you
Like snowflakes at a windshield
And you awe at their accumulation

posted in Dark Poetry - 1 reply

Poems

Alex — Sun, 01 Jun 2008 04:33:47 GMT

Poems are not found in words
But in emotions
Freely expressed
And left for others to explore

Poems are not found in books
But in the everyday
The simpleness of existence
And the frailty of life

Poems are not found in the mind
But in the heart unbound
Where truth is revealed
And we are all we dream

Poems are like children
Not merely creations
Of haphazard dalliances
But fully realized beings
Born of our souls
And the genetics
Of our creativity

They are the fullness of our love
The epitome of our hate
And the amalgam
Of every emotion between

They are unkempt rationality
And fettered chaos
Wrapped up in our joy
And laid at the altar of despair

They are forgotten remembrances
And infinite absolutes
The controlled ramblings
Of logical insanity

Poems are everything
And yet nothing
They are dichotomous extremes
Found in coherent synchronicity

Poems are my blood
My heart
And my soul

They are me laid bare
Left to suffer
Before life's inequities
And made stronger for it

posted in Dark Poetry - 3 replies

Calling all poets in Austin, TX!

Wed, 11 Jun 2008 06:39:50 GMT

I've started a tribe, Austin Poetry Guild. Check it out and see what you think. I would like to establish a group of like-minded poets in the Austin area to meet and share experimental poetry once or twice a month. I envision a forum both online and real-world, where we can challenge each other and provide constructive criticism. Before anything is established, there needs to be a level of sincere and dedicated interest. To get an idea of what kind of poetry this forum is for, think Allen Ginsberg, Gregory Corso, Jack Kerouac, Phillip Lamantia, Saul Williams, Ursula Rucker, and e.e. cummings.

posted in Dark Poetry - 0 replies

Random en Tandem

Wed, 11 Jun 2008 06:36:35 GMT

Random en Tandem

I don’t mind the fly baggage
My mind is not being
Remotely controlled
I have an RC dick
And I’m going to smoke
Till I’ve drifted away

Fuck Wings of Desire
I gave my angel death
You missed my pressed release
It’s stuck to the bottom
Of that girl’s shoe
And it’s getting flatter
With every step
She breathes in be-sharp
To balance herself
On my grain of salt

Crunchy lost in grovel
What are they doing
With that cement mixer mind?

Ah, these boots are
Heavy
And your suits are so
Gentle

I’ve been snuggling
Up to my tithe
And she has been
Hording blankets

Pretending I’m a malicious cave
But it’s such a nice place
To place all these nice things
Like monoliths and blankets?

Exactly

Press record
No, don’t
Ack-hack-splat!

She tickled the back
Of my spoke
Convinced me that we
Could be evil agents together
No one would understand
Our en tandem abandon
Ship!

My time is sinking
And everything is writ
In sand

Copyright Broca's Area 2007

posted in Dark Poetry - 0 replies

Death Before Dishonor

Alex — Fri, 30 May 2008 06:34:44 GMT

Bleeding and bruised I lay there
Evidence of the aftermath of rage
You walk away with pride in your eyes
A smug satisfaction at my seeming demise

Your assumption will be your undoing
For I am nowhere near my end
I have strength within me yet
To rise and give as good as I get

So turn around and face your fate
For I am the answer you desperately seek
The solution to all your torments
The end you seek in quieter moments

Come coward for I will not yield
This fight can only end in death
Only one will walk away from here
Or do you leave because it's death you fear

Have you no honor or pride of self
Finish me before I finish you
For there is nowhere that you can hide
From the mirror of your bruised pride

I'll be waiting here for your return
A constant reminder of your failure
Your inability to finish what you start
For that I will gladly play my part

Though I may be tired and beaten
I will not yield until death comes calling
For I am a warrior through and through
And I stand defiantly waiting for you

posted in Dark Poetry - 3 replies

Ocean's Cry

Alex — Sun, 01 Jun 2008 04:25:50 GMT

Sitting on the sand
Alone with my thoughts
Staring across the water
Lost in the rhythm
Of cascading waves
Gently beating against the shore

Ideas tumble in my mind
Like sand beneath the waves
Shifting and swirling
A mass of unfettered chaos
And yet the beat goes on
The ocean's heart calls

Wading through the break
I reach for the depths
Like a child seeking comfort
I answer the cries
Of my ocean mother
And ask for her embrace

Waves thrust me away
As if to deny me passage
I push and strain against them
For I will not be held back
Home is where the heart is
And my heart is where I live

Embrace me mother
Your child has returned
Never again shall I leave
For the world is nothing to me
And I nothing to the world
But home is everything

I feel the ocean surge
She takes me in her embrace
Carried upon her shoulder
She returns me to the world
Denying my bid for home
Returning me to my senses

Looking across the water
A single tear falls
A silent goodbye shared
I turn my back to home
Knowing my return will come
But not quite yet

posted in Dark Poetry - 0 replies

I Got Erection

nyarlethotep — Sat, 31 May 2008 02:17:22 GMT

First you take the peanut and you crack it, you crack it.

Then you take the peanut and you smash, you smash it.

Peanut, Peanut butter.

Jelly.

posted in Dark Poetry - 1 reply

Her Lover's Name

Quixoticrepose — Wed, 28 May 2008 15:55:40 GMT

She walked beside the crashing surf,
Wet sand between her toes,
Contemplating on her life
Fraught with endless woes.

She'd given all she was to him,
And now could give no more.
She dwelled upon her misery
As she strode along that shore.

She sat and gazed upon the sea
As the waves swirled all around.
No longer could she hear the gulls,
She scarcely heard a sound.

She rose and walked into the surf,
All reason left her mind.
The madness that her heart endured
Had caused her to feel blind.

She couldn't comprehend this deed
Or how she'd come to this.
She'd only desired one man's love
But never would know that bliss.

She walked on through the rugged waves,
With a longing to be free.
Her heart was shattered, torn a part
By a love that'd never be.

The water's depth was rising and
She welcomed its embrace,
And pondered one last time his smile.
A tear rolled down her face.

The ocean seemed to call to her
Like sweet voices from a choir.
To leave this awful wretched state
Was now her strong desire.

She breathed deep the salty waters,
This pain would at last cease.
In just a fleeting moment,
She would finally be at peace.

If only he had fought for her
To guard her tender heart.
If he had loved as much as she,
They would've never been apart.

And now she sank into the depths
Despair her only friend.
She continued grieving him
Until the very end.

Her final words would go unheard
Yet she spoke them all the same.
The one last utterance from her lips...
...Was her lover's name.

For the record: All work found on this page is copyrighted by the author. Unlawful reproduction or use of this content without prior consent is prohibited. Feel free to share it with your friends, just make sure you give credit where credit is due.

posted in Dark Poetry - 0 replies

Nightmare!

Leah — Mon, 28 Apr 2008 19:09:33 GMT

NO ESCAPE
Running for my life as the torrid blackness descends
From an angry sky whose churning hunger pangs
Threaten to devour everything in sight.
There is no escape when the beast comes
Ravenous as it craves its next meal; me!
Blood is required to slake the spasms; a temporary resolution.
There is no escape when I have been marked as its prey.
Try as I must, there is no hiding place.
Cyclonic malevolence extends its claw piercing my heart; my very soul.
Death screams penetrate the night as my essence of life
Is sucked through my marrow and the scarlet river
Slurped and savored for its sweet delicacy and subtle nuances.
Life-force oozes from my assaulted body;
Slaking the thirst that permeates the beast's malicious abyss.
The hunter has been victorious; its quarry dispatched with ease.
Satiated; for now.

lcp
Sassy Speaks Publishing
April 28, 2008
All Rights Reserved

posted in Dark Poetry - 0 replies

John Lennon poem

Jay — Thu, 10 May 2007 15:30:33 GMT

"Cleaning Up The Mess John Left Behind"

When John Lennon died, it was a sad, sad day
He was just too stoned to run away
Shot in the back as he tried to flee
Sorry, John, you're history
And Yoko screamed as she usually did,
in her songs where she sounds like a billy goat's kid
If he only could have ended his M.J. addiction
So at least he could recognize facts from the fiction
"A man of peace" but that was just a big joke
Enlightenment's tainted in a cloud of weed smoke
So the songs that he wrote were some of the best
Drugs opened his mind but what of the rest?
He poisoned his lungs, his blood and his brain
And they say the man who shot John was insane
He encouraged so many to follow his path
But where'd it lead him - why don't you do the math?
The truth is so strange, if you give it some thought
John Lennon was shot but done in by the pot.

- J. Luna

posted in Dark Poetry - 80 replies

to catch a flying moon

tannershot — Sun, 13 Apr 2008 03:16:12 GMT

to catch a flying moon
that in a night
did perch upon the bough
and branch of the elder tree
and this is dark
with a wink of light
that the moon was dashed in falling
sight consume and with the taste
so see that the winds blew
from season to season
there is no repeating
that strange orbit
but a mindful decay
that ends in fire

posted in Dark Poetry - 3 replies

ixtab

Saint Stomp — Tue, 25 Mar 2008 19:52:03 GMT

A pretty girl in black

wearing a face.

The kind on the verge of crying.

I see her in my sleep

walking on a dark grassy hill with a single bare black tree,

backed by a menacing sky

the kind on the verge of crying
for she sways
She swings
she calls out
threw a beautiful broken neck
offering up to me
icy protection

posted in Dark Poetry - 0 replies

Sanity a little box and baby im breaking out

Saint Stomp — Tue, 26 Feb 2008 02:22:57 GMT

so sweety
so honey
so you can come or you can stay
but either way
the card house is caving in
this cats clawing down baby then he’s clawing out.
I gotta say I think there looking for me.
I think they want a piece or two,
they want my eyes,
my ear,
my tong
oh god my tong worth its wait in gold and golds wait in shit.
So I think ill hide ill fall backwards in side of me
so I think ill admit baby im afraid
the me that you know is scared of the me I know and im scared of the both of them and what they may do if they team up I think
they think
they will take my eye they’ll take my ears and my tong
good god my tong sharp like a razor, silky like a still whip.

posted in Dark Poetry - 2 replies

Mr. T.

plathundercover — Sat, 15 Mar 2008 21:44:09 GMT

Hi, I'm new here. Glad to find the perfect tribe for my headspace right now. Thank you.

February 24, 2008

Controlling
Counting
Every Second
Where was I?
Who was I with?
On the way to the bathroom did I give someone a kiss?
Gave him my number? How could I?
I should know better than to befriend a member of the opposite sex.
After all, Mr. T. wouldn’t do such a thing to perplex.
What a conniving little sneaky bitch I am.
After the cock, I must be.
After all, he thought I was nice and all didn’t he?
There you have it, wanted straight in the pants.
Isn’t that the truth no matter the stance?

Apparently so.
Or so I’m told.
He tells he tells he tells he tells he tells and I
Just want to scream in his face so
Sometimes I do.
And GOD does it feel good.
Really really good.
So good that it seems if I could just keep screaming
Everything would get better
My problems would fade, my head would get lighter.
If I could just scream, not shout but just SCREAM!
Away the pain between us,
Erase the memories of all that has stained us.

Can’t I just tell you that I hate you when I do?
When I can’t eat sleep think write nor study much less forgive you
Because of you.
I think if I could just scream
SCREAM
In your face
I could get some fucking shit done.
Godammit
Put the headphones on
You think I yell but it’s only when you won’t listen to my talking.
So I talk
Louder
Louder
Until soon you stop talking,
Only you still aren’t listening.
Because now you are busy telling me
That I am SCREAMING AGAIN!
And round and round and round we go again, my friend.
I feel myself hating you.
Can’t I tell you so?
What happened?
Your customary stony face says it all, Mr.T.

posted in Dark Poetry - 0 replies

The Start

Leo — Sun, 24 Feb 2008 01:09:39 GMT

You Wake, the sun has risen.
open eyes, again a prison.

Go outside, noise of sorrow.
pray again, for no tomorrow.

walk streets, are people alive?
born into , for we must strive.

the reason, there are no reasons.
change of heart , change of seasons.

got my meal, am i hungry?
children starving, am I sorry?

I stand, see beautiful flower.
I move, construction for power.

Everyone fights, money rules.
People please wake, your fools.

I look ahead, who can I trust.
Someone there? To search , you must.

I smile, so people hate.
To listen , it is my fate.

magic hands, to fix the heart.
I see reason, for its a start.

To end ourselves, it is our mark.
People wake, its getting dark!

Moon is rising, the sun sets!
Good and evil, place your bets.

posted in Dark Poetry - 0 replies

While inside the borders of the Blake State

fred_kane — Wed, 13 Feb 2008 12:17:19 GMT

Fucked up on drugs I didn't take.
Until now, I was no believer in conspiracies. As it is, I've been peaking
and dipping for what seems to have been, and continues be- an eternity.
I've never
in my twenty one years of life,
fucked with enough acid
to warrent this class
of flashback.
Somebody put something in my drink. Fuck! It was a god damned Pepsi!

I'm tripping.
On the cold cement floor.
Of a holding facility.
Some county jail.
September (?) 1977. Wondering
how they managed to cover up the assassination of John Lennon.

I'm raving!
I'm Screaming!
I'm ecstatic!
I'm scared!
I am fucked up!

I'm suddenly calmed by a light that enters through a keyhole of a door in my cell.
It's a solid steel door that leads to the outside.
When I stare at the keyhole from a certain angle, I'm taken
by intense blues and violets. The light has relocated me.
I sense that I've crossed over to- to...
Fuck, you name it!
Any attempt at designation by your's truly
might have you doubting my sanity!
For the record, I'll call it
The Blake State.
Hallucination,
delusion,
apophenia-
'sall here.
I'm gone, baby, gone!

Stains on the concrete floor change shape.
With each shape a narrative invites itself. I am orator. I am audience.
I see what appears to be a ghost, shaped like a rider dressed in white, on a white horse. The ghost tries to ride through, but crashes into a wall then dissipates
into a pale, bluish mist. Voice over: "There goes Apocalypse Johnny."
"There goes Apocalypse Johnny!" I scream to whoever is listening, "Johnny didn't make it through!" I'm laughing, mad, hysterical in my god granted state of-

Listen!

I have it on good authority that the whole of existence lies within the heads of five beings on life support. They are tied mind to mind by some kind of link.
Particle wave?
Psychic?
Digital?
FuckifIknow.
I do know this: We are the accumulative sum of their collective dream.
When they go, so go we all.
Apocalypse Johnny, he's the devil.
He walks around the sleepers' beds
waiting to place pennies on their eyes.
Yeah, he's going to pull some plugs.
I'm laughing like Lennon at the end of "Hey Bull Dog" I'm screaming: "Johnny's getting even! Hahahahahahahah! He's gettin' fuckin even!"

Then I hear The Voice:
a mad, cynical voice.
A voice that sneers in an English accent.
Almost cockney accent.
Calls me by nick name.

Says: "Wordsmith are you, Chuck?"

I'm, I'm grinning and grunting and muttering, and drooling like the sub human I've become. I'm nodding my head ferociously, and babbling like some sacred idiot.

Voice: "complete the rhyme, Chuck!
You can complete the rhyme, can't you?"

I continue to nod and mutter, like some autistic-

The Voice proceeds with the rhyme:

"Apocalypse
Bastards
true to their nature
sell their blue babies
to Red
Righteous
Fathers.

Ask of the fair children
and you'll never find them
Trade their ploughshares
for swords
as god stands behind them."

I'm grinning and drooling, head-spinning crazyasfuck and- Then
I'm lucid.
For a moment.
Lucid.
I add to the rhyme:

"The linen white chosen
When duty befallen
take books as their shields
and go as god calls them.

The voice:

"Not very good, Chuck. Not very good at all."

I spit out in hysterical laughter:
"You should see it from my angle!"

And all goes black.

posted in Dark Poetry - 2 replies

starbucks vanity.

call8me8jim — Tue, 12 Feb 2008 21:34:32 GMT

dirty angry, scratching at my face again.

just keep telling your self it's normal.

"this is normal, this'S NORMAL, THIS IS NOORMALLLL"
...
ok, fine, it's ok to scream, normal peaple scream when that hapens.
...
dose this even hapen to normal peaple ?

posted in Dark Poetry - 0 replies

"Get Off The Path to Nowhere"

Jay — Mon, 04 Feb 2008 19:59:47 GMT

Got way too many friends,
Gettin' lost in all their drugs
Can't grow while they descend,
And sweep 'em underneath the rug
I been to Hell and back
From smokin' weed to smokin' crack
Got me YEARS clean & sober
Join me on the right track

You're sayin' let's "party"
But the thought just makes me yawn
Attempt to tempt me, "friend"
And you'll find I can't be drawn
'Cause I'd rather work out
Or read a book and get smarter
You take drugs to escape
But all they do is make life harder

You wonder why each day is filled
With pain and so much strife
Well, if drugs control your deeds,
Then drugs indeed control your life
You try to justify
And say that "God made weed"
Well, He also made your blood,
So, does that mean you wanna bleed?

God too, made poison mushrooms
And berries that can kill
There's always consequences
For abusing free will
Besides, if you do drugs,
You ain't nothin' but a slave
It takes a strong, FREE mind
To say NO to what you crave

Why make yourself look weak?
Whether wired or unalert
So hyper when you speak
Or slurred - Some pride ain't gonna hurt
The might of God inside awaits
PURE FIRE to be released
But it's you that must unlock the gates
And free this majestic beast!

Hearing voices, seeing bugs
And people that ain't there
Just look into the mirror
If you really want a scare
For much sooner than expected,
You will view a frightening scene
Your druggee ass looks older than
Emperor Palpatine!

But if you quit today,
Please, don't do it out of FEAR
Just LOVE yourself and all,
And you shall never disappear
When dealing with life's problems,
Don't put yourself through hell
Meditate and you will find
The answers in your cells

- J. Luna

posted in Dark Poetry - 10 replies

WRITERS WANTED...

Richard — Fri, 08 Feb 2008 10:00:42 GMT

Poets, novelists, essayists, short story writers, playwrights, journalists...If you write and have a site that you would like to like to mine, then I would like to hear from you. A reciprocal link will seal the deal...PLUS you will also have access to my new blog, where you will be expected to post your excerpts and related material on a regular basis. Oh, wow! He’s got to be kidding! All of that FREE publicity and exposure!

Ayup...I have my reasons. But I’m also very interested in helping to promote my peers whenever and however possible. And my current project just worked out that way. So, if you interested, please get back to me ASAP. There will be limited space!

The 2 sites in question are as follows:

The Portfolio: http://rdklove.googlepages.com

The Portfolio Blog: http://rdkpf.blogspot.com/ (Note: Although brand-spanking new, this blog has been highly syndicated, promulgated, listed and advertized in about as many ways as I know how and is already getting “unsolicited hits” from visitors from everywhere. Witness the “Recent Visitors” button on the right-hand side tab and the number of directories/syndicators listed there, as well, which are only a fraction of the actual total; which is to say: if you post something here, it will be getting national and, quite likely, worldwide exposure.)

Serious inquiries only, please.

RD Kennedy

For those of you who are NOT writers but enjoy quality literature, this also applies to you, because ALL visitors/readers WILL be allowed to post comments on the work they read. You may also know happen to know some writers, who are always looking for another place to promote their work and gain additional exposure. (We’re almost as bad as musicians!) Be SURE to spread the word and ask them to check this opportunity out, as well. You know how it works...

rdk1421@hotmail.com

(Please mention WRITERS WANTED in subject line!)

posted in Dark Poetry - 0 replies

The Path

Chad — Wed, 23 Jan 2008 07:01:22 GMT

Dark hue against, across my chest
Heavy breath, afforded less
Streaking image, fleeting guest
Angst and sorrow, unwanted crest
Brow uncertain, beguiled best
Against a sea of anger, pressed;
Thrown into this stew, protest
Groan the weary, unended jest.

Grip the throat, it ends in haste
Quit the chore, forget the waste
Forgotten loaf, envexxed, unplaced
Undreampt hope, ungifted grace
Disease the pond, resist this caste
Never righted, empty space
Saturate, and turn, and baste
Bereave and follow, path untraced.

posted in Dark Poetry - 0 replies

every thorn is a stolen rosebud

daniel — Sun, 23 Dec 2007 02:23:44 GMT

Every thorn is a stolen rosebud.

Every thorn is a stolen rosebud,
An inner beauty turned bitter through an awareness of the world.
An innocence of which fires are born, burning houses made.

And of wisdom, the soul, the black embers that remain,
Pearls of smoke from the fire for an identity,
But behind it all a dream,
An empty shell.

Every rose is a thorn to the eyes of stolen,
Reality creeping in from outside them,
Destroying their dreams,
And in the roses death enforcing them.

posted in Dark Poetry - 1 reply

Mirror.

Tue, 22 Jan 2008 12:55:20 GMT

This is very short. I intended to add to this, but when I came back to it, the inspiration was lost. It just feels complete as it is. I doubt I'll get any comments, but if you do, go easy on me, I'm only experimenting.

''Mirror:

Glass of shards and shadows made,
I found my way through cracks unsnapped.
A spyder in a web surveyed
With eyes made out of looking glass.''.

posted in Dark Poetry - 0 replies

One of my older ones

JohnnyAllAround — Mon, 21 Jan 2008 06:11:58 GMT

This is one I wrote a bit ago and many people still ask me if I did what is written

Hate Against One

Like the sea swells
Anger surges within me on this night
Rolling, growing
Anger builds
While my body trembles
With documented hate
It consumes my mind
To take over all conscious thought
Growing
Pushing its way to the surface

A body lies cold on the pavement
Broken jaw
Broken neck
The rain begins to fall
On the object of
My hate

posted in Dark Poetry - 0 replies

a poem by '"sage francis"

call8me8jim — Sat, 19 Jan 2008 07:29:02 GMT

Shes a fairy with broken wings
I used to watch her perform
And if she hears me I hope she sings songs
That had me going right back
Couldn't find anyone in town to talk
About how no one like that
Should be confined to the ground we walk

She glides but just seems like she floats
And these folks decide to crush her wings until they're permanently broke
She rides gusts of wind just by the way she spoke
She crys but loves to sing songs of freedom and hope
On the eastside hustling discussing things that we quote
In shallow conversations as if we have deep throats
We choke on our confusion
Now show up as a heat stroke of we need coats
Trading in our cheap jokes for her C notes
I see notes being passed
I ask to see what these creeps wrote
Define silly kids and flying privileges revoked
Ski slopes have been blocked off they can't chance it
Had weights tied to her ankles she most definitely can't skip
Down, she's held down by the transcripts my hands grip
Tried to tie her wings back .. they're once again clipped
Panic stricken, she'll remain stuck
On a titantic sinking, she's trying to stay up
Change her plan thinking it's OK
See this is strange but
Abraham Lincoln freed the slaves in a way that kept them chained up
I'd like to see
Her take flight into the stars
Instead of letting her fly free they keep her in jars
Instead of letting 'em fly free they keep 'em in jars
I put my hand to the glass so hard that
It might break the prison bars
It isn't hard to see why they keep her captive
Shes naturally attractive
Speaks with adlibs, she's uncommonly talented
Ain't enough adjectives to do her disposition justice
Kids are wishing for just a kiss and it's a mission to touch her lips
They can't trust her with
Freedom of movement that's a chance to lose her quick
If she ups and splits
We might as well call that discussion quits
They have ways to keep her down the government's underlings
Enslave people in this town especially if their culture's rich
Exploiting talents making her do a bunch of tricks
With the rest of the wingless imports
Repeatedly told you aint a fairy, you just a bitch
Just a bitch, with a butt that's thick
So rub your tits, and thrust your hips
And suck my dick, and run your shit, and run your shit, and run your shit

Shes a fairy with broken wings
I used to go watch her perform
And if she hears me I hope she sings songs
That had me going right back
Couldnt find anyone in town to talk
About how no one like that
Should be confined to the ground

When I was down in New York she'd send me letters
And I read her passages about how I left her to the savages
No matter how sad that is I didn't cry
Cause it was only a matter of time
Before they figured me out and tried to strip my pride
I knew the scoop
Wish you could of seen the blueprints in my eye
When I flew the coop
Utilizing overground railroads in the sky
It was live or die let me let you in on a secret of mine
Me and you are different girl
We don't even need wings to fly

We don't need wings to fly
Me and you... we don't need wings to fly
Keep on singing give it a try, give it a try
Just keep on singing give it a try, give it a try

posted in Dark Poetry - 0 replies

Make Soup, You Said

Wren — Sat, 19 Jan 2008 01:44:39 GMT

Make Soup, You Said

I'm making a soup
to fill my bowl.
I'm after that carrot of consolation
you dangle.
I would remember
a recipe
uttered
in that season of my childhood
without language.

The three sisters--
corn, beans and squash...
When they hold hands
they can give weight
while they dance and stir,
balanced in a circle chain,
resolved, complete.

If I know the right herbs,
if my flame is humble,
if I stir with the tide,
if I ladle with steadiness,
if I eat with grace,
if I digest with stillness,
I will understand
why you have gone.

I wrote you a letter.
(I had no place to mail it.)
I burnt it,
buried it,
scattered it,
sent it sailing,
nailed it to my bed.

Make soup, you said, nothing is simple.

--Wren Tuatha http://wiselittleraccoon.gaia.com/

posted in Dark Poetry - 1 reply

Page 11 of the little black book of 04-05

Saint Stomp — Tue, 15 Jan 2008 02:17:09 GMT

a boy made of black and bat made of what now?

I am a weightier for I wright

and a poet for it is poetry

weather I do either well is arguable

all I ask is you bury me with my organs intact,

so I can spring up from my coffin

and yell out a pamphlet size prolog for the wonders of hell

and to assure all

there is room left for them

posted in Dark Poetry - 0 replies

Throw the Baby Down the well

Fri, 11 Jan 2008 09:21:39 GMT

If I think too hard and long enough
I might regret
these decisions
Decisions
and consequences

But they're not good enough
Not strong enough

To keep me at bay

I've fallen
I'm Falling
But i don't need
a pick me up
I'm resuming
The stink
Too thick to think

She pushes me away and then pulls me back in
she sells me the rope
That I drag her on her on

and It is wearing thin

and she's missing it
Missing it
I'm falling
and I won't give in
She tells me she's missing
and we can not travel further

No more road

And the officer speaks to me in a spectrum of tones
He's Yelling out!
Throwing stones!

I won't admit to it
But I've fallen
I'm falling
the acid eats through my ear drum

And I've come
too far
To break
But I've said to much
sleepy but awake
I've got three fucking dollars in pocket
and she's got an empty stomach

Not hungry at all

I've got the fear
I've done too much
I've done wrong but i didn't mean to
I just wanted to erase what had been written
The Story comes
and goes
In and Out of a coma
She wants to crawl

The lights heat up
my spirit it bleeds
I never wanted to
Have them read
My letters
and my song
My child
Is long gone

I tell them she miscarried
And wore the black flag
I had forgotten
she knew that i was fag
And I was unforgiven
Unforgiven

They tell me the truth that i tried to keep hidden
They spit on my palms and show me the blood
And Lead me to the well

I Threw baby down the well
with my head phones on
I didn't hear a cry
not even the thump
or the crunch

I turned the other cheek
I turned the other cheek

Until my knees grew weak
and I howled
to the surface of the sky
The sky howl back
and I asked why
Innocence could be lost
and never found

O U T

posted in Dark Poetry - 0 replies

Midnight World

GradhDhu — Wed, 09 Jan 2008 20:04:53 GMT

Lyrics; all critique encouraged. I prefer you leave it in my blog, but if you don't feel inclined, it's no biggie.

Join me in my midnight world
Come play beneath the stars
There's no one here in my midnight world
The night's completely ours

Hand in hand through ebon sand
We walk without a sound
Our wand'ring lovers' path unplanned
We cover little ground

posted in Dark Poetry - 0 replies

wistle for me bitch

call8me8jim — Sun, 06 May 2007 05:23:41 GMT

tittle : a wisle has meaning , but i'll never admit what it is
( and behold. god did say unto man "now wistle for me bitch" )

i want to vomit a scream.

i want to envy those slods that are pain anorexic and hate the anger boleemics.

i want to beng my religion and then perge my soul.

I WANT SO FUCKING MUCH ! AND IT NEVER STOPS!!

i wish i could die and leave you all behind, just to show you what you're missingf.

i want to be dead.

posted in Dark Poetry - 14 replies

page 5 of the little black book of 04-05

Saint Stomp — Sun, 30 Dec 2007 23:17:02 GMT

The arachnids are massing

in the corners, on shelves and such

watching in 8 eyed observation

waiting to catch and kill something

with a 8 day life span,

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I knew this girl
she slept with a stuffed rat,
the unfortunate victim of taxidermy

it was her one redeeming quality

I met a girl named sun shine,
her face both radiated and warmed.
She sat on mens laps for money

it was the one place she ought never have shined

a girl named Istab found me
with hair like the tears os a weeping willow
she was the only of the three that had a prayer of comforting me

posted in Dark Poetry - 4 replies

Scarlet Rose

clyde — Fri, 21 Dec 2007 21:05:07 GMT

Something in the heavy rain
Grey skies lead way to pain
Despair, the sweet breath of meloncholy fear
Drunk with the wine of folly dear
Death blooms, love its watering hole
Bloody tears consume my ebony soul
Precious dreams I've tried to save
resting now in muddy grave
A rose on top the blackened stone
Torment, pain, agony all that's known
On the ground scarlet petals thrown
Putrid stem, thorns of hate unknown
Sitting there in the cold, alone left lying
Frail... Brown... and Dying...

posted in Dark Poetry - 2 replies

new saul williams liyrics

call8me8jim — Wed, 19 Dec 2007 14:08:45 GMT

so you don't like the way
we're running things?
and you don't like the
way the chisel glang?

you want to blame it
on the government
on why you got to money
for your rent?

you want to start
a revolution?
and blame it on the
institution? you know
there's only one solution
now tell me what you're
gonna do son?

the trigger is you
the nigger is you
the trigger is you
the nigger is you
the trigger is you
the nigger is you

so what you gonna do?

you wanna blame them
boys in lebanon and
act like you don't know
where they get it from?

you want to project
all your problems
and murder every way
to solve them?

would jesus christ
come back american?
what if he's iraqi
and here again?
you'd have to finally face
your fears, my friend
who's gonna hold your
hand when that happens?

the trigger is you
the nigger is you
the trigger is you
the nigger is you
the trigger is you
the nigger is you

so what you gonna do?

what do you teach
your children about me?
what do you teach
your little children about me?

pimp. thug. bling. drug lord
of the underground kings
how can you be sure i won't
call down the rain?

what do you teach
your little children about me?
you point your gun
wait hide and run
i see it plain

the trigger is you
the nigger is you
the nigger is you
the trigger is you
the trigger is you
the nigger is you

so what you gonna do

the trigger is you
the nigger is you
the trigger is you
the nigger is you
the trigger is you
the trigger is you

so what you gonna do
what you gonna do

posted in Dark Poetry - 3 replies

Club Scores

Thu, 15 Nov 2007 12:03:02 GMT

She had diamond studs where none could show
under strobe lights, late nights
they sparkled and glowed,
girl never knew that I lived
or how I could love
what I did,
if I had a life
children and wife,
for me it was more than a game
i'm not like others, regulars,
always the same,
just I was there night after night
watching the sparkles
catch the low light,
paying coin at the door
to a thin stick chic nonchantly
marking off names,
or p'raps keeping score,
me looking 'round, despising the view
greed on the faces
lust in their eyes,
keeping their rugs slick combed and straight
all shapes and sizes
but bulge in same places
always the same, nothing new
just sitting, staring …….
Looking at you

posted in Dark Poetry - 0 replies

I remember

sunshinelove — Wed, 07 Nov 2007 14:19:37 GMT

you wanna be
my friend
a lover
a fuck, again
don't you remember
the last time
big blue eyes
unblinking
blood on the floor
future dead
aborted
all lies
cold truth
in concrete flooring
turning point
that you
can't see
gotta be
kidding me
abandoned
you fuck
future dead
cold
blood on the floor
can't touch me
never again
nevermore

posted in Dark Poetry - 1 reply

Spo-Compton

cruzzin — Mon, 05 Nov 2007 11:45:03 GMT

Here’s to the tough boys
And the killers
And the one’s who came up hard

you didn’t have a choice
and I know

there’s those who would tell you different

and maybe they right
I don’t know

I do know
If you still breathing
Today, you have a choice

You can go right
Or you can go left

Someday someone is going to have to lay down their sword
Cause if we just keep doin’ an eye for an eye
Than the whole world blind

Somebody said

posted in Dark Poetry - 0 replies

Your Prophecy seeps inside me....

Adolf — Tue, 09 Oct 2007 08:27:14 GMT

Ok, since I've commented on some work here, it is only fair that I give some of my own. First some prose, then some meter.

YOUR PROPHECY SEEPS INSIDE ME

Recursive Avalanches of Conflagration
Saturate the Ferrofluid Anatomy of My Awareness.
Hallowed Decramentalization of Thought.

How Sullen the Sun, then?

Osmosaic Reverberations Absorb the Sky--
Masticated Diamonds.
Swollen Internal Organs Escape Their Prisons.
Viscous Light'ningblades Rape the Night.
My Eyes Commit Suicide.

Your Prophecy Seeps Inside Me.

My Soul--a Warped Red Doppler Moan.
Incestuous Patterns of Emptiness Create
Manifold Cysts of Being.

How Sullen the Sun, then?

-----------

‘LONESTAR

A-span the gulf
From Once-Loved star,
His charmèd gaze withdrawn.

Those eyes have roamed
That were, of late,
A-fix’d upon It’s dawn;
The Am’rous eyes
That breached the void...
Their favored Sun foregone.

But grieve not long
For that ‘lone orb
Which Love ceased gaze upon.

It’s light, though dim
Shall ‘weep through space
To fill new eyes anon.

posted in Dark Poetry - 8 replies

starbucks vanity

call8me8jim — Sat, 11 Aug 2007 20:50:50 GMT

no this is not a poem about starbucks the coffee place.

my name is starbuck , and so this post witch is mine is (drum fole) "starbucks"

since i post a bunch of stuf on this tribe from time to time i'm just going to start posting all my poems to this thread, ther by avoiding cluter, if a poem gets a bunch of replys or sparks a convorsation (witch would be great) then i'll just let that convorsation take over the post and then start a new one next time i post somthing , it will probubly be labeled "starbucks vanity 2" or somthing ovius like that. , you get the point.

posted in Dark Poetry - 21 replies

Hallmark dark

smokestackscalhoun — Sat, 06 Oct 2007 17:55:13 GMT

Hallmark just purchased a patent on software designed Dr. Nishiohashi Hashimoto. The program can compose poetry in 72 languages - poetry that has brought 4 out of 5 test-subjects to tears. I read one in the Sunday paper. It was good, but I did not cry. I did, however, sneeze lettuce, but I think it was just dust-mites.

...oh, and apparently the poetry is also “dark.” I don’t know what that means. I can’t read in the dark.

posted in Dark Poetry - 2 replies

double play (cross posted)

tygerbill — Thu, 16 Aug 2007 06:29:44 GMT

At best I could resist you with a nod,
A turn of the cheek, and when there's music.
I'd duck my head and shuffle to the beat,
We'd touch to say that we were here tonight.
But we'll both fade before tomorrow comes.
I'll dance though I've got promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep. Let's go!
I told her I worked late in the studio.
This much was true but then you were there.
I'd mark the pale white canvas with my thoughts
Of you and then I'd want to hide my love
In twisted lines and cryptic shaded verse.
This double love is difficult to keep
With two to please, I never get my sleep

posted in Dark Poetry - 2 replies

culpability of rape

sunshinelove — Tue, 11 Sep 2007 23:11:53 GMT

I did everything wrong

I teased you
I trusted you
I used you
I asked for it

I was naked
I was arrogant
I was unconscious
I was asleep
I was drugged

I did it to myself
I drugged myself

I let you suck on my tits
I liked it
It was hot
It was your chance
You knew it
You didn't take it

I was tired
I was in pain
I took a pill
I took off my clothes
To fuck with your head
I went to sleep

You waited
I woke up with you inside
My body responded
Like it always does
To penetration

I couldn't wake up
What is going on?
Where am I?
I'm being fucked
I don't like it

Who is that?
Why are you fucking me?
I don't want this
I want to sleep
Get off me

Why are you doing this to me?
You don't belong there
That is not yours
Leave me alone

My brain is not working!
So thick and foggy
I can't even move
Get off me
Stop

And you do
And I go back to sleep
But you stay up
You wait
And do it again

I did everything wrong
But I was virgin with you
It was my choice to make
And you took it from me

I hate you
You stole from me
And made me nothing

I did everything wrong
Does that make you right?

You can support my writing by clicking through to this poem's paid PG-13 location:
http://www.helium.com/tm/206542/everything-wrong-teased-trusted
If you like the notion of earning pennies ever so slowly by writing on the above website, send me your email address so I can get the referral hookup. Thanks!

posted in Dark Poetry - 0 replies

Lady killer blues

fred_kane — Tue, 04 Sep 2007 09:46:44 GMT

Another missing person bears your face.
They can find her at our sacred place
where I’ve done those secret things I do
to retry the day I tried to say, “I love you.”

They brow beat me down, but I get the gist.
I really want to go straight, but that road is so twisted,
and the destination seems to get lost in the blue,
so I strayed the other way because I love you.

I paint your portrait my own way
to capture how you were before that day.
Any model just won’t do
when I try to find another one of you.

I love her beautiful Black Dahlia smile.
Makes me want to stick around, cut up for awhile.
Then, I’ll carry home a souvenir or two
that reminds me of how much I really love you.

posted in Dark Poetry - 0 replies

Butterfly Tongues..and a hello.

butterfly_tongues — Fri, 31 Aug 2007 19:17:54 GMT

I just jointed this tribe. I decided not to hold back... this is a...not sure what to call this, but I wrote a few years ago. Please tell me what you think.

Butterfly tongues lick the crimson sticky sweet blood from her hands. Daffodils hide the thrones entangled in her soft, beautiful hair. She dances each night under the blinking traffic signals. The clouds burst open and spill radiant liquid moon onto her soft skin. Her feet are stilled as she sinks slowly in the cool asphalt sand. She dances in her mind. Not knowing the danger and peril that is lurking around her. The music stops, both in the world and in her mind. She cries out as the shrieking ravens pluck the flowers from her hair. The ravenous birds paint her pretty face with their beauty. Their beauty is the beauty for her groom, Death. The stars call her name, Beauty, for the chorus of the wedding song. The crows turn the ceremony into a lovely hell. They are eating the butterflies out of her long locks. Covered in hot blood, the thorns are tearing at her flesh as the raves circle overhead. She tries to answer the wedding song with a sweet voice. She knows that her groom is coming for her. She knows that she was the one who accepted his proposal. She wants to take back her answer. She wants to resume her life. She tries to answer the moonlight, stars, and butterflies, they are all calling for her to come back and play. She is suffocating as she struggles to move, to cry. The ravens and black birds began to dive down and scratch for her soul. She has no one to run to, no one to hold her; she screams. She is screaming silently, but the frail creature does not understand this. The nightmare has become too real. She can’t move. Death has come for her. He is calling the young beauty by her name and is ready for the ceremony. Her legs are now embedded into the ground, mouth is sewn shut with vines, unable to move or make a single whimper. The Bride swats at the crows and vines as a last failing attempt at saving herself, but it is too late. The asphalt has reached her waist. The cool gray ground has turned green. The ravens swoop down and drop her soul into Death’s belly. The devilish creature screeches with delight. Beauty’s debt has been paid. Death has gives her a home, a grave. All the artificial highs that seemed so innocently sweet have turned against her. All the pleasures that she took part in have come back to haunt her. The demons in her mind have come to life. The blackbirds circling above shift. They move into mystical beings of torture and pain to tear and shred her, heart, body, mind, and soul. She is thrashing about trying to escape. She is now below the earth, in her own hell.

posted in Dark Poetry - 2 replies

The beasts we are

Saint Stomp — Sat, 11 Aug 2007 16:38:13 GMT

part1.
Perhaps you haven’t noticed but im a beautiful beast with power and grace embedded in my design like jewels in the hilt of a sword. One at its most majestic when caged.
my shackles and form inspire on lookers to think
“What a marvelous creature, unclear if of god or the devils making but truly deserving of freedom” yet in truth I find my comfort here.
Bound by my hands, by my feet, chained by my throat to the floor.

Part2.
He smokes the cigarette that light the fires,
flicking little burning buts, broken bits, glowing chunks of his desire.
You see the chemicals have an association with instant gratification,
this my brother is why we light a girls cigarette first, so as to subconsciously become associated with that subconscious association, like riding the coat tails of death himself, we creep ever so softly closer to a flowery kill, spraying rose petals in to our mouths and the air.

posted in Dark Poetry - 8 replies

Follow me (first draft)

fred_kane — Fri, 13 Jul 2007 12:24:53 GMT

This land was conquered,
on your behalf.
This government in place has been
secured by many bloodbaths.

And, now by the accident of birth
you have been put in place to serve.
So,
follow me.

“All hail King and Country!”
“Toast our forefather’s creed.”

The nation is, far as you can see,
reason for you all to die for me.

This faith is your father’s, and
you are his son.
This religion put in place has been
ordained by sword and gun.

And, now with the scales over your eyes,
look up and pray above your children’s cries,

then follow me.

Bow down to the deity
whose image is the anger of you and me.

Holy places are, far as you can see,
reason for you all to die for me.

(Bridge):
Brother John staggered out of the desert,
picking his teeth with a scorpion stinger.
Eyes wide, evidently blinded
by the bleached white sands, and a mescalin vision,

saying:
“Follow me!
I found the way to be
at one with all, in harmony.
My truth is, as far as you can see,
reason for you all to follow me.”

posted in Dark Poetry - 1 reply

On a positive note

fred_kane — Fri, 13 Jul 2007 12:14:31 GMT

“On a positive note, the world wont end tomorrow-”
he told her. She said, “un-cuff my hands!”
Time went by, and drama after drama
explained nothing to the puzzled man.

Keep me in toys, and I will keep my silence.
Who the fuck cares what I have to say?
Locked away in my world of playful violence,
death and war are just some more foreplay.

Don’t you try to make something out of nothing.
Resist that urge you have of playing god,
and put it down to the priest who wasn’t bluffing.
He never spoiled a child
by holding back the rod.

posted in Dark Poetry - 1 reply

Antietam Mourning

fred_kane — Sun, 01 Jul 2007 17:13:38 GMT

The bodies fell in Miller's field, a harvest to collect.
The Reaper walked amongst the dead, the crop, his to inspect.
Was it blood that stained my sight, or was the landscape red?
Before the noon dare show its face, too many soldiers- dead.
Too many soldiers- dead.

They desecrated Dunker's Church with hate and musket ball.
Blue and Grey, all blessed by God came to the devil's call.
Not a coward tuned and fled, many brave would fall.
Before the noon dare show its face, madness had taken all.
Madness had taken all.

They should have waded 'round the bridge, instead, they tried to cross.
Major Burnside, and his luck paid a bloody cost.
The Union claimed a victory, though many souls were lost.
The Reaper saw his harvest great, before the Autumn frost.
Before the Autumn frost.

posted in Dark Poetry - 5 replies

Maybe so, I don't know

fred_kane — Sun, 01 Jul 2007 17:23:01 GMT

An "off the floor" recording of this song, with the first draft lyrics can be heard @ www.garageband.com/artist/sons_of_mary

He is the bastard son of the sleep of reason.
He was slouching towards Bethlehem when he was born.

Now he enters wearing a cross,
and says he represents the Boss.
Maybe so.
I don't know,

because messiahs seem to come from every direction.
They're selling comet-ride tickets, and they're buying arms.

When the preaching comes to a halt,
The faithful say it's the Government's fault.
Maybe so.
I don't know.

The new religion says:

"Angel, walk with me on through these vicious streets.
It's guaranteed you wont see ten good men."
A self fulfilling prophet sets his watch to Firetime,
then makes true all those rumors of The End.
Let it be.

(Knock, knock, knockin on heavens door.)
(Repeat 3 more x)

He lights a cigarette and ignites his contract.
The fine print has made a ready-roll out of his soul,

but the god-damndest of the damned
always has winning plan.
Maybe so.
I don't know.

posted in Dark Poetry - 0 replies

Nailin' the Beast

fred_kane — Sun, 01 Jul 2007 17:16:48 GMT

The 'on' at the end of Aveyron should pronounced (a nasal aw.) Ignore this law of French grammar, and indulge me with the vulgar rhyme scheme suggested.

Harlow,
we are not your monkeys.
We will
embrace the anomie.
Than beg for the warmth of a
cloth puppet,
we would rather nurse from a wire mother.

Victor's on line one from Aveyron,
says: "Tell 'em Romulus is on the phone.
Called to finalize my plans for the new Rome.
Lets take this techno track right back to stone."

Blinded,
or guided by voices.
Aren't poets
and prophets all the rage?
And rage they will,
when the vision gets intense.
All things get discovered,
one way or another.

Victor's on line one from Aveyron.
Says: "It's Christ, I'm stuck in traffic close to home.
The presentation may be late, but please hang on.
Just make peace,
unless you're sinless,
then throw stones."

posted in Dark Poetry - 0 replies

Baptized in Mainstream

fred_kane — Sun, 01 Jul 2007 17:02:34 GMT

I sold my soul years ago, and discovered souls go cheap.
In a back road religion of the fast lane god, was a shepherd of strung out sheep.
We worshiped blindly, but our church was rock, lived our prayers while our profits bled -
All was spent for an ascent on wings of decibels, and other ways to get out of our heads.

Our choir, hard- voiced screaming guitars, sang our praises home.
From the metal clergy, to the acid saints. May they reign forever over our bones.
"I will not sell out." was our brethren vow, but our stoned wouldn't turn to bread.
So we made our way to a greener place to keep more than our spirits fed.

Still, I'd desecrate churches just to get to you.
Burn sermons as they're screamed.
Ain't what I do best, just what I do
to keep me from being
baptized in mainstream.

(Guitar solo, over musical verse, add musical bridge,continue solo over bridge )

I'd desecrate churches just to get to you.
Burn sermons as they're screamed.
Ain't what I do best, just what I do
to keep me from being
baptized in mainstream.

Well, they raised me up and they taught me to prey, me, a child of a lesser god.
I fell to my knees at the corporate alter, now I'm Bishop of Rebel Facade.
Hell, I'm rich, the new religion's bitch. There are millions in my hands,
and my faith I thought a house on solid stone,
is just a shack that I'd built on sand.. (Matt 7:26-27)

Still, I'd desecrate those churches just to get to you.
I'd be the devil's best wet dream.
Ain't what I do best, it's just what I do

posted in Dark Poetry - 0 replies

When I wake

JSin — Sun, 25 Feb 2007 03:54:10 GMT

When I wake

When I wake I still smell her
That Musky odor of the last time we fucked
Ya see we never made love
Raw and heady we fucked.

I wake and remember her body next to mine
The impression is still in the bed
And I keep to my own side
I would not want to intrude

I wake and the night stand is empty
The pile of crap she had to have
Next to the bed
Now there is only a lamp.

I wake and look at the empty closet
One filled with cloth and shoes.
She had half the closet
And 2/3 the dresser now empty

Tonight I change the sheets.

JSin
Y2k+7

posted in Dark Poetry - 6 replies

Forlorn Haiku

Laura — Fri, 29 Jun 2007 15:09:30 GMT

I'm new to the group and have enjoyed reading and commenting on your poetry. Here's one I wrote that seems appropriate.

water flows uphill
the Sun spins around the Earth
you love me again

posted in Dark Poetry - 0 replies

Here's an older one...

Jay — Fri, 11 May 2007 18:25:12 GMT

"Frozen In Hell"

When I think about you,
And all the good times that we had,
Then I start to miss you
And I feel so sad
I can hear you calling
I can feel you, but I can't see
I feel like I'm falling
Endlessly

When I wanna touch you, I just feel the wind on my face
No other angel could ever take your place
Oh, why can't you be here with me?
Is this our destiny?
To be lonely...
For the rest of eternity?
When will the season come?

The days are passing
The nights are cold
Waiting forever
And just getting old
But is time really passing?
I can't really tell
Seems like this moment is frozen in Hell

Is time really passing?
I can't really tell
Seems like I'm frozen in hell

posted in Dark Poetry - 1 reply

Submission's Song

Brigit — Sun, 28 Jan 2007 16:39:31 GMT

Submission’s Song

While I kneel at your feet
Nothing can harm me
While I kneel at your feet
I know my power
While I kneel at your feet
All is as it should be.

When I wear your collar
I am enthralled by love
When I wear your collar
I am bound to your desire
When I wear your collar
My heart is at peace.

The blows that you give me
Bring me release
The blows that you give me
Strip away my pain
The blows that you give me
Ignite my passion.

Dark love,
You bring me light
Dark love
You bring me wisdom
Dark love,
You bring me freedom.

posted in Dark Poetry - 2 replies

D.A.R.K. (Death Amist a Raging Kill)

Shadow — Wed, 13 Jun 2007 01:07:37 GMT

(Casull) (note; casull is the make of a revolver)

I should’’ve know better
Than to be walking alone
To young for a gun
So the blade I had hone
Held tight in my fist
concealed

Down off the last step
Surrounded by life
Footsteps beat the walkway
I held tight that knife
Of steel

Darkening the sky as
The sun went down
My steps came faster
Heart solidly pounded
Threatening
beats

Strangers among me
One started to follow
The thoughts he was thinking
Were so hard to swallow
Complete

I was at a full run
My house one block away
I thought back that morning
““What a beautiful day””
Till this…….

I heard his breath coming
Felt breeze from his movements
The fear of enclosure
At his first attempt
From abyss

Lunging up to me
With violent caress
Shear terror, my soul
Expected nothing less
From attack

Knowing my legs
Could take me no further
Got ready the knife
To fend off my intruder
Aback

Screaming and sweaty
My blade slipped away
As I made my first strike
Slashing open the face
Of hell

Shocked back to running
But, slowed by exhaustion
He was fast up behind
Now showing a gun
Casull

Dodging in panic
I twisted my knee
Stumbling up by a wall
Pleading desperately
To live

But, the way he was coming
Told me, it didn’’t matter
He was on a mission
To him, life was the latter
Alternative

Kneeling a top me
My battle grew weak
He was now the master
And the fierce critique
Sender

Panting loudly was I
His scared captured prey
(If I had to go then)
Then put me away
Fast

Not only murder
This rotten soul seeked
But, to ravage and torture
Rape and beat
Then bask…….

I saw my chariot cast
Aside like debris
It took two whole weeks
Before they ever found me
Laid rotten

It’’ll take a few hours,
Maybe a few days
When they find their next victim
Dead where she lays
Forgotten…………

I should’’ve known better……………………………………

posted in Dark Poetry - 0 replies

razor mouth

geomana — Sat, 28 Jan 2006 21:52:53 GMT

When I was young, mirrors disguised as butterfly wings tore razors from my mouth with such sudden animalistic angst, such a fanged ferocity, that it was as if my tongue had been stabbing and slicing since long before the beginning of my birth. As I grew against gravity, so did the divine claws inside that rip my throat open wide, releasing screams of blood that purge me of this urgent flood, black as abyss in the light of the night, bitterly sweet as it pours ripe from my mind, born from my brain like a child, yet utterly wild and vicious and viscous and ravenous for the dimming glow of a choking culture. Crystal clear nostalgia for a world long destroyed, lurching from my enflamed abdomen, shredding savagely at the walls of fire, of false desire, of fattening fallacies and tantalizing trickery birthing phantom flesh pods of pitiful function, squirting mouths glazed licking liquid lies ablaze with hatred they can't quite taste. This flirting with the keepers of the hell realms of the collective primate mind, this nurturing of fetal time bombs for systematic self destruction, this shameless mutilation of the sacred, is aimed directly down the throat of human kind. These tunnels of thought are covered in webs of deception, pitfalls of perception, paths lined with ingenious devious traps entangling lives, and then dangling knives over their skin as if their stomachs aren't already overflowing with willingly ingested poison. When will the wordless truths consume this abrasive, corrosive, composition, so beautiful in its erosion, so peaceful in its decay? When will the madness cease to be, that which is me, and you, and it, isolated in existence, suspended in an equation, torn by the invisible fingers of our own minds from the mysterious matrix magnificent? Oscillations of brilliant vibrations call us silently towards the golden glory, increasing in intensity as the magnetic pull of Tran sensual enigmas deepen, sinking seductively into the fertile pools of mutation we have cooperatively filled with the ethereal fluids of our limitless imaginations. We hang in the threads of a delicate balance, woven intricately by the infinite as a vast and evolving expression of universal self-awareness, a masterpiece sculpture of intentions, ideas, and emotions, culminating towards a peak experience of ecstatic equilibrium, rendering the individual so vastly insignificant and yet so vitally important. (sigh) I have no choice, I suppose, but to continue bleeding from my eyes and mouth and heart, so red and raw from passionate outbursts of compassionate anger, until I have drained myself and my purpose in this life, back into the encompassing arms of the earth from which I sprang.

posted in Dark Poetry - 2 replies

Flight 666

Shadow — Wed, 13 Jun 2007 00:55:46 GMT

Destined for
{a long awaited}
abyss
Not too much
different, a
world not missed

Flame spews
through hades
like sunrays beat down
Caos reigns so
on earth
and underground

Double check
artinerary,
check the brochure
Does it not look
to you as you've
been there before?

Boarding passes
for flight 666
simply reads
Take a seat,
anywhere, you'll still
burn for your deeds

No sign marquee
stating
'passengers board here'
Just one
marquee reads
'Damned, hades is near'

Baggage check
and claim
are one in the same
Just stroll through
the scanner,
they need you insane

Upon your arrival
flights explode
into dust
Nothing left
but your soul
as in the begining
it was........

Not too much
different from a
world not missed
Flight 666,
a long awaited abyss.......

posted in Dark Poetry - 0 replies

American psycho

fred_kane — Mon, 28 May 2007 07:39:04 GMT

Time, it’s all me, gotta Rolex arm.
I got some time to kill,
and you’re just another animal.
Time is precious, how I use it means
if I’m canonized
or just another cannibal.

Admire me, how I cut through the fast lane.
You're afraid I'm going to get there first.
Lay your trap, but I’m too quick with the wheels,
and I’ll just get dirty if you do your worst.

Loathe me? Love me.

(Chorus:)
I can’t divorce myself from myself.
To hit and run is integrated with my soul.
I can’t divorce myself from myself.
Loathe me how I’m wired, but love how I roll.

Excuse me, please while I forget your name.
This hard drive space is used
strictly for business,
and, space is precious. How I use it means
if I’m heaven bound,
or headed down to the abyss.

Look upon this metallic majesty,
I’m the gold, death angel born on wings of steel.
Fight or pray, it makes no difference to me.
It’s not my luxury to feel.

Loathe me? Love me.

I can’t divorce myself from myself.
To take down is integrated with my soul.
I can’t divorce myself from myself.
Loathe me how I’m wired, but love how I roll.

(guitar solo)
Everything you have, it will soon belong to me.
I don’t protect, and I don’t serve.
There are no laws you’ve made that apply to me,
I’d pay to have them broken if there were.

Loathe me? Love me.

I can’t divorce myself from myself.
To kill, it's integrated with my soul.
I can’t divorce myself from myself.
Loathe me how I’m wired, but love how I roll.

posted in Dark Poetry - 3 replies

'Saint Kansas

fred_kane — Fri, 24 Nov 2006 16:19:21 GMT

(Another one for the twistedly hip.)

Girl, you look so blown away, let’s leave this joint, take us a trip.
You’re making me a man with a mission, and baby I know that you’re hip.
Let me throw back this Jack, and get that warm glow in my guts.
You’ll like me better when I’m tighter than
the Tin Man’s rusted nuts.

Let’s leave the losers to their cowardly lyin’.
I know a witch who’s sweet.
She would melt in the pouring rain, and
she’s got the sugar we need.

Dorothy
you ain’t
in Kansas, anymore
Dorothy,
you know
‘saint Kansas, anymore?

I see you starin’ at the golden road. Think some wizard might take you home?
Yeah, that old man, he’s got some power, but he’s happy just living alone.
He pays me well to keep the lie alive, I’m the straw man who picks up his slack
Got my degree, it means nothing to me, until I get this monkey off my back.

Lets crush a rose in the poppy field
and talk about nature and god,
or the best planned lays of vi-ced men
and the dreams we lose when we nod

Dorothy
you ain’t
in Kansas, anymore
Dorothy
you know,
‘saint Kansas, anymore?

I’ll confess:
One January, I met a girl.
Couldn’t help but cut her a smile.
She fell for the Hollywood gamble,
that Bette, she was so in denial.
I took her home, showed her my etchings,
walked her through my private museum,
then I dropped her off on Norton, somewhere
between Three Nine and Coliseum.

Dorothy
you ain’t
in Kansas, anymore...

posted in Dark Poetry - 3 replies

wire mother

Mon, 29 Aug 2005 06:42:47 GMT

Nursing from the info-breast, we cling to wire mother.
When she feeds our mind, we need
nothing from the outside.
Digital nourishment we choose, and not an effigy
of the warmth and comforting, psychologists would claim we need.

We are a hive, tied mind to mind.
We gaze into her enclosed skies,
and see the whole is greater than the sum of its components.
Are we more than human? Homo-Gestalt, or just feral?
Are we more than human? Are we are more when we are more?

We are a world in isolation, although never lonely,
for we are One united in perception of the Virtual - .
Advancing towards regression we’ll assume position fetal,
not craving things material, we’re ready to evolve.

posted in Dark Poetry - 4 replies

Lap to lap, full throttle

fred_kane — Tue, 05 Jun 2007 07:07:03 GMT

Call me under suspicion, I'm the usual suspect.
Always somebody fitting my descript,
but when Lisa rides with me, I can do no wrong.
She sits quiet, and my mind's at ease
to know she don't mind holding my disease.
It's like she's always plugged in
to my favorite song.

It goes:
Death's on the p-pad, her hand on my crank,
pull the trigger on the stars with another yank,
and together skull grinning, we'll crash into the void.
I tell her,
Get your fine ass off of my back fender,
throw your leg around here, maybe I'll surrender
going lap to lap, full throttle into the void.

Loving Lisa's like sin by the crucifixion
I'd eat her, flesh and blood, just like religion,
and if I let her go, you know, she'll come again.
She gets hot when the engine's running
I'm ready for the second coming
and we're fueled for a mad ascension.

She's got her wet fingers all around my crank
Yeah, she's beatin' the odds with each and every yank
I could get off skull grinning out into the void.
I tell her,
Get your fine ass off of my back fender
throw your leg around here, maybe you'll surrender
going lap to lap, full throttle into the void.

Ride hard? I'm always riding hard!
Ride free? This ride could be the end of me!!

She likes placing her back to the wind
I never watch where I'm going, 'cos she sees where we've been
going lap to lap, full throttle into the void.

Going lap to lap, full throttle into the void.

posted in Dark Poetry - 0 replies