Thursday, 31 October 2013

Witches



I have not posted anything for far too long...I apologise.

So, because it is Halloween I give you a little seasonal poetry...


WITCHES


Cold as bitter frost
They come
Ugly as a forest blight
Warped and twisted
Spreading only shadows
In their wake

Harsh as winter wind
They scorch
Turning foliage brown with rot
Crooked as old branches
Stooping, creaking
As they tread

Rancid as dead meat
Their breath
Whispering of miseries
Of pain and horror
Shedding only nightmares
As they speak

Sharp as ragged thorns
Their tongues
Ensnaring victims with their spells
Spitting poison
Spiteful, gloating
As they laugh

Eyes like dying coals
They stare
Watching as you soundly sleep
Waiting now for you to choke
Twitching, blissful
At your death

Rubbing hands with glee
They cackle
Gathering your cold remains
Grinding them to dust
Tasting, licking
At your bones

Underneath the moon
They dance
Weaving a grotesque parade
Hunched and ragged
Seeping through the night like dreams
Seeking out your mortal terrors
Dread and trepidation
…Fear

All of these, their seeds
Beware.

~

Thursday, 14 March 2013

Memories





No one plays here anymore.

Now there is only corroded metal.

Flaking paint that lies crumbling on stone;

Blowing like dust-dry memories.

A stain marks the ground.


The old swing moves.

Wind tugging at tired chain.

The links squeal a distant echo

Of a once more joyous sound.

There is no more laughter here;

No longer the calls of youthful voices
.
Cheerful play and bodies wrestling

In the yellow grass.

…Long gone,

Like the crisp autumn leaves

That tumbled in confused eddies,

Chasing along the river bank.


Occasional tears pass by.

The grass grows tall.

Litter faded with time.


No one plays here anymore.



Thursday, 7 March 2013

Fire






Fire.

It dances in her eyes

Like an echo of her raging anger,

Her burning hatred

Her skin is the colour of ash:

Grey;

Drained,

Like her heart.

Her blood runs cold.

There is no heat in the fire.


Her bitterness is a vacuum

Into which all warmth is sucked.

Remorse is gone;

Forgiveness,

A distant memory.


She senses his pain.

She smiles.


Betrayal fuels her.

Resentment drives her.

And now, like her searing jealousy,

He will burn.







Friday, 15 February 2013

Scars




Blood was bitter in his mouth
Ran across his hands like oil on water.
His heart hammered a macabre crescendo;
Ragged breath like a rattling drum.
It was almost laughter.
Not quite.

His soul - a dying star - deserved to laugh.
It had wept, lamenting his long-dead conscience.
Unable to escape the pull of his black and empty heart.
Forced to watch him wreak horror for his own cold amusement,
Growing dim behind the windows of an artist’s eyes;
All glimmer of humanity slowly fading.
Lost behind tears of blood.

His vacant heart faltered,
Drumming the last moments of a pointless life.
He fell to his knees in the ghastly remains:
More beautiful now than ever in life.
 Her name had been Linda.
 His scarlet flower -
His final work


Perfection.
A masterpiece he had etched with dispassionate love.
They would remember this day
And remember her name:
His Valentine.
His lover.

His Linda

He smiled.
Could smell her precious sweet blood,
The beautiful scent of her last gasping breath.
Recall still the taste of her tears on his tongue;
See her eyes:
Pale.
Fading.

Her cry…
A distant memory.
The warmth of her flesh long gone.
His own blood spread like the petals of a rose;
Blue lights flashed on the surface of his eyes.
He drew a final long breath:
Quavering;
Fragile.

Satisfied.

His life at last had meaning.
Etched of horror and painful desire.
Of tears.

Gone.

But the scars he etched,
Like the art he drew from the well of his heart,
Testimony to love,
Lived on.



Saturday, 19 January 2013

I Am Winter




Winter comes,

Cold and desolate as my heart.


I breathe 

And all is frozen before me:

The air turns to crystal stars.

The sun meekly bows to my presence;

Fades while darkness, slow as a seeping stain

Spreads across the once pale sky.


My footfalls

Turn the ground to glass.

Ice beads the trees as nature tries to weep,

Retreats before me with fleeing warmth.

Shivering at my passing,

Lamenting my arrival.


Within my soul there dwells no mercy.


For I am winter.

And I am Death.




Thursday, 17 January 2013

Tear of God



Clouds darken:

A bruise to mark the arrival

Of the storm that will wound the land.

A resonant sound stirs

Deep within the vault of the sky.

A murmur.

A summoning.


It will come soon

And the wound will be deep.

The warning rolls along the sky;

Cobalt clouds bear the silent flicker

Of white fury.


The bruise spreads.

Feeble light flees before it,

Cowers and is lost to its shadow.

The reach of its presence inescapable.

The air turns to acrid hot sulphur.

Birds take to the sky.

In vain.


There is no escape.


A single silver tear falls;

Hits the ground like shattering glass.

The breath of the storm is held.

A moment.

A sigh.


Silence;

Eternity

In but a heartbeat,

Before the end of the world. 





Monday, 14 January 2013

Voices






They whisper...


They will not be ignored.

They linger in the fog of doubt,

Taunting my fears and uncertainty.

They will not be silenced.

They slice, like a blade

In my mind.



I feel them

Behind my eyes:

Laughter hot as my tears;

Derision bitter as the bile on my tongue.

They sing to me sometimes at night:

Not lullabies;

Not kind.


Teasing

Behind my eyes.

Just daring me to cut them out…