Mother's Wrath

I wrote this poem some time ago, but as time goes by, unfortunately, it becomes more relevant.

   It is about the arrogance of Mankind, and the abuse of the Earth. 

   Earth is a gift.

   Appreciate and care for it.

  

~Mother’s Wrath~

She stood on the beach and the waves spat acrid froth before her.

The sea churned and rolled.

The ocean screamed: fearful waves recoiling at her presence,

Rearing as though to crush her in anger,

To bring all its force to carry her to oblivion.

But to this she showed no fear,

For only one emotion remained:

All pity and compassion driven out beneath the black searing rage

That Man had fuelled.

She closed her eyes.

The ocean rose like steaming dew on a summer’s morn

And cooled her skin.

Man’s betrayal drove cruel and deep into her soul.

For all that she had done,

And all the infinite wonders of the world she had created for Him.

Yet He stood ungrateful amongst the litter of the Earth,

Reeking ruin and death in his arrogant way.

Blind to such a fragile gift.

Foolish as to his own significance.

She walked the dry ocean bed and the sky wept at her passing.

Tears steamed on the parched ground

And around her everything died.

The sky grew dark.

Forests withered and were as ash tossed on the wind.

Creatures turned to dust as they fled.

And Mankind despaired,

Felt the pang of such terrible realisation;

The pain of loss; of regret.

And as He fought for his final breath,

As his crops burned

And the very air He breathed became poison

Mother’s voice harried on the wind:

Heed my warning

And know the power of my wrath.

Should she let Mankind wake

From the deluded dream that was his supercilious life?

Should He have one last chance at redemption?

Man did not deserve the beauty of the Earth.

But the Earth itself was deserving.

This once…But never again.

~

Desire

This was the first dark poem I wrote, almost thirty years ago. Inspired by my love of Gothic horror and vampires.

~Desire~

Light, extinguished 

By the stagnant gloom of dark desire.

Thirst, like pain in the hearts of the cursed;

Tearing every glimmer of humanity.

Thirst driven like a blade,

 A desperate need;

Intensifying

 Till it breaches the border of insanity.

No mercy, 

As those who crave, feed upon the light,

Absorb it till there is only the echo of its 

Memory.

Torture:

To be lost in uncontrollable need;

In the hypnotic beat of waiting hearts;

The alluring scent of mortal blood.

Sweet warmth

Drawn into ravenous mouths.

Submission –

Frenzy in the yearning soul.

Pleasure like a tide

To fill the cold and the heartless;

Ecstasy at the sweet, fragrant taste of human life.

Hunger devours every wisp of mortality;

Corrupting innocence.

Consuming purity.

Vacuous.

Beauty drained by the night,

By the stark, cold face of the moon.

All love lost to the chill of

 Unending darkness.

~

Awash

~AWASH~

She haunts these shores:

Beautiful as the sunset,

Dangerous as the ocean waves.

Her disparaging voice echoes like the call of the gulls

Swept on coastal winds.

She drifts

Pale and transparent as shallow brine.

Spume is the lace of her gown.

Black weed tangles in the locks

Of once golden hair.

Her breath is silt.

Eyes as deceiving as the undertow,

Dark and chilling as the deep.

Hypnotic.

Imploring.

Things move there:

A swirl of memories

- Of life

Of love…

But do not look

For she craves company

~

It's been a long, long time...

My blog has been neglected. I have not posted for years.

This was not deliberate neglect, and not because of a lack of inspiration. It was not that my creativity, my love of photography, writing and all things dark, had waned. It was, I am afraid, nothing other than financial need getting in the way.

I had been forced to succumb to the pressures of the working week.
Illness also played its part.
I found that photography, my poetry and my fiction simply slipped beneath the quagmire that is life.

Necessity takes precedence over preference after a while, and before long the things that are a passion to us get sucked down in the silt and trodden under the feet of our 'better' judgement.

My 'better' judgement meant well, but it didn't really know what was best for me. So, tentatively, I am venturing back into the writing community.
I have tweaked my blog a little (I have changed, therefore it must change), and I will endeavour to post things...words, perhaps, if some come to me.

Way back, in the day, I had intended to publish a collection of my dark poetry. I don't see that happening now. I very rarely write poetry anymore and have changed my priorities, choosing, instead, to focus on a manuscript that I almost completed ten years ago.

My poems, and short stories, I am likely to post here, free for anyone who might care to read them, along with the photography I occasionally get time to tinker with. And any other twitterings and musings that come to my mind.

Perhaps someone  will enjoy them.

Witches

~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.

~

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.

Scars

~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.

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.

Tear of God

~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. 

~

Photo by Johannes Plenio on Unsplash

Voices

~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…

~

Photo by Camila Quintero Franco on Unsplash

Tools

~Tools~

The workshop is quiet now.

Rust, dried blood and a smell that stings the eyes.

Metal corrodes slowly beneath stale fluid.

A patchwork of stains.

Concrete once only smelled of paint.

And now ...

Dust particles cloud the air;

Sackcloth discarded; torn to shreds.

Old blunt tools that have never tasted wood,

Or steel, or stone, or oil.

Rust, dried blood

And bone.

The workshop is quiet

For now...

~