ClarissaClarissaClarissa15 hours ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
She lay in bed for countless days;
Long had he left her side.
‘T was not enough that he was gone by day;
He left her lonely throughout the night.
Still, she longed for his touch;
Still, she wondered when he would return.
Still, he walked not through the door,
In the morning’s pale light.
Clarissa longed for him so much;
Her desire for him like a torch did burn.
They had vowed to stay together forever more;
It was only right.
Then, one night about three days hence,
While she lay upon the bed,
She heard a voice speak her name—
Or was it all inside her head?
It called her once, then once again;
She ran to the window to see.
It moaned, “Clarissa, ‘t is I! But I am dead!
You had best find another and forget me!”
Ms. Van WinkleMs. Van Winkle, shine and twinkle,Ms. Van Winkle1 day ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Like a star on fields of war.
Rip Van Winkle, dance and sprinkle,
Out on sea, where you meet me!
Ms. Van Winkle, bullets tinkle,
Arcane blaze and magic haze!
Rip Van Winkle, twist and wrinkle,
In your throes, like all your foes.
Ms. Van Winkle, do not crinkle,
Have no shame in misjudged aim.
Dear Lieutenant, raise the pennant!
We'll meet again in Valhall's glen.
Chosen GirlA little girl in a big worldChosen Girl1 day ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
But she lives inside her small brain
Because out there it's too cold
Nothing to protect her from the rain
The innocence of a kid
And her ignorant smile
Are all gone now, away with the wind
The ugly truth can no longer be hid
Invisible, but always there
Unbreakable, yet clear as air
Nothing coming in, nothing going out
It's not real, then why beware?
Just a little crack was enough
For the demons to creep in
This can't be put off
As the darkest night is beginning
One part wants to let go
But the other says no
This dilemma is her home
Pain has addictiveness of its own
Was it her choice or the devil's?
She cannot tell
Maybe she chose to be chosen
To be a part of this hell
But all the tears she shed
And all the sleepless nights she bled
Couldn't get it out of her head
For her broken soul was long dead
The CottageThe CottageThe Cottage2 days ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
From a poem by Coleridge
She lived in a solitary cottage made of stone,
Along a long, narrow, forgotten path;
Nobody came by to visit,
To share with her or to make her laugh.
Nor did anyone know anything about her,
How long she lived there, or why;
The lass lived in lonely isolation,
Remote from the roving eye.
Then, one evening in October,
When the leaves had fallen from their trees,
A lad of eighteen chanced along the path,
Hoping to enjoy the evening breeze.
He discovered the cottage standing alone there;
But, traversing it, he saw something new.
There lay in the earth behind it
A freshly covered grave or two.
He wondered who had lain within them,
But his fear warned him not to explore.
So he turned and ran from the cottage;
To return there never more.
The Vampire's AnthemTo no one I kneel.The Vampire's Anthem3 days ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Against all I fight.
Such is my fate
as a creature of the night.
My skin so pale,
almost pure white.
My eyes so red
to give humans a fright
for they knew not
who I was at first sight.
Now, it's too late.
Into their neck I bite.
Draining them of blood
is an utter delight
which I enjoy
'til the breaking of dawn's light
of which I flee
at the very sight.
The MessengerSome call me Death,The Messenger3 days ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Some call me a curse,
But I prefer,
Am I a nightmare,
Or so much worse?
I can't be seen,
I can't be heard,
I'm a feeling you get,
When you start to sweat,
Bad news is coming,
I give you my word.
Your heart starts to pound,
And your mind starts to race,
I feed off that feeling,
From the cards I am dealing,
Im there for a moment,
And gone without trace.
And I will then whisper,
But just in your head,
The people so near,
Loved ones so dear,
I slip in the thought,
That they could be dead.
The Music of Erich ZannYou play the violin of fateThe Music of Erich Zann3 days ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
With matchless, driven haste,
In the midnight hour late,
A song amorphous and displaced!
All the windows open wide,
You play, you play, you play!
You let the madness in and glide
Into the dreamlands far away.
You play the violin of things
Unspoken in the dark,
On your eldritch, howling strings,
That rip the space-time right apart.
You play the symphony of doom,
Beyond the purple ray!
O lunacy outside this room!
The vortex swirls, you play, you play!
Screeching, twisting dies the mind,
You play insanity!
Of the cosmic, starbound kind,
The gibbous inhumanity!
Blasphemous your fingers jerk,
In ecstasy and loathful chants!
Like a cultist in his work,
You play of fungi, serpents, plants!
You play with moonshine in your eyes,
Beyond the mortal realm,
Of the nameless things that rise;
You play, you play, to overhelm!
It echos through the spectral haze,
To Yuggoth's unnamed shores!
You play, you play, you play – you gaze!
My head! My god! The open doors!
Ring around the rosiesRing around the rosiesRing around the rosies4 days ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
pockets full of posies
we all fall down.
Ring around the rosies
sky is full of crowsies
They all swoop down.
Beaks peck at the rosies
flesh ripped off the bodies
snip drip snip drip
birds gulp down.
No rings nor any rosies
they're all inside the crowsies
bones laying around.
Poem - To Poetry DrunkTo Poetry DrunkPoem - To Poetry Drunk5 days ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Poem for Day 053 – 20150223
To poetry drunk is an interesting affair
the origins of such even more so,
perhaps it was the hour, day, or minute,
all that it doesn't matter when the I'm drunken.
A bottle of wine, a quatrain of words,
such is the fruit of imbibing pursuits,
spew the words of poetry extraneous
and hold forth the actual vomitous.
Tip the cup, before it is empty,
imbibe the beverage, fermented so fine.
Write some more poetry, string it along,
drink another cup, drink some more.
© 2015. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved
Sadist MimeFrom the first light tick of timeSadist Mime5 days ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
This being crawled forth from the grime
And like some vile sadist mime
He mocked our faults and failings.
Deep within the earth he slumbers.
With fir'y tooth and claw he sunders.
And laughing at a mortal's blunders
Rejoices at our wailing.
Rape and murder do not faze him
And in fact they often raise him
To a joyous exultation
In awe of human failing.
But, in time, is justice dealt
No sympathy will then be felt
As for the sadist mime no guilt
Is felt in spite of wailing.
He sits within the dark, alone
Always longing for his throne
Still sitting in his empty home,
And yet he sees no failing.
So empty has his life become
That no more thought is taken from
The pain that wracks his twisted form
Now ends his cursed wailing.
Ode To NightgauntsOdeOde To Nightgaunts6 days ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Lo! They flutter their moth-like wings,
Of gossamer, through the still night air.
What care they of commoners and kings?
We mortals are merely simple things.
They haunt us whenever they dare.
If we should look them in the face,
We shall find no face at all.
Only a small, featureless head;
A grim aspect of something that be long dead.
Confronted, we can only stare.
I lie back upon my bed,
And shudder as though in a freezing wind.
To think that something so dark, so dread,
Could creep into my mind.
And the only peace that I may find
Must surely come at dawn.
For all dreams and dreamy things
Vanish in the morning air.
Trauma Of MindThis life continues on, leaving me far behind,Trauma Of Mind1 week ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
as I try to function while in this frame of mind.
Plagued by darkness, memories I don’t wish to see,
I am afraid of this unknown side of me.
Lashing out at the slightest touch or sound,
it's been two years since my disorder was found.
With a crashing noise I see nothing but red,
brought back to when I was a survivor among the dead.
My hands and legs loose control, I cant stop shaking,
sweat builds up as my heart begins racing.
We were fired at completely without warning,
shot down in the early hours of the morning.
So much shaking, shaking, always shaking,
with each new episode I can feel myself breaking.
Retreating into myself, waiting for it to pass,
all the while feeling as if I am made of glass.
Having suffered so long, I fear there's no escape,
with no telling how or when an attack will shape.
And if you thought that at night it's easier to bear,
not even in my own dreams am I safe there.
Tormented by nightmares that drive me to
BogeymanO, what beastly figure!Bogeyman1 week ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
How corroded of a soul!
With a cincture of children's faces,
How demonic of a role!
Please save me!
What a crooked, calloused kind!
Check the confines of my cupboard.
Lock the windows.
Pull tight the blinds.
What grotesque, sin-filled cackle!
I can hear it from under me!
Pull my feet from near the edges,
And let it haunt me in my dreams.
The Shadow The ShadowThe Shadow1 week ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Once upon the day setting, while I sat, in thought and writing
many a long and descriptive word,
As I wrote, rapidly rhyming, at once there came a sound,
as if one were trying to tell me, tell me by my window pane.
"'Tis by my dreams," I thought, "that someone speaks by my window.
Only that, and nothing else."
I could quite easily describe to you the day
when the children did play.
Greatly do I wish to forget- gravely did I try to set
from my mind that bet- bet I for revenge against she,
she who the demons did send to me:
Nothing to anyone else but me.
The quickened quiet, but noticeable, whisper of the glass
startled me- shook me with a fear unexplainable,
so that I now, along with the hearth fire crackle, prayed:
"'Tis but by my dreams that someone speaks by my window,
some strange illusion that has someone speaking by my window!
Let it be only that- and nothing else!"
And by each moment did I grow more afraid, shaking more all the longer
that there I did sit. Now
Something like Me (Plot Twist Poem)Have you ever seen something like me?Something like Me (Plot Twist Poem)1 week ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
The ghost of a woman, from decades ago?
Stretch marks on my wrists and knees.
In the moonlight with my skin aglow.
Have you ever heard something like me?
The songs of death that I do sing?
You might hear me laugh a giggle of glee.
A feeling of dread my songs do bring.
Have you ever witnessed something like me?
The manner of death I decide to use?
I love it when they attempt to flee.
Not one more lover will they abuse.
Have you ever feared something like me?
A murdered woman, left to rot?
Only when he killed me was I made free.
That’s the ultimate Twist of the Plot.
The Ghostly ChainsAll the things I have created,The Ghostly Chains1 week ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Magic scrolls and spells alike!
But my fame – exterminated!
Treacherous the dark fate's strike!
All my magic, all this power,
Gone forever, lost in time!
Driven to this hidden tower,
I dwell alone in dust and grime.
Darkness grows within my heart,
The evil that I fight!
Every day, there dies a shard,
But still, I hunger for the light!
Changes come and decades go
And just regrets remain.
In the stream of time, its flow,
There is just one way to regain.
In the shadows I've decided,
All the world shall pay the price!
With the undead I have sided
And my heart, it turns to ice.
Unseen chains are holding me,
The ghosts of deeds gone wrong.
Nevermore I can be free,
I'm just a wraith, a dead man's song.
Everything I have forsaken,
So much more I must endure.
Left for dead, just to awaken
Blackness, nightmares, the obscure!
So I'll lock myself away,
My soul inside a book.
Necromancy is the way,
To take with force what they once took!
Hate and anger fuel my c
The Hidden HorrorThe Hidden HorrorThe Hidden Horror1 week ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
By Nathan Kish
In my den, I peruse arcane tomes,
Pondering things unfathomable.
Eerie silence filled my ancient home,
Aged manuscripts adorned my table.
I breathe in deep, and prepare my soul
For rituals forbidden and dark,
Malevolent words breathed past my lips,
On my floor, a chalk circle I mark.
Never before in my lifetime have I
Attempted such a ceremony,
I now call the Thing into my sight,
And I call out my blasphemous plea.
A thing of shadow and fright it is,
A monster of incalculable dread,
Unprepared for a beast such as this,
It’s voice echoes inside of my head.
Terror and awe and panic I feel,
Crying out into the dark of night,
I prayed, please lord, don’t let this be real,
The fiend before me faded from sight.
I fell back into my soft armchair,
My belief in my safety was strong,
Then I felt the dark entity stare,
Then I knew just how far I was wrong.
Just how long ago, I know not when,
Since I opened the abhorrent door,
Since I had called, and th
The Sanguineous BeastThe Sanguineous BeastThe Sanguineous Beast1 week ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
By Nathan Kish
It stalks the villagers in the night.
It desires to assuage its hunger,
‘Tis a thing of fangs and claws and fright,
It will wait for its meal no longer.
‘Tis the scent of blood that draws it near,
‘Tis fresh blood that makes his hunger grow,
‘Tis not the night to wander out there,
For ask the villagers, they all know.
Beware my child, and do stay indoors,
Mind the words of your elders, at least,
Lock the windows, and bolt all the doors,
All must hide from the Sanguineous Beast.
BansheeA dog barks,Banshee1 week ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Down the street,
A sound so high,
Disturbs the peace,
A monster is hunting,
One you can't hear,
If she finds you,
Cover your ears.
Picture PerfectThere was an artist, above all others,Picture Perfect1 week ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
who you could meet with an ally crawl
perfect portraits of all, sisters, brothers,
but you’d never see them in a hall,
in a room, or on a desk
for those who had their portraits painted,
were disgusted – or just fainted
I chanced to meet the artist, in my drunken stumble,
could this be a beggar? Wrinkled, with eyes glazed
a toothless grin, she raised her head, followed by a mumble,
“Five bucks a portrait, ten minutes, flat, but you would be crazed,
I’ve never seen a happy face, when my work is done.”
I told her that her work’s divine,
“So was the work of Frankenstein.”
“That’s pretty cheap,” so I ignore her warning,
I toss her five, and wait for ten
breaks my zen, now I’m just mourning,
why can’t I go back again?
I should have listened to this hag,
“I’m not a leper, this is dreadful!”
her rotting face gives me a headful
I understand why she’s so ha
Hell UnleashedHell unleashedHell Unleashed1 week ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Upon a rotten world
Feel the wrath
Of the just lord
And towers tumble
And cities crumble
Loved ones gone
Homes turned over
In the end
All is nothing
What is left
ParasiteRunningParasite1 week ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
For the right love to keep
Looking for a host to reap
For love is a parasite I'm glad to carry
You can leach off me for years and I will never grow weary
I'm in love with what most consider scary
I'll hold this bug until I'm deep in the cemetery
I want them to be mine
I will take this parasite and keep it for a lifetime.
Chester Oakes' PilgrimageChester Oakes’ PilgrimageChester Oakes' Pilgrimage1 week ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
A Mythos and Byronesque verse
When our days are dull, tediously dull,
When we lack that wondrous thrill,
When we desire our days to be full,
Then we breathe deep and summon our will.
We gaze through the window pane,
Long and far into the space beyond;
We drift away, by imagination or in a dream,
Whilst our bodies lie tired and still.
Perchance, we see a faraway land
Like a shadow, lying beyond our sight,
Where a tall, dark, dense forest stands;
A vast, unfathomable grove of night.
Soon, so soon, we feel close-up;
The forms are near and clear.
Yet the nature that grows in this wood
Fills our hearts with awe and fear.
So, on such a night as I have told,
Then Chester Oakes lay upon his bed;
The sky grew dark, the window outside blew cold;
They made Chester feel weak and old,
And perchance nearly dead.
Yet, he closed his eyes and breathed deep,
And soon he drifted into a deep sleep;
Then, he dreamed of the place I have said.
Scary Valentine's Day poemValentine's Day is almost here.Scary Valentine's Day poem1 week ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
A day of hearts, candy, and cheer.
But also a day of morbid fear.
For you may be rejected by your (insert description word here) peer
But that won't happen, I'm sure of that.
Because by then the carpet will be stained with red,
And you, well you'll be dead.