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Literature
The Needle and the Pen
Downtown in the middle of the night.
To make a deal well out of sight.
For the junk and that flash of light.
A dose of poison to put me right.
I feed my head to continue to write.
The streets are quite but so alive.
With hookers, heroine and all that jive.
A junkie’s medicine helps me revive.
This wicked life where I thrive.
Such a horrific way to survive.
Hoping to get a little closer to God,
And ignoring that my logics so flawed.
On a wall, I'm propped like a tripod.
I stick my veins with a lightning rod.
Sliding to the ground I begin to nod.
Suffer the needle loving the pen.
Why do I keep coming back again?
Just tripping not writing.
The lie is just so inviting.
Killing the plans of mice and men.
I'll be like John Lennon you'll see.
Expanding my mind to a degree.
Meaningful prose and Yorkshire Tea.
With all my monsters, dark and beastly.
Fighting to surface from deep inside me.
Dark monsters with evil histories.
Each with its own set of Liabilities.
Oozing with truth and Blasp
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Literature
That of the King
He is just a boy of humble birth
Peasant born to work the earth
His arrival generated little mirth
A life of hardship for what it's worth
A new subject for his majesty the King
Father loved the boys so much stronger
The Lions of his loins but not the weaker
Not this mousey child so much smaller
For on his own he would never prosper
Another needy present under the King
He and his family farm the harsh land
Reaping a harvest in what is mostly sand
Surrendering taxes at the lord’s command
No chance to resist or make a stand
All for the benefit of an insatiable King
Life in the town is desperate and crude
Hungry people not wanting to intrude
Work together to feed the multitude
In the never-ending search for food
Far from the table of a well feed King
A scrawny lad loved by his mother
He is always abused by his brothers
Yet he works harder than the others
He longs for the world and its wonders
Lost in the vast realm of a distant King
He's a skilled hunter in the forest green
Against K
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Literature
Poets Pain
Thousand poems down deep.
In my head all wanting out.
Now I Write and bleed.
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Literature
Six word Story
Next she gave him the
Gun!
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Literature
The challenge of a witches art. Section #7
The young girl flashes back to what father said.
A story that would fill most others with dread.
The Mayors daughter wants the magic to spread.
She is longing for the thrilling adventure ahead.
(The Lord of the Craft is a lady of leisure.)
(A skillful woman and community leader.)
(A dominant sorceress and skillful dresser.)
(With amazing beauty beyond measure.)
(Just standing in the Square as the sun goes down.)
(She is greeted by smiles or a disapproving frown.)
(For she knows everyone in this ancient little town.)
(Even the Mayor views her as a lady of much renown.)
(The Mayor approaches her with great care. )
(Somehow he can sense her inner despair. )
(He offers to help her with anything he can spare.)
(She must ask him while trying not to ensnare.)
(“Did she agree or my request?” she questions. )
(The Mayor smiles “She loves your suggestions.” )
(He says “She agrees. Only her mother has objections.” )

The girl smiles for she knows the Lord
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Literature
The challenge of a witches art. Section #6.
Behind the altar she finds the nook.
Opens the door unlatching the hook.
With both hands the contents she took.
She removes her most sacred book.
A large leather bound compendium centuries old
Many symbols hand tooled and layered with gold
Filled with historic incantations some yet to be told
Even for the Lord of the Craft it’s a beauty to behold.
As she holds the book emotions are stirred.
Anticipation the energy that can be transferred.
From the proper speaking of each and every word.
Tonight requires a spell that’s never been heard.
Opening the book chases away the shadows.
Turning to a blank page for her to compose,
The powerful magic spell she already knows.
As her apprentice approaches from the meadows.
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Literature
Spilling my minds blood.
Breathing words.
Fighting words.
Writing words.
Poetry pleads.
No one follows.
No one sees
No on comments.
So the poet bleeds.
Creating situations.
Character narrations.
Staging scenes.
The story proceeds.
Creating a world.
Images unfurled.
Hero’s actions.
Villain’s misdeeds.
Hand to pen.
Pen to ink.
Ink to paper.
Doubt Misleads.
No one watches.
No one reads.
No one cares.
As the poet bleeds.
No audience to play for.
No readers to write for.
No reason to create more.
The poet concedes.
© 2016, ArtMadnesz
Self publishing
ArtMadnesz@gmail.com
    All rights reserved.
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Literature
Lost Control
Longing for a time without dread.
Rusted knives cut though flesh.
Seventeen men now dead.
Daybreak brings me no rest.
Furnace of emotions burn in me.
Nine lives lived and then some.
Benign face of my hated enemy.
Homecoming lies make me numb.
One notch carved in my suitcase.
Freight car triggers my poker face.
“Good Morning Solider”
“Ready to Comply”
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Literature
Trigger me!
Good Morning Solider
Longing for your past is daunting
Rusted body and my mind maladjusted
Seventeen memories just a smokescreen
Daybreak brings daylight and heartache
Furnace stoked to hide the disturbance
Nine steep stair steps left to decline
Benign smile will slowly undermine
Homecoming is the start of something
One can out maneuver the handgun
Freight Car triggers the inner superstar
Ready to Comply
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Just a few Small, Pumpkins for fall by artmadnesz Just a few Small, Pumpkins for fall :iconartmadnesz:artmadnesz 0 0
Literature
The challenge of a witches art. Section #5
The walls may be gone but the room remains.
With all of her crates, barrels, shelves and chains.
Tools of the craft to magnify the power in her veins
To control the universe where only she reins.
She is no longer wanting to be a solitary jewel.
She searches the containers for all that is necessary.
Multi colored Powders and liquids that smell of berry.
Spices, oils and Herbs gathered from the open prairie.
She collects them for a spell that will be legendary.
Placing them by the altar next to as small red satchel.
Mortar and pestle, spoon and a knife.
Commonly found in an ordinary life.
Something is missing something profound
She could not get started if it can’t be found
For a witch’s wand is not an ordinary tool.
Franticly Probing and searching the compound.
As the cat girl laughs, rolling on the ground
“Why all the mirth? I don’t need that sound.”
“Call for the rod, witch.  No need to look around”.
She smiles, summons the wand, ready to
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Literature
The challenge of a witches art. Section #4.
“Master” she purrs, “don’t you think this room is too small?”
The master nods “I think we might need to lose a wall.”
Master and Familiar start to link their power together
Transfiguring the work space to a wide open aether.
Now they stand on a solid floor with the center altar
An infinite space open to what the night will foster
A difficult task requiring many special exponents
A magic mixture composed just as many Components
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Literature
The challenge of a witches art. Section #3.
With the unfolding of the planes and a hiss like a rat.
And suddenly there beside her is a black winged cat.
She stroked its wings and speaks in a whisper.
A loving “Hello my friend” to her cherished familiar.
She says “We have been alone too long”
“Time to call leaders of the gathering throng.”
“Together we shall control prophets and kings”
The cat stretches and hides her sable wings.
With her swishing tail and sharp claws
She prepares to break the physical laws
Being familiar with her master’s requests
She transforms into small girl in a black dress.
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Invasion? by artmadnesz Invasion? :iconartmadnesz:artmadnesz 0 0
Literature
The challenge of a witches art. Section #2.
She walks to that concealed magic place.
This home and altar made of pure periclase.
No one can enter without her special knowledge.
She shifts and bang, now he removes the blockage.
He walks down the hall and through the den.
Shift in smoke and flame she is herself once again.
Stand at the altar ready to tap into her arcane.
She breaths deep and calls out for her only friend
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Literature
The challenge of a witches art. Section #1.
In a time before anyone cared.
When the world was unprepared.
On a restless night without forty winks.
The lord of the craft stands and thinks.
It time for a greater fellowship.
She wants a new coven and kinship.
A family, a bright multi part corona.
Each member with a unique witchsona.
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Literature
Challenge: The Altar
    I don't like to call it an altar.  That sounds like I'm praying to someone, and I am nothing if not areligious.  Gods aren't my shtick.  But even though you might not recognize it as a witch's altar, that's what it is.  It doesn't have a special corner in my house or closet.  There is no incense, none of the objects are marked with a pentacle, and my mortar and pestle belong in the kitchen, thank you very much.  But a witch's altar by any other name is still an altar.
    Once calm, I moved my furniture like puzzle pieces.  The wheeled desk to the right, the cat house out to the middle of my floor, the end table all the way out of the closet, the desk back to it's place on the left.  I have to, when I want to open the other half of my closet.  The closet has sliding doors, you see, and the end table is just deep enough that the doors won't slide if its in there.  Bit of a pain, really.  But what's a witch to
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Literature
Broken Hammers
She tastes of wine, death smoke and someone’s crying
Blood, like breathe, in and out and in again and again
Gods I want you, run and hide and I'll hunt for you
Tracing your neck like light across the hills
The coming hammer
The coming hammer
Down, down breaking on through
Get in you
The coming hammer
The coming hammer
Down, down breaking on through
Get in you, gonna get into you
She carries fires in her eyes, sets the shadows free
Against the roughest seas, she keeps running to me
The breath is coming faster, I’m coming after
Slick, shadows and everything they fill
The coming hammer
The coming hammer
Down, down breaking on through
Get in you
The coming hammer
The coming hammer
Down, down breaking on through
Get in you, gonna get into you
Here’s a hillock green, marble eaves and haloes bleed
Writhe against me, taste the enemy
I’m here till it’s ended, till the silence’s mended
Come here as a whisper and let me see you spill
The coming hammer
The comin
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ligure.  : a traditional precious stone that is probably the jacinth. (lĭg′yo͝or′) n. A precious stone of ancient Israel. [Middle English liguri, from Late Latin ligūrius, from Greek ligūrion, diminutive of ligūros, a precious stone.]

Kilner jar. a rubber-sealed, hinged or screw-topped jar used for preserving (bottling) food,

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artmadnesz
ArtMadnesz, NT, M2
Artist | Hobbyist | Literature
United States
I like to write poems. Stories. Haiku are fun. I like to take pictures to save a moment. Twitter artmadnesz
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:iconteakster:
Teakster Featured By Owner Nov 9, 2016  Professional General Artist

:wave:

Yaaaaaaay - I have a new friend! :glomp:

Thank you for supporting my work! :hug:

Let me buy you a BIG bowl of ice-cream! :D

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:iconilly251:
Illy251 Featured By Owner Nov 3, 2016  Hobbyist Traditional Artist
Cheers for the likes.
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Ellygator Featured By Owner Sep 30, 2016  Hobbyist General Artist
Thanks so much for watching my gallery!
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:iconartmadnesz:
artmadnesz Featured By Owner Sep 30, 2016  Hobbyist Writer
Thank you for letting us see you work. 
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hnghng Featured By Owner Sep 27, 2016  Hobbyist Digital Artist
Hi there! Welcome to dA!
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artmadnesz Featured By Owner Sep 27, 2016  Hobbyist Writer
Thank you.
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hnghng Featured By Owner Sep 28, 2016  Hobbyist Digital Artist
You're welcome. :)
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LoadsOfRandomness Featured By Owner Sep 27, 2016  Hobbyist Traditional Artist
Welcome to dA I hope you have a really fun time on here!
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:iconartmadnesz:
artmadnesz Featured By Owner Sep 27, 2016  Hobbyist Writer
Thanks.  I am still learning how to post and what I can do here. 
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LoadsOfRandomness Featured By Owner Sep 27, 2016  Hobbyist Traditional Artist
you are very welcome. If you ever need any help with anything, give me a shout!
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