Tag Archives: Horror

Spiders Dare Not Spin Their Webs

It’s a rainy day today. I hope everyone is staying warm and dry. One hell of a season, this winter. One minute cold, next minute less cold but also wet. When will I be able to wear one outfit the whole day without changing? No one may know. Without further ado, please enjoy.

Spiders Dare Not Spin Their Webs

Teardrops fall

on an aged turntable,

one that creaks and winces

at every drop.

Once upon a time,

its exquisite design

and joyous notes

filled halls with envious glances

and raucous applause.

Gilded then,

much like the age,

in silver and gold

now tarnished and old.

Like porcelain and glass,

now precious vinyl degrades

as its uses and users too fade.

I remain by its side,

this sweet and beautiful turntable,

until the drips form stalactites

and I myself subside.

Ready Teddy?

Good afternoon, all. I’ve got a nice little poem for you today. Wrote it a couple weeks ago. I’ve not found things to be improving, only disproving and dealigning. Perhaps you’ll find some meaning in my little works. Without further, please enjoy.

Dead To Rights

Crumbling towers of marble and granite

turn to dust with those who plan it

on the eve of my dying planet.

Set there by the edge of the world,

finding now it’s been unfurled.

There is a canvas coated in blood

that showed the coming of the flood.

No one listened

to those words

that ooze like mud.

This world is dead

with hardly a word left to be said.

Reternal

Good morning, everyone. I have an interesting post-finals week poem for you. I do sincerely hope you enjoy. Without further ado:

Arisen

Ten white horses buck the trend

and at rainbow’s edge find their end.

“I was looking for gold,” he had said,

now all was lost and he was old.

There never was a pot of gold,

there, at the edge of the rainbow.

Only dust and mist

and things you might have missed.

Ten white horses round the bend

and find a place where they can send

a message back to the lands of men.

“Do not follow,” spoke the cadre, in unison,

“The world in here is one most hollow,” contends the ghostly troupe.

“We’ll not be back in time for soup.”

Soot and soil,

there again.

Fire’s out.

The charcoal turns to ash again.

Can never find my flint and steel…

There it was, just by the reel.

Now it’s all to ash and soot,

buried in the soil.

Drink the water,

make sure to boil.

Ten dark horsemen rise from the boneyard.

“It’s time,” they whisper, as if to a lover.

It’s the horsemen’s turn to play a card.

You’ll be lucky

if you are smothered.

Corinthians 11:14

Good afternoon, everyone. You’ll do some reading. Not too much though! Wouldn’t ever want to do too much… Please enjoy the poem today, my friends. I did work ever so diligently to bring it to you. Without further ado:

Corinthians 11:14

Demons, demons

one and all.

Take your place,

take your face.

Look again

and meet the leper.

Again in the den

of one false shepherd.

Do you hear?

Those whispers that draw near?

Loud, loud, loud, loud…

Are those eyes inside that cloud?

They haunt and stalk;

destroy your mirror

and your screens.

That’s how they sit

inside your jeans.

Don’t let them in,

don’t let them out.

They’ll scream and shout.

Don’t let them out.

A sweet boy

now just a ploy.

They’ll take your place

and take your face.

Psychologie

Guten Tag und willkommen, Freunde. Ich habe hier für dich ein neues Werk. Ich hoffe, dass Sie mögen es. Ich habe sehr hart daran gearbeitet. Bitte genießen, meine Lieben. Mit ohne weitere Umschweifen…

Chomping at The Bit

There is a horse

With human eyes

~

too many, too short

those legs of that sort

~

The cavalry approaches

in Phantom Cavalcade

~

set there at the edge of the World

by hands that thought their conduct kind

~

I think they’ve gone and made me blind.