Dark Poetry Thread

[echoes_s]

Read if you want, post if you want, don't if you don't want

A stranger again

Oh to sink into a numbed abyss
of conciliation,
to yearning for amity of mind and body,
body and soul,
to dream of dreaming,
long for peace and tranquility
away from undesired obsession,
erratic fornication of the mind.

Seeking sovereignty from political turmoil
of unjustly magnifications of emotions
rendering me emotionless.
I sob without pain
yet agonized defeat screams
my name in multitudes
of frenzied gesticulations.

"Yeah though I walk through the valley of death..."
echoes wearily within
seeking comfort
yet disclosing confusion,
dehabilitated exposure to torment...
once previous titillation.

Madness claims my state
of mind though still I struggle
to contain myself within
expectancies of habitual living.

Shall I crawl, because
for I can no longer walk
towards the pews of purity?
I seek your permission
for I question acceptance within,
incapable of comprehending
where the boundaries
begins or ends.
I am a stranger again

 

[echoes_s]

Forget-me-not

a slow ripping of corsage
pistils ragged
receptacle bare
scattered flight
of formation
once patterned
foundation
shred and spread

frayed petals
of forget-me-nots
played then splayed
counting love-me-not
instead of daisies
just with intense
deeper hues

pressing emotions
into this book.
i do not keep flowers
in vases anymore.
once knocked
and crushed underfoot
scoffed with
meaningful exchange
before you walk away.

I drip tears in the vase
one at a time
as they do not flow
incessantly
a necessity to control
this contorted pain

then set under the sun
to evaporate when full
then filled time
and time again

 

[echoes_s]

I have been stashing them...doh!

Howling at the half moon

pitch black dark
buzzing bugs of Jun
hollowed tv
crazy wind
restless blue
a nothing feeling
just ride it wild

pour a whiskey
sit outside a while
fighting off memories
with daggers in my eyes
bird dog in a wired cage
howling at the moon
just a half moon

asphalt glistens
no one sees my message
in their flurried flight
and i fumble
would it help if i cried
dark and silent
some other day

 

[WickedEve]

I have many ex-husband inspired poetry

The darkness in these poems is a bit vague but it's there in my subtle ways of killing him.

The Outdoor Man is Sleeping
2003

Flesh is no longer blackened
beneath deliberately serene sky.
The fires are doused,
burning only in still moments
tucked far on dusty shelves--

not buried in his daylily earth
where roots tangle 'round him.


Bronze Vase
2003

Quiet hours are hushed
as deep shades of blood rose
are fondly recalled--hands stained
from thorns and silenced love.

In our eighth year he was traditional;
copper from before is tarnished
and now anniversary bronze
holds memories in lethal weight.

 

[WickedEve]

If not for the ex, I would have had nothing to write about

Disposing of Little Men
©2002

Little men lie in fields,
forgotten ribbons
destined for black bird's nest.

Little men stuffed under pillows
and taken by morning,
some more valuable than others.

Little men in back of speeding buses
peer through dirty windows,
waving goodbye.



Let Me Out of This Box!
©2002

He crumples me,
stuffs me in a box.
Kicking legs, flailing arms
will not be confined.

He kicks me under the bed.

In a box,
under the bed,
I struggle over forgotten items.

Box with arms and legs
moves across the floor,
bumps the furniture,
out the door.

Tumbling box in his path.
Empty box in his grasp
when he's found
at the bottom of the stairs.

 

[Angeline]

Re: If not for the ex, I would have had nothing to write about

Disposing of Little Men
©2002

Little men lie in fields,
forgotten ribbons
destined for black bird's nest.

Little men stuffed under pillows
and taken by morning,
some more valuable than others.

Little men in back of speeding buses
peer through dirty windows,
waving goodbye.



Let Me Out of This Box!
©2002

He crumples me,
stuffs me in a box.
Kicking legs, flailing arms
will not be confined.

He kicks me under the bed.

In a box,
under the bed,
I struggle over forgotten items.

Box with arms and legs
moves across the floor,
bumps the furniture,
out the door.

Tumbling box in his path.
Empty box in his grasp
when he's found
at the bottom of the stairs.

I think you should post that poem about the log and the dead guy. You know which one I mean?

 

[WickedEve]

Re: Re: If not for the ex, I would have had nothing to write about

I think you should post that poem about the log and the dead guy. You know which one I mean?

I vaguely remember that. God, where is it? lol

I still have bob. I love this one. I know that's sick. Sorry, if I get carried away echoes. I have lots of dark poetry. I'm going to eventually submit some of them.
bob Finds Love
©2002

He carries her carelessly
to his familiar room, with dead walls
and windows with annoying clean spots
that let the world in.

He tosses her on the nude bed.
She is his plaything, for awhile.
He toys with her till her dress rips
and a shoe falls.

Her hair is no longer perfect,
blushing cheeks have faded.
Still, she's pretty,
with pink smeared upward--
a bizarre smile just for him.

He knows that she loves him,
accepts him.
He'll keep this one
till they take her away.

 

[Lauren Hynde]

We had a whole challenge dedicated to dark poetry sometime ago, remember?


Dark Feel on the Kitchen Table
by Lauren Hynde ©

From the black silence of landscape
it came, leaving a blood-spattered tear,
her face
that of a siren
that of a tigress rolling on the floor
the metallic wails of love
in the shape of a haze at the edge of sight.

Wounded, two mouths kissed
blood-spattered on the kitchen table
where she sits, virtuous and confident,
stirring the soup with her smile.

After having shattered
respectable sets of dishes and shackles,
like nothing had happened at all.

 

[Liar]

a pathless patio robbed
piss and shit wheezing voice
whispers oh whispers
of sickly sweet nothing

syllables suffocate
trying to contain
this rotten flesh reason
give in give up give way
you don't deserve it anyway

tearing spines
and madly resisiting minds
to lost controll confetti
no good no fair no worth
nobody nothing no

sometimes I wonder
why no blood seeps out
when everything
hust have shattered
in there

 

[herecomestherain]

WickedEve, Disposing of Little Men and Let Me Out Of This Box are just perfect.

Does it matter that poetry may make little sense to anyone other than the writer? Or those for whom it was written? This one was for a pornographer/artist friend suffering a bout of depression.


Cranberry Porn

Cranberry porn's a
brittle kink
oil fried
crisp and
bitter black

Hot sharp shards
splinter pierce
the tender flesh
of a poet's
mouth

Scalding
the witty tongue
that fishes and
probes
delicious
pain

Relishing
the thrilling
sting of anger
pressing hard
flat against the
sad ache of
loathing
and despair

 

[echoes_s]

Re: Re: Re: If not for the ex, I would have had nothing to write about

I vaguely remember that. God, where is it? lol

I still have bob. I love this one. I know that's sick. Sorry, if I get carried away echoes. I have lots of dark poetry. I'm going to eventually submit some of them.
bob Finds Love
©2002

He carries her carelessly
to his familiar room, with dead walls
and windows with annoying clean spots
that let the world in.

He tosses her on the nude bed.
She is his plaything, for awhile.
He toys with her till her dress rips
and a shoe falls.

Her hair is no longer perfect,
blushing cheeks have faded.
Still, she's pretty,
with pink smeared upward--
a bizarre smile just for him.

He knows that she loves him,
accepts him.
He'll keep this one
till they take her away.

You can't get too carried away, this is dedicated to dark poems

I had all my dark ones about my ex posted here on Lit once, but deleted them all, thinking this wasn't the place to submit them.

 

[Guest]

The Other Side

She love him so she
So she does.
does all he asks
Demands of her
Crudely, with out love.

Does it as he speaks,
Quickly,
quietly.
Removing clothes, her shell
her protection.
she is vulnerable.
He sees it.

He likes it.
Makes her crawl
Reveal herself in ways
she never would
For anyone
Else.

His fingers invade
There is no other word.
Invasion
of her psyche.
Yet she obeys.
Spreading herself out
Displaying areas never seen.

He revels in his affect
The wetness he has
Created
In her and the
readiness for sex.
The quiet acceptance.
Of pain

He asks
"where do you want it?" but
needs no answer.
He
Has decided.
"Can you take it?"
"Barely in" in pain.

Eyes pinned shut.
Mouth open - screaming
Silently.
He doesn't see, does not hear.
He only talks of
His pleasure.
"So tight! So wet."
"Fuck, it feels so -
Good!"

Rough hands clutch skin
Hair.
Growling, he warns.
"I'm coming."
Floods of love
No, not love.
His cum.

she shakes with fear
And relief.
He calls her "bitch."
And she feels spit
fall on her back.
"You’re a good shag."
Pushing
Pushing all the while.

His hoarse voice close
Says he'll be back
For more.
Beneath his solid weight.
she whisper. 'Thank you."
Knowing she won't be there.

 

[echoes_s]

Up North

Where the Oak trees bow
under burdensome weight
of numbing rime
that gleamed at clouded skies
where the snow falls
and silent slides
to bite the ground below
hidden traps
teeth snapped

Where murky waters
once swirled cool
a cleansing refresh
now a quiet death
ghostly ice
heaving cracks
where it once breathed
gasp aghast
trapped
horrified

Where the mind too
numbed by frost
captured deep
within gnawing teeth
and swirling murk
unclear, unclean
a hushed slow death
madness screams
up North

 

[echoes_s]

Madness

What is madness?
swirled dissipated pain
agonies enwrapped
grated metal strain
became
from thrashed
integrate with insane
again
again
hammers cracking skull
tile torn of heart
gaped holes of strain
blearing dull
deplete
delete
denial
expired
incomplete vial
of sperm in test tube
left wasted
forgotten freeze
begotten wheeze
before a sneeze
knocked
into spillage
oozing mess
of madness

 

[echoes_s]

new ex poem written last night I think

Mommy please

she looked at me
reassurance denied
heart broken
she cried
Daddy might not be coming
this time
again
a silent whisper in my heart
but was it hidden in my eyes?

she received her card
but presents unarrived
presence lost
where was her smile
she said
she hated him sometimes
she writes poetry
just like me

gather around the tree
look at the blossoms
fall delicate
a brush of cheek
gentled scent of meek
hushed aroma of tears
hug me mommy

please…

 

[echoes_s]

remember this one about my ex?

A Mortal Am I

How many times he reminded me
I was mortal
while his dark eyes seethed hell,
searing me with his revulsion,
burning me with hatred.

When time blurred
and vision became distorted,
my mind hazy, thoughts unclear,
I thought him as Zeus, Poseidon, and Thor,
raging thunder bolts,
crushing hammers,
slicing tridents.

I would tremble,
a martyr,
minute and insignificant,
ineffective in self defense.
Instinctual fear overtaking,
causing me to blindly flash flight
at break neck speed into the surf,
snapping white crests off waves,
flailing,
free falling
crashing deeper again.

Diving to be utterly swallowed
by yawning reefs,
then burrow into
the dim safety of my mind
not thinking nor caring
what would become.

Nothing could be worse than him,
his rampant curses upon my soul,
sweltering aversions
melting anguish into my heart,
scorching seams of being,
wringing any sustenance left available
to survive.

To lift my wearied hands
and fend off his blows,
even if just from the gusts
of him passing by.

 

[razoreater]

I don't know if this fits under dark poetry, but it doesn't fit anywhere else

Puking Blood

Puking blood
into the toilet
at midnight.
head down
grunting with the effort
feels like I have swallowed
a handful of tacks
My beautiful one is
At the bathroom door
“Are you ok?” she asks
I stand, wipe off
My mouth
open the door,
walk past her
head to the kitchen
pour myself a drink,
a Big one this time
“What the hell’s wrong with you?” she asks
I knock the drink back in one
Smile and say “Nothing

 

[Angeline]

Dark Feel

in Art

 

[Angeline]

Burnt

 

[Angeline]

Joisey

threat

 

[thenry]

Vanilla is the flavor of sanity,
mine, it would seem, so fragile,
so easy to soften that the lines
run over my fingers.
I tried once to go without,
to see how wide the line is
separating me from myself
(six days). I had heard
the unquestioning life
is not worth living.
Does that mean at Baskin Robins
I should try all thirty-one flavors?
Depression would be a licorice
snowball, the ice finding its way
between my teeth, sharp cold
before the sugar rush arrives,
sleep the flavor of coffee mixed
with toothpaste, ennui smooth
butterscotsch, weary satisfaction
that flavor of mostly cream
with chunks of real cherry,
and cohesion rocky road.
One day I may want
to try them all,
but I've just grown fond
of vanilla.

 

[Toast.]

 

[Mister B73]

Didn't want my first poem to be to dark....you might think me twisted.

Dark Misery

Sweet misery, please embrace me,
happiness has cost me my thoughts,
I am lost in her world,
too afraid to walk alone,
for fear the light will fade.
Sweet misery,
please take my hand,
lead me back to myself,
my mind my own,
alone I shall stand.
happiness has cost me my thoughts,
I am lost in her world,
too afraid to walk alone,
for fear the light will fade.
Sweet misery,
please take my hand,
lead me back to myself,
my mind my own,
alone I shall stand.
Sweet misery,
where are you now,
my words have failed me,
I do not know this place,
longing for the comfort,
of your sweet embrace.

 

[Mister B73]

Enslaved by Love

Bound by her honor,
enslaved by her love,
sweet fantasies a whisper upon her lips;
lust and desire,
love and hope,
her body his to devour;
the candles burn red,
entrapped without will,
she can never be without him;
tied to his heart,
trusting forever,
his till the end of time.

 

[Mister B73]

Paven with Misery

This path that leads me to you,
paven with misery,
take my heart and make it yours,
for life is gone this day,
all that was will never be,
my life forever changed,
with the single touch,
a single glance,
this path that leads me to you,
a winding road of shadows,
your eyes light my soul,
and they lead the way,
to a place of heartache,
this path that leads me to you,
paven with misery.