Tamara Princess Of Satira
I walk; carry the weight of the sands, dust particles of gold
Beneath, lay the tomb, resurrected in chamber of seven
Headed snake, guarding the abandoned soul of Princess Tamara
From Hanaring, the city of guardian angel
Her eyes full of killer’s instinct, bewildered with terror
Her walk creates the sound of ancient Jazz, symphonized
By the ruthless pharaohs, costumed in satire silk
When the moon shines on her flawless black hair,
An unwanted eclipse, overshadows every man’s heart
Oil And Blood
IN tombs of gold and lapis lazuli
Bodies of holy men and women exude
Miraculous oil, odour of violet.
But under heavy loads of trampled clay
Lie bodies of the vampires full of blood;
Their shrouds are bloody and their lips are wet.
¥ Freedom ¥
The word that ignited my incombustile mind,
I raised then the marasmus jowl upward
And opened my sutured mouth.
Eyes were cascading the caged fervour
For freedom like pearls in a nacre.
Once slavery emasculated all my passion
For the vision of a feudalist.
He soured all my vigour, instituted in destitution;
Desecrated and eviscerated my abilities
And stabbed on my cranium,
Her Resolve
Ripples of pain weave circles round her
Memories sad and stark crucify her
At night she encounters mindless phantoms
Vampires who come to suck her blood
And tear her flesh
She seeks a shelter where she could fall asleep
Breathing dark secrets into her crumpled pillow
When questions rise from all corners
Putting her into a dreadful quandary
Alice And The Spooks
Little girls in little blonde curls
In reddish frilly messes
Eat their lunch alone,
Served by brunette waitresses
The eyes the color of
Burnishes doors,
Their thoughts slipping from their dresses.
A six year old Alice
Finishes her chicken and waffles,
Bat's Ultrasound
Sleeping-bagged in a duplex wing
with fleas, in rock-cleft or building
radar bats are darkness in miniature,
their whole face one tufty crinkled ear
with weak eyes, fine teeth bared to sing.
Few are vampires. None flit through the mirror.
Where they flutter at evening's a queer
tonal hunting zone above highest C.
Insect prey at the peak of our hearing
It's Just In Your Mind
You might think there’s a creepy castle,
Lost somewhere in time,
You might think it has ghosts all around,
But it’s just in your mind.
You might think there are aliens,
Those green and red slimy things,
You might think there are U.F.O’s,
Those unidentified flying things,
A Vampires Song
Step into my lair
This cool calm night
Step into my lair
And give into my plight.
Step into my arms
Feel loves bite
Step into my arms
And say goodbye to light.
Come my love
Knocking In Silence
Portrait of my teen days,
Reminiscences of youth,
Image of holiness in her
Youth of my longing heart,
Achievements of my soul
Nozzle of my flawless emotions,
Kite of my passionate being
Are all embedded into one, that is you.
I Rose Up As My Custom Is
I rose up as my custom is
On the eve of All-Souls' day,
And left my grave for an hour or so
To call on those I used to know
Before I passed away.
I visited my former Love
As she lay by her husband's side;
I asked her if life pleased her, now
She was rid of a poet wrung in brow,
Love On Mars: (Love At First Blip)
People speak of love at first sight
With Vampires, it's love at first bite
But what's it like, beyond the stars,
To fall in love on planet Mars?
Across the craters, he spots her
As they approach, they start to whirr
Antennas tangle (they have no lips)
For Martians, it's love at first blip!
' Monsters, Among Us... '
Scatter The Creeping Vapor-Stench, Away
Expose The Wake of Eerie, Fog and Shadows
And Nightshade and Fiends, and Vile-Beasts That Bay
Begone, to Taboo, Grounds, Unhallowed …
… For There Are Monsters, Among Us …
Yea, Also An Ancient Curse
We Don’t have To Make This Up …
… to Make It Any Worse …
On Fairy Wings
I don't remember when I lost my tenderness
And hardened into a thick shelled adult
No more innocent, no more gullible
Like a snake, I have peeled away my old self
It was easy enough, but having shed it
I realize no spring can bring it back!
There was a time when my imagination
Was so fiercely fuelled by fairy tales
Real Life Monsters
There might not exist any terrible trolls
but the Loch Ness monster might lurk for real!
There might be no real malicious monsters
but you might one day run into the Abominable snowman!
There mightn't be any real zombies
but there's truly a menace of wicked witches.
There might be no dreadful dragons
The New School Prayer (This Poem, Written By A 15 Year Student In Arizona Received An A+.
The New School Prayer
Now I sit me down in school
Where praying is against the rule
For this great nation under God
Finds mention of Him very odd.
If Scripture now the class recites,
It violates the Bill of Rights.
And anytime my head I bow
Fears
They come,
like hooded serpents from dark holes
with venom in their fangs
ready to snap at.
Like,
Monsters from roaring seas
that rest on the sands
as boulders on a low - lying ledge
An Ode To An Amphibian
You don’t have to pitch a tent
Nor build a house to stay
When thousands wander weary and vexed
Without a home or place to rest,
You own a house with a magic door
That opens at will without key or latch
Well protected from all wicked wight
Safe from all robbers, rowdies and rodents
Haunted Verses
It's a haunted shadowy night,
Sailing in my dream boat
I intensely try to glide through
The rough patches and murky sights,
The brutal views help me transform
Gradually into an evil spirit,
After killing my conscience and soul
During daylight..
And then I roar with lunatic laughter
The Neophyte
To-night I tread the unsubstantial way
That looms before me, as the thundering night
Falls on the ocean: I must stop, and pray
One little prayer, and then - what bitter fight
Flames at the end beyond the darkling goal?
These are my passions that my feet must read;
This is my sword, the fervour of my soul;
This is my Will, the crown upon my head.
For see! the darkness beckons: I have gone,
Before this terrible hour, towards the gloom,
Ecrit En 1827
I
Je suis triste quand je vois l'homme.
Le vrai décroît dans les esprits.
L'ombre qui jadis noya Rome
Commence à submerger Paris.
Les rois sournois, de peur des crises,
Donnent aux peuples un calmant.
Ils font des boîtes à surprises