#CoffinHop Day 3: Dark Poetry Corner

Dark Poetry Corner

Every year I post a dark poetry corner for Coffin Hop, and this year is no exception. However, for 2014, I've given it a bit of a twist. Included in the poetry this year is a group poem, a collaboration I did with some poets over on Facebook.

Also on deck are two deeply disturbing bits of verse written back in April for National Poetry Month, and a more recent poem.

First the group poem:

A Walk to Immorality

Going out for a twilight stroll to refresh and regenerate. The night reveals its onyx veil dashed with stars to see what's beyond my door. Passing by a memorial park, looking over to catch a glimpse of the souls inside. The wind rises up and pushes me down an untreated path doing a makeshift pirouette to catch balance. Recovering, I look up and see an abandoned cottage. 

The shutters hang from glassless windows. Curtains, tattered and stained, beckon me on the breeze, as if ghostly fingerlings calling me home. Will we have tea? Me and whatever is setting the table behind that heavy, dark door. Will it light a fire to take the chill from my bones, and should I bring a gift? Wildflowers, perhaps? I gather handfuls of Queen Ann Lace from the front yard on my way up the porch, soundlessly begging the door to open as I approach. Already, I am under its spell. 

A creaking hinge whispers, hollow and hoarse, the noise inviting, yet forlorn. Come in, come in, chimes the echo metallic as the door swings wide like a maw. A firefly dances, inside the dark, a pinpoint of light to show me the way. A furtive stirring of air tickles my skin cold with goose bumps. I step forward, strangely hesitant, but I cross the threshold, floral offering outstretched. A murmuring resonates, from the deep black, rising slowly to words: “Enter and be welcome.” Behind me resounds a thud, as the door slams shut.

I am left in the dark. Sweat trickles down the sides of my face. I grope my way forward, seeking a chair. My knees are weak. I. Must. Sit. There are no sounds now, but in the silence I can feel someone near. Then I see him in my mind: his dark brooding, his ebony waistcoat, his white shirt open at the neck, his sophisticated walking stick. Click. Click. Click. He’s walking toward me now. I flatten myself against the wall, cling to the shadows, but know that he needs no light to see. Oh, I begin to crave his touch. What is happening? His breath is hot and so close, so close. I welcome the teeth. Immortality has found me, blood stains my collar. Tomorrow the sun will burn my skin.

Poem written by:

Sean C. Theall

Patricia Gomes

A. F. Stewart

Rene Schwiesow

And now my solo poems:

Wild Born

Born on the untamed storm, black wind in the blood

Cold eyes of green, with a scream to shatter bone

Awake the dead, raven shadows call the flood

Red moon fears the surge, shrieking her tempest moan

A veiled gaze, darkened haze, in the endless howl

Bring the last, come the heir, to the thorny throne

Soar the bleak hurricane, rip the realm a scowl

Cascade forth the fury, nothing stands the wake

Fall to the oncoming rage, let life befoul

Wide rivers will burn and fair mountains will quake,

each in measured doom, blazing width and the depth

Child of the feral storm, all mercy forsake

Run to the edge, chased by the dark mist of breath

Run in vain, escape shall transpire in death

Another Day

Shadows lift with the morning sunrise, to unveil its kiss to the morning mist draped upon the mountains. Radiant sparkles flutter in the surface of the lake, as the birds chirp their song to the day.

The bells peal a dirge

The shuffle of feet stir dust

On an open grave

The Devil’s Deal

A sly tongue,

silver some may say

and falling lies

wrapped in tiny silvers

of truth…

…and moonlight at the crossroads

Don’t say yes,

Don’t sell your soul

But if you do,

and you hear

the yowl

of the hellhound

coming in the night

Run

Even if you won’t escape

Hope you enjoyed the poetry.
If you'd like to read more, try the Kintsugi Poets Society, another Coffin Hop participant.

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