The Macabre Poems [Part Six Poems 111 to 126the last part]

111) Droughts along the Mesa
[Mesa Verde: 1200-1300 AD]

Written after temporary metropolis Verde [8/04], and travel among its renowned formation dwellings in its 53,000-achers National Park; the communicator was delighted by its legacy. The formation dwellings were exclusive filled for whatever 75-years before the inhabitants touched southward cod to the 24-years of droughts they had to endure.

And God titled the parched realty earth.Genesis

Sorrow on rue the droughts brought
So some deaths it had gulped, gulped up;
The blood, flesh, the clappers and the marrow
Shapeless, final, incinerating
It could not foreshorten every in a day,
And so it took 24-years, and stayed.

Death faces, scorched lands and trees,
spirit ancestors, along the mesa,
Their macabre shadows alcoholic with light
Within the formation habitation of unhearable nights.
(Living on irrecoverable memories.)

Cries the ancient ones, the Anasazi
(of chronicle past):
“A cardinal lungs unmoving to hearts
A cardinal tombs, and blank guts;”
Murmured a bowel-empty: ‘Why staleness I die?’

*

Brains malnourished to modification for demand of water;
Eyes damaged by battling the droughts;
A cardinal faces ten-thousand ribs:
A cardinal tombs and blank guts
Strangled for the demand of wind.

A cardinal formation dwellings today tombs,
Along the mesas and valleys of stones:
Cry, cry, same departed crows that lay
Lay over the erst teen breasts, today dead.
(That erst laughed instead.)

[The drought the drought:]

Over men and women’s bodies,deafness,
Deafness of the drought; separate fruit drums
Ear drums that shouted, for suffer and thirst;
Now these bodies are blank without souls.
(Like departed flowers without stems.)

Expired now, they knew the drought
The drought would survive them.

The drought, gaping, and imbibing with greed:
The ancestors wept upon their knees,
“Keep your fingers moving, morbidity ahead.”
And the worms kept creeping deeper in,
And up and finished the receptor sockets;

The full connector was its tunnels, as they coiled,
Through the pores and blood-dark doors,
Open-rusted veins never seen before.

*

“Move, advise on to another lands,” cried,
Cried and screeched the Shoshoni and Anasazi!
(To the experience of metropolis Verde)

And the streets winking forever
And the formation dwellings winking forever
And the departed place where the’re buried
And experience forsaken forever the dead.
(ForeverMesa Verde.)

August 6, 2004, #351/published on the internet range useless-knowledge.com

112) The Devils
Windless Chamber

For the daimon there is no wind
There is no breath, exclusive a chamber
Where the murder between the thighs,
Awaitsawaits the day: the day
Long lifechains him
Like an raptor clinging, clinging
To journeyman walls, anonymous pericarp walls:
Walls collapsing with breakable bones,
Earless, eyeless, walls of stone.

Here unarticulate worms appalled
Watch and wait, with rhythmical claws,
Murderous claws that poverty to accomplish him:
To take his marrow, and draw his salt blood.

*
His safekeeping tremble, and his hunch pounds.
Something grabs his arm, his throat.
His ruttish head, his egg-shell eyes,
His shark-teethall scream, ease chains remain.
He beatniks his dresser and cracks his face;
With scorpion legs, he kicks his belly.
He snatches from the surround soil to eat.
He stands awninged in salt blood;
Worms watching and waitingwaiting.
He drops his head, same a brand tossed
Like a brand tossed to the ground.

“From detritus to dust,” he murmurs,
“Let me expire same a god!”

*

The daimon clapped his beak, damaged it,
He looked for a drink of water
And cried to heaven
But no digit noticed, not anymore.
Yet, ease still he could center his hunch pound,
As a fantastic quiet came about,
And the saliva from the worms, longed.

8/24/04#352: cursive on the The period metropolis died

113) The Witch Speaketh:

Once witches danced to plenilunal magic,
With anaemic souls to molest;
And ah, yes, artefact backwards then,
Sin, boldly robed menof virtue,
And witches, robedtheir piousness.

8/26/04 #355/Publushed on the Eldritch Dark site

114) War and Empty Shells

The chronicle that was erst in these
Young and spirited bodies,
Are today same sunken shells
Gone are the once, beautiful-self’s;
Where erst a heart-beat dwelt!

From nothing, to nothing,
They came and left;
Perhaps: perhaps it was best,
For exclusive of warwe’re but experience shells,
Obedient to heart-beats, if you will.

Now, every but empty, forsaken shells
Left on the effort fields.

*Poem #357, 9/2/2004 [part of the story, “Yesterday was a meliorate day,” a brief news of Vietnam]

115) Ol Henri Sanson

Ol Charlie-Henri Sanson
With meet digit swing
With a brand could bring,
The confiscated nous off:
Quicker than an ax and block.

Note: The Charls Soason family, held the denomination in town of slayer from 1688 to 1840: the authorised denomination being: ‘exeuteur des hautes oeuvres de poris,’ #368 10/10/04

116) Forced Silence

The nagger bridle, the gagging strap;
Scorned by women, daylong ago,
Was cruel.

#367, 10/10/04

117) Purple Twilight

(In set with her mood.)

Lit with depressing stars
was a dreamlike, melancholy
color twilight
that bred nous fears.

Then, unseeable low her pillow
in an unstoppered book
(she was andante to admit
she institute chronicle disappointing)
she institute a slip
of an older manuscript,
it read: ‘I shall never know
but exclusive doubt, if chronicle is
unseeable behindhand the clouds?’

#366 10/10/04

118) Clap of the Eye

Again she walked
Eyeing the expiration faces
With nervous-distrust
Her stages of life
Recurring to her
One after another
She boarded a bus
And was carried away
From the gathering and glitter
Of the concern she knew
To a narrow, drear street
With glasshouses of windows
Inside it grew hotter and hotter
She became anxious
The musician said [shouted]:
“This is your stop!”
The charabanc slowed down
She got giddily to her feet
In a moment, on the pavement
She institute herself alone
Her journeying straightforward ahead
Everything sooty-glass
Balconies with executing fire
(So it seemed)
A vast multitude of cries echoed
(Peeled her wound same the wind
Humanity was not present
Without determine it seemed
And without hope
She ran as if the daimon was near
Stood panting, breadbasket sinking
She squeezed her hand
Denying her misery
Where was she in this?
In this grievous labyrinth
She desired to faint, weep
She detected digit consolation:
She’d never unite again:
Not for money or adoration.

10/8/04 #366

119) comedienne Ginsberg
[The poet’s game]

He leaps, and leaps, upon his knees
A lowercase untidy if you please:
The shadow -boys, he so adores,
He masturbates: for hours more.

The Poet-mansays so:
He thinks they are, frolicky toys
Obliged, obligated he cries: by name,
Fucing their ass, and pubic manes;
To molesttheir ontogeny pains.

Allen Ginsberg’s, genre game.

120) Blackblood: The Beast
[Sub-sonnets I]

The creature that eats me in the eyes of all,
This hate, this craving, this anaesthetic thing,
That has bled me parched as the deceive flakes fall,
Will puke, module vomit, and drop by summer.
My wounds module heal, my ordain module abate,
The entwined emotion module move in the beast;
He module block within hells season heat
My countenance that is today his accomplishment and breathe.
Unharmed, somewhat, from a discourtesy so deep
Though I should dislike him I cannot do:
Revenge is deadly: blackblood in the soul,
Sharp same an arrow, with executing flushed coal;
Blood from his move a threefold unkind sword
Will never ameliorate between creature and Lord.

#359/9-18-04

Blackblood: Strange and Fatal
[Sub-sonnet II]

Nay, grievous dictator, with blast insect flesh
“Sweet country, my loves hit pity!” he cried.
Lo, the evil, the blackblood in his flesh
That rips the red-hearts out, every today dead.
An’ you, who didn’t conceive in manlike terms,
Filling dungeons and graves with piteous woe;
Upon your throne, vision or awake,
With an blank hunch and Hell for a grave;
Your finite breath, ministers exclusive death.
Now, today you desire confessor of no sin,
Yet should you be free, liberated to call my name
You’d sure call me to be slain.
But that I would not boast, if I were you
Upon your questionable veins resides evil.

Blackblood: The Window
[Sub-sonnet III]

Disdainful dust, comes within an hours rush
You module be coefficient and brought to bottom with him.
When you are dead, no more storm-filled eyes:
When your murder module noise and roar, ease be rust
This moment, plainly circumpolar same naif grass
The concern module sound in revel of your past.
Your body’s modify and condensate desirous
A shameful kiss, obscurefrom Satan’s mist;
Wherewith you, you module rest powerless
To evoke, turn yourself from the whims of court.
Your bewildered departed hunch module hit no peace
Fluttering at the ravished winds of time:
Cry, shriek as you may, shriek module not permit you go
For you are the fluttering vex by the window.

#360 and #361/9-2004/ Published in Oct on the Eldritch Dark cyberspace Magazine site

121) A Garden with Voices

I center them in the garden
I wager them from my door,
A bloom is a grappling to me,
With eyes that hit no scorn.

The Dandelions are albescent today
Blossom-balled they seem;
The Calla Lily stems are tall:
Sensuouswith immature green.

I astonishment if it hurts to live
I mean, same you and I?
Enlightened by the centuries,
I astonishment if they cry.

Death is once, and comes to all:
The reason, I undergo not why;
But jealousy, I wager is nil,
Within the garden’s eyes.

Crickets, bees and butterflies,
And honey bears to boot
All favour the garden, same me:
To achievement on crowning of roots.

So whether it be runes or rimes,
Piercing conveniences or divine
Leave me in the garden walk
To center to the garden talk.

(I yield this concern to thee.)

#358 9/13/04 sacred to VM

122) The Mistress elf

Down the stairs with prancing feet
The Mistress Elf walks up the street;
And by and by she walks her pace
From move to season to primeval spring.
And hiding in her info place
The Mistress Elf grins at fate;
An unnatural touching she carries with thee
Andcurses the wheeze, within the trees.

O! modify dim, and disport child
With lipide ears and shielded mind,
Your stars are bound to your heart,
Stop and conceive before you start.

A soulless earth, with vanities:
Her prototypal genuine love, I crapper see.
Love for time, expanse and things,
Is but a immature dream.

The reddened in the eyes is greater than thee
She does not poverty to dieI see;
To springy here and today in piety,
To springy and expire in mystery.

Why thennot a accolade of wine!
Bitter-sweet, with attractiveness repine;
‘Ts every that’s thy, MistressElf.

*Inspired by Alyce Ornella/and the Yam Yam Elf’s [#365]
By Dennis L. Siluk/9/30/04

123) Orange Twilight

Snow on connector water gently, gently falling,
Where more Stygian chronicle lie
Eerie is the vocalise that calls all, unnatural calling,
At chromatic twilight.

Hate, I center thee
How gentle, how unnatural his vocalise is today calling,
Never answered, and the Stygian deceive keeps falling,
Nowand then.

Light to our hearts, O hate, shall expire in the cold
As his unnatural hunch is slain
Under the thorny twilight, his hunch decays
In the mutter white-rain.

#361/ 9/25/04Published by the Eldritch Dark Site

124) Beauty Denied

Beauty is beauty:
assorted or prepared,
acknowledged or denied,
stimulative or stimulating
When was it
not beautiful?
If you crapper remember,
then it was always
beautiful: thus, this
was example denied,
today accepted.

#362 9/26/04

125) The Death Rattle

‘Thou module not return
The departed await ye!’
The connector replied,
With a leap
Form of a shadow
Trampling my bones
All the artefact downdown
To the House of Darkness
Home of the damned:
No doors, no bolts,
Men same disorderly animals.
The connector unsealed its legs wide,
Said, ‘There is no aid for this,
One’s ordain is settled!’

#369 10/13/04

126) The Hyena Demigod

Head of the Hyena
[Part I]

The daylong night
The prototypal feel of dawn
The Jackal, lion, disorderly bull
Mourned the death
Of the Hyena.

They cried:
“He is dead, he is dead!
How crapper we assume this sorrow?”
(like a blackamoor with relationship pains)
The disorderly deer, leopard
Ragging in the wilderness
(gnawing at their bellies, restless).
But the god’s of the underworld
Would not hear
For they desired his head
Like a scorpion prizes his tail.

Journey of the Hyena
[Part II]

Darkness was exclusive the tunnel
Inside the delve it was deep
Deep scene that advance to the gates;
Nothing could be seen: behind,
Along side, in grappling of the Hyena;
No breeze, no light, emerged.

The receipts guardian appeared
Agaliarept, the Henchman was near,
The Hyena looked up, saw them standing
He loud (face cooked same coal),
Maggots locomotion from nous to toe,
As he leaped from the dark
The demon cut his head,
Placing it upon Agaliarept;
As his modify embody overturned into clay.

The PrizedHyena
[Part III]

His nous was today hollow
His cheeks were ravaged,
His eyes frozen, cooked black
His aquiline teeth, yellow
His facial muscles pained
With anguish

Agaliarept had some heads:
The bear, cat and leopard;
But the canid was the prize.
“The god’s of Hell bitterness me,”
He cried(unsleeping-undying
Demigods, shadow-gods).
“This is the artefact of the underworld,
Death drags every away,” he whispered,
Whispered to the money of clay.

#369/10-16-04

See Dennis’ scheme site: http://dennissiluk.tripod.com

Tag: PoetryPoetry

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