| Dark Poetry |
| Ants By Brian Barnett ants crawling on me long lines marching up my arm exiting my skin |
| Faces Of Death By Michael Pendragon Death wears a kinder face today His gaping grin replaced with welcome smile While hollow sockets glow as if to say "Hello old friend, let's sit and talk awhile Or walk a ways together by the stream" I nod my head and smile back at him Tho time and age have cut my smilelines deep And turned my visage into something grim … But I am tired and would rather sleep I close my eyes and sink into a dream Death wears a gentler face these days A sheepish face with softly caring eyes And I have found when I return his gaze The peaceful hush of boundless summer skies Or coral sleeping on the ocean's bed Death takes a face as tender as the night And dotes on me as though a favorite child Paints fairy lands in strokes of silver light Spins cobweb castles 'til I stand beguiled And long to know his kingdom of the dead Do I but dream, or is his face my own My mother's, father's, long-departed friends'? Yea, all the faces I have ever known There blend like some kaleidoscopic lens And each one bent on beckoning my soul Death wears a kinder face tonight As one who celebrates a masquerade I watch my reservations take to flight 'Til I would join him in this gay charade And take my face -- a ghastly, grinning skull |
| Poetry by Brian Barnett and Michael Pendragon |
| To read other short stories, click one of the titles below. |
| Love Thy Neighbor By Michael Pendragon One day I'll kill that worthless s.o.b. That three hundred pound stack of human trash Our paths will cross when no one's there to see Then in a trice my vorpal blade will flash And slash the globs of fat about his throat Then as the bastard gags on his own blood I'll stab the rolls of flab beneath his coat And just to make our little drama good I'll gut the fucker like a flopping bass Then stuff his heart inside his gaping mouth And shove his large intestine up his ass I hope that none will think me too uncouth Or be offended by my little plan But I dislike my neighbor, sad to tell And were I not a most forgiving man I'd kill his cats and fat-assed kid as well |
| About Brian Barnett Brian Barnett lives in Frankfort, Kentucky with his wife, Stephanie, and his children, Michael, Sebastian, and Jane. He is the author of the Middle-Grade novella Graveyard Scavenger Hunt and the collection A Closetful of Monsters. He is a Full Member of The Fictioneers with over 150 credits in magazines such as The Lovecraft eZine and Trembles Horror Magazine and in various anthologies produced by Blood Bound Books, James Ward Kirk Fiction, Thirteen Press, and Static Movement. |
| Night By Michael Pendragon Night glistens like the fresh December snow That limns the bones of slumb'ring winter trees When lampwicks hiss and hearthfire embers glow Like sepia dreams and ambered memories Of summer fields lost in the long ago Night glides on sable waves of raven wings In silent splendor thru the sleeping grove While high above, her ev'ry footstep brings A starry train -- a sparkling treasure trove -- The scattered gypsy gold of fairy kings Night tiptoes in the hush of Dian's beam To tuck her children safely into bed Then sets the tiny candlestars agleam And gently rocks the weary hunter's head Bestows a kiss on meadow, vale, and stream And thru the night the silent bear Lies restless in his ancient lair And counts the straying shades that sweep Across his floor like phantom sheep While round his door the fireflies Recast the image of the skies Across the quiet woodland glen But far behind his rusty eyes There lurks a wisdom that belies His gruff, ungainly, rustic form Where deep within such visions swarm 'Twould strike the Delphic seers mute For in his dreams this glow'ring brute Divines what store stars hold for men Sometimes night rides athwart two frothing mares With screech of owl and flutt'ring wing of bat To prey upon the helpless soul that dares Expose itself on feathered bed or mat Oblivious for once to worldly cares Thus like the succubus of olden times She pounces on the hapless soldier's breast And as Hecate's black-rimmed hour chimes Torments his sleep as one by Hell possessed Disturbing dreams, distorted pantomimes At other times she creeps on mouse's feet To cloak the evils in men's hearts and deeds Beloved accomplice, merciless, discreet Like nightshades blooming 'midst the meadow's weeds Or whispers in the bow'rs where lovers meet And all the while the watchful owl Peers like a hermit from his cowl Yet deigns not judge the shadowed scene Where black cats prowl and banshees keen For spots incarnadine besmirch The talons on his lofty perch And stain his vestments with his crimes Across the land his anguished cry Rings out a guilty lullaby While children cow'r in trundle beds And pull the covers o'er their heads And hope the goblins pass them by While still the great unblinking eye Surveys the moon besotted climes As night steps forth upon the darkened stage Her myriad splendors bright as vestal fires Bewitching prophet, poet, fool, and sage Sibylline whispers spark arcane desires Enchantress from an endless Golden Age And all who fall within her wondrous spell Behold such visions angels dare not view Set sail for secret shores where mermaids dwell And women fair are always lovers true Where e'en the poet in his lonely cell Might take her hand and let his heart take flight In myriad dreams deep in the arms of night |
| About Michael Pendragon Michael Pendragon is an American writer, poet, editor, and publisher of the literary magazines: Penny Dreadful and Songs of Innocence & Experience (1996-2005). His writings have appeared in Terror Tales, Morbid Curiosity, Enigmatic Tales, The Dream Zone, Masque Noir, The Blue Lady, Edgar, Frisson, Charnel House, Nasty Piece of Work, etc., and were recently featured in The Horror Zine, Sanitarium, Disturbed Digest and Danse Macabre. |
| Cave Hermit By Brian Barnett filthy cave hermit will eat almost anything welcomes trespassers |
| Creatures Escaping By Brian Barnett mysterious sounds secret military base creatures escaping |
| Penance By Brian Barnett DUI penance trapped in the wrecked car alas, forever |
| Roc By Brian Barnett Roc, white bird of prey building its skeletal nest crunching human skulls |
| The Witching Hour By Brian Barnett whispers in the wind silhouettes in the moonlight it’s the witching hour |
| Your Voice By Brian Barnett your voice on the phone I always loved your voice when you were alive |
| Zombie Apocalypse on By Brian Barnett Burt in riot gear Big Bird slain twice by head-shots Elmo ate Grover |
For poems by Jeremiah
Jaster, Jade Horne and
William Lau, click here
For poems by Paul
Tristram, click here
For poems by Brian
Barnett and Michael
Pendragon, click here
Jaster, Jade Horne and
William Lau, click here
For poems by Paul
Tristram, click here
For poems by Brian
Barnett and Michael
Pendragon, click here
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