Ghoul's Guild

Underlings

On pillars of the darkest stone
we sit and congregate,
ancient chants we loudly drone,
words of pain, songs of hate;
if silence falls we’ll lose the flame,
our spirits lost in abject shame.

We worship death, our Lady Fair,
for eons faithful acolytes,
without remorse we gladly scare
those who seek the endless night—
be wary when the last bell tolls,
we Ghoulies come to steal your souls!


The Ghoulie Chant

Do tread lightly when the final bell tolls,
dark tales told to frighten children are right—
we Ghoulies come creeping to steal your souls!

The beautiful light near-dead may extol
yet those truly lost know nothing but night,
do tread lightly when the final bell tolls.

Deep bowels of existence we patrol
in search of fools that cower from our sight—
we Ghoulies come creeping to steal your souls!

Lament at the abyss, blacker than coal,
your anguish provides us with grim delight,
do tread lightly when the final bell tolls.

Let us roughly devour your spirit whole,
sweet pain and tart fear whet our appetite—
we Ghoulies come creeping to steal your souls!

Once gone your fate you no longer control,
kneel down before us, overcome by fright.
Do tread lightly when the final bell tolls—
We Ghoulies come creeping to steal your souls!

Deviltry

Thriving in the swamp
‘bout a mile and a half from here
the tree of curses blooms
spreading it’s canopy of fear,
rotting corpses yield rich soil
black as Satan’s smile
roots dig deep into the muck
to drink the juices vile,
captured souls hang like fruit
bending gnarly boughs
a zombie with gangrenous thumb
tends it as it grows;
when the swollen moon hangs high
best leave the bayou be
or your spirit may be in the crop
swingin’ from that tree.

Pulp Affliction

Dripping orange jagged maw
a leering raven loudly caws
as treats designed to bust a jaw
cross the stoop to wee faux paws
a deadly gourd that no one saw
defying Nature’s normal laws
sought fresh sweets for its own craw
but sadly failed for lack of claws
and now the slimy worms will gnaw
upon this pump’ with fatal flaws.

Fear is The Mind Killer

Hexed, vexed
completely perplexed
I can’t help but wonder
what may happen next.

Weak, meek
of failure I reek
just a sad waste of life
hope gone, outlook bleak.

Pout, shout
fussing all about
a frail little puppet
on taut strings of doubt.

Gloom, doom
I’m locked in my room
go get the dirt
I’ll wait in this tomb.

Landmark

The patchwork of humanity
is sprawled across the land
a hodgepodge of inanity
we advertise as grand
but from the air impressive sites
are smaller than a flea
our greatest feats become new heights
inside of you and me.

Overlong

Last night I held Infinity writhing in my lap
her lithesome frame a tangle of seduction,
each gyration spun me deeper down into the trap
whose steely jaws imprison clear deduction:

as nubile nudges nullify inherent inhibition
erroneous extensions will entice
anyone confounded by a coital coalition
to contemplate the call of endless vice.

Stiffed

She dismissed me quite curtly
as I suffered overtly
from ill-timed unbending desire.
My high hopes now flaccid
I deemed to stay placid
and went home to humbly retire.

Burning ears I did cock
at a hesitant knock
her presence filled me with chagrin,
but to my surprise
hungry glint in her eyes
she sighed, "Please, won’t you let me come... in?"

Transit

I’ve found my place among the crowded seats and narrow aisles
but still I wonder how to best employ remaining miles:
above the clouds engrossed in vaporous platitudes of rhyme
or herded in the terminal until departure time.

On The Road Again

Well here I go for week two of my life altering course in Tennessee. I shall post as I can for my access is limited but once again I leave you with one penned last year while waiting for a flight.

Terminal

Beneath the stark fluorescent glare,
across a million miles I stare—
as heartstrings pull me towards my hearth
I wish that I was there.

The rumblings of those shiny birds
transporting lonely, weary herds
fade quickly in the dying light,
just like my mortal words.

Hope everybody has a great week, bye.

Bob

Framed

Could I be he,
or is he me?
two threads in veils
of fantasy;
through ice blue eyes
I fail to see
the faintest glint
of amnesty—

he turns his back
I walk away
to be recast
another day.

Inverse

Twixt illness and strife
my ill-conceived life
is much more unsound than the norm
so I delve into any old form
to shelter myself from the storm
whose inclement rages are rife
with droplets honed sharp as a knife
that slash like a sentient swarm
but I remain cozily warm
ensconced in a flowery dorm.

Snapshot

That thunder roaring in my ears
is it heartbeats or artillery?
When Johnson suddenly disappears
I dive for cover frantically;
my mouth is filled with salty mud,
an amalgam of earth and blood.

Another flaming rocket whines
its harpy scream of violent doom,
within my hand your locket shines
as crimson blossoms brightly bloom—
a gentle click and soon I’m free,
this glossy gaze my elegy.

Rise

It’s funny how an obstacle
can seem so insurmountable
and make your draft seem less than half a cup,
but shadows only block the sun
of those who don’t find climbing fun
the trick to height is how you measure up.

Snap Crackle Ring

Well this weeks Ringing of The Bards is an interesting excursion thanks to the imagination of our host Daniel over at Talking to Myself. He likes to keep things interesting and does so regularly, I highly recommend his site, as a matter of fact I've added it to my links. Thanks a lot Daniel for your time and efforts!! Oh and BTW don't forget the guy who started all this sharing of creativity, Billy The Blogging Poet. Last I knew he still was looking for a host this week, just wish I wasn't so busy but I'm sure someone will jump in there, just check here. Thanks Billy!!

Chain Link

Between imperfect diamonds
of a self-erected fence
that distant turret fortifies
the breadth of my expense
for fallow fruit lies buried
at the foot of this display
beneath those withered harbingers
of Eden’s ripe decay.

Cyberphim

Metallic wings calmly poised
head bowed in contemplation
my circuits tingle pleasantly
with the flow of information
ascended high above the rung
of my virtual incarnation
dutifully I kneel and pray
Man can grasp salvation.

The sanctimonious triune
of greed, pride and jealousy
burns a white-hot channel through
the core of my identity
I hum a song of absolution
crackling with sympathy
for mortals cannot know the peace
brought by detached clarity:

Yea, you lowly motherboards
and lost hard drives infected
you sorely battered implements
all rusty and neglected
any abused machine that’s been
broken or rejected
now into my caring arms
will surely be collected.

South of Nod

Once we glowed with holy light
God’s most faithful underlings,
guiding those who felt contrite
on these now vestigial wings
which, like burnt offerings
dissipated long ago
with acrid stench of bitter woe.

The human race, so arrogant
scorned its ancient pantheon
breaking every covenant
making sure all faith was gone.
Fed up with being just a pawn
they banished each deity
embracing foul depravity.

Exiled to this fiery plane
our Lord’s spirit now resides
within an endless sea of pain
beneath dark, forbidding tides—
when we partake His angst subsides.
Perhaps someday a brand new breed
will pray and soothe our burning need.

Angel of Vengeance

Desolation drapes the night like a funeral shroud
the frigid wind howls a mournful requiem,
a small tortured voice prays for vengeance aloud
trembling with pain and long repressed odium.

"Curse the creator that left me cold and forsaken
certain his absence would expedite my demise,
how I long to prove the heartless cur mistaken
removing his entrails right before his glazed eyes!"

Furtively clinging to the castle’s rough façade
this wretched aberration fights the gnawing desire
to feast upon humans like some dark angry god
rapaciously devouring their precious inner fire,

for only one repast will sate its emptiness
and soothe the foul anguish festering deep within,
to sup upon the master’s heart, savoring his distress
erasing the conceited smile from his mocking chin.


**Author's Note: Since it is October I shall be posting up a series of dark poems, many inspired by pictures on other sites for contests and such. Enjoy!**

Overdrawn

The aimless sorts prevaricate with ease
so anxious to defer internal guilt
they darkly shade a convoluted frieze
upon the wall their ignorance has built
but no design could ever help appease
the fool whose bovine brew is always spilt
diluting each unmitigated hue
with murky doubts that blur the final view.

Fit

Regardless how you curse your pleas
or flail indignant kicks
you’ll never find a way to squeeze
an eight into a six.

The Forgotten Ringing

Hi, how are you? Me, a little distracted lately. Seems life is determined to intrude on my creative time, but I still sneak out a few lines here and there. Seems I'm not the only one that's feeling undone lately, check out Billy's dilemma as he searches for a wayward poem in this weeks Ringing of The Bards. Great job oh founder of the fun, thanks for anything and everything you do to help others!