Posts tagged ‘horror’

04/08/2013

The Letter Bird of Recurring Nightmares

 

I knew in sleep the beast would come,

And so I stayed awake too late.

My forest village lived to fear

My nightmares, clawing from their skies.

 

Beyond the lights of round-hut fires,

The Letter Bird had wasted worlds,

And screamed and stalked and hawked its prey.

It ripped at meat with metal beak.

 

They waited, huddled, through the night.

They heard its wings. I tried to wake,

And hoped, if not, their walls would hold,

And keep the Letter Bird at bay.

 

I rarely woke before it claimed

Another victim from my world.

 

 

for the prompt “Childhood Dreams” put up by

mindlovemisery link here… CLICKY

 

31/07/2013

Suburban Sylph of Crying Owls (video poem)

 

Suburban Sylph of Crying Owls is a video poem for thecheesewolf (aka Gavin Jones)’s poem of the same name. This video poem features the artwork of Carine Brosse.

 
video poem copyright Gavin Jones 2013

11/04/2013

The Halcyon Beasts

 

Above are creatures born of flies

Which stab and spike and reek of blood.

The tales all speak of nests they make

From neatly piled up bones and scales.

 

It’s said their wings are sky made flesh,

And dry as drought their awful skin.

It’s said they scream beyond all sound,

And move so high they breathe the clouds.

 

And if these creatures mark you out

There’s nothing you can do to hide.

No reedbed thick, no lily-pad

Will keep you safe, will save your life.

 

The creatures of the deathly air

Form rainbows from our world’s despair.

 

 

05/04/2013

Slender Billed Curlew

 

1.  They Never Do

 

In times of plenty birds would fill

The steppe-lands with their songs of spring.

Their wild and wondrous calls and cries:

Beyond the earth, they kissed the skies.

 

In times of plenty forest swamps

Would swell migration paths with wings

Across the plains and over seas,

And no one saw them as they passed.

 

In times of plenty people gorged,

Their noses closer to their floors.

They fought their wars and built their roads.

Their eyes were shut, their ears were closed.

 

And bit by bit the calling stopped:

The spring would come, the songs would not.

 

 

2.  Just One More Shot, The Final Breath

 

Retreating further through the swamps

And pine and permafrosts, alone

The hunter carves his name in bark.

A curlew calls its final dawn.

 

This stand of stumps and frozen breath

Was chosen by the spring and stars.

This place, this time, this pointless task:

Unknowing breath of man, of bird.

 

It probes its beak through frozen crust,

Its left foot quivers, head pulls back.

These movements formed in ancient times:

The last this world will ever know.

 

The hunter picks his kill and leaves

A precious feather to the breeze.

 

 

3.    Spirit Birds of Amvrakikos Gulf

 

Along the shore where the egrets pick

A flock of shadow waders roost.

The echoes of their silent calls

Are heard as ghosts amongst the stars.

 

But if you look you’ll never see

Again the birds, or hear their calls –

And no-one ever really did.

Their phantoms hug the water’s edge.

 

Your eyes have seen the taiga’s ice.

Your eyes have seen the dismal swamp.

Your eyes have seen extinction’s wing.

The curlew’s calls are deep within.

 

Their souls migrate across the gulf:

The shadow birds have lost their way.

 

 

 

28/05/2012

The Minotaur Roamed

 

The Minotaur, he roamed the land,

And time again he saw his hand:

The empty fields and measured tracts,

The creeping maze of polished stone,

 

A beast with eyes as bright as stars,

And countless monsters bursting life.

He saw the cages rising high,

And Minotaurs that feasted well.

 

He overheard some words of death,

And tasted rancid, reeking air.

He saw the grabbing creatures fall,

He saw how he had turned them all.

 

And from the freedom of the moors,

At last he’d found his prison walls.

 

 

26/05/2012

Threads

 

To love the beauty of the world:

How such a beast as this could live.

The nightingales and orange groves:

Beneath them all the fear and loss.

 

To love the mystery and the space:

The measurement of prison walls.

The moorland tops where skylarks rise

Above economies of death.

 

To love the way we grasp at truth:

Its horns are sharp and black with blood.

The only day we have is this.

The gods have made these memories strong.

 

The sun will rise beneath the earth.

The daily horrors count our worth.

24/05/2012

These Minotaurs

 

These Minotaurs: the lost and sad,

The broken bodied, buried, burnt.

These fragments of the tales and fears

Are scattered over ancients’ seas.

 

These Minotaurs: so full of pride,

Of lust, of frail and short-lived reign.

These horrors spawned which rise and hate

And tear the spirit from the heart.

 

These Minotaurs: the innocent

Chthonic children, bursting free.

The gods of tunnels, formed and planned.

The gods of monsters yet to be.

 

These Minotaurs which question us.

These Minotaurs betrayed by us.