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Pagan Paul Oct 2018
.
i.
Tam had cornered the little ******* in an alley,
his detestation of small people teased his mind,
taunted him to ever more sadistic exterminations,
he considered child killing to be no real crime.
His method of death was pain and tortures,
make them scream until they breathed no more,
he knew nor cared not from where the hatred came,
he just enjoyed murdering the children of the poor.

ii.
The globe shone and took her far
through and between space and stars,
along time lines ever changing fast,
vacillating betwixt the future and past,
a trip that so few had made or survived,
but in point she found she had arrived.

iii.
A yellow glow cascades around
from street lamps aligned in rows.
A feint hint of oil in the chill air
perfumes the night, assaults her nose.
Cobbled streets with carriage ruts
are quiet with few walking abroad.
The Seers Sphere travelling in Time
lands her in a place to be explored.

iv.
Tonight Tam felt the cold like never before
shivering hard as he scowled at the kids
herded underground to his special prison.
The chill sinks deeper and deeper
attacking the bones from the inside out.

v.
Her instincts bristled, advising caution,
as she strolls along the cobbled streets,
homing in on her victims location,
just at the moment the rain turns to sleet.

vi.
Tam had been mutilating the boy
in full view of the other brats,
scaring the little ******* shitless,
feeding pieces to his pet rats.

It was then the cold gripped him,
rattling his teeth, freezing his spine.
The children sat rigid as statues,
as a ghost appeared from out of Time.

The door frame shattered.
An unspoken command to depart.
Out the children clattered.
As ice took hold of Tam's heart.

Unseen frozen fingers gripped his throat,
he ****** himself as he is dragged out,
his bones snapping likes sticks of ice,
throat to dry to scream and shout.
And he feels the rain turn to sleet,
it was time for him and Death to meet.

Death came a'calling with intense pain,
frigid blades slice through flesh real slow,
at the last he feels one of his pet rats
as it starts to nibble at his naked toe.
Flies lay eggs in cuts on the near deceased
ensuring their maggots a royalist feast.

The last thing he saw as he died
the strangest of women walking his way.
Ice blue eyes of fire and malevolence
tinged with the anger of dismay.

vii.
She approached the scene like a stalking cat,
had felt her victims life drain away,
someone had got there before her,
she looked at the body with spiteful dismay.

viii.
A thousand lifetimes away
in another Time and place,
Grimly looks at two empty cradles
a sardonic smile upon his face.

ix.
Ice blue eyes of fire flash raw power,
she turns to see the shadow stop dead.
Fighting the cold creeping up her spine,
staring at the darkness straight ahead.

The shadow moves out of him,
lamp glow revealing his form.
Fire green eyes of malice show
he is the heart of a storm.

x.
She looked at him with interest and disdain
but her Sphere sang out a greeting song.
Somewhere in history Time and Space shifts.
She glances at the shadow, but he was gone.

Yet … She knew his name ...


Shivermage.




© Pagan Paul (13/10/18)
Friend or foe? Enemy or lover? Cliffhanger ;-)
Poem 6 in Judderwitch series. All at
https://hellopoetry.com/collection/28451/judderwitch/
.
matt d mattson May 2010
Clouds and pressure, gray skies blowing
Lightning stabs electric flowing
Thunder bursts like a heavy drum
Ears are hurting from the thrumb
My visions clouding turning black
Hate and anger, rage attack
Shouting screaming arms unstilled
Fury flows and hope is killed

Hate......so much disdain, loathing, detestation
Pain burns, an inflammation
It creeps and crawls beneath my skin
An evil thing that dwells within
Horrid gross it swells and swims
Extending into all my limbs

I cannot stop this terrible storm
And when I see your beauty form
It slows and stalls and loses heat
Then it dies but not complete
Something hidden, always there
This evil presence in my lair
Matt D Mattson, May 6, 2010
O lachrymarum fons, tenero sacros
  Ducentium ortus ex animo; quater
    Felix! in imo qui scatentem
      Pectore te, pia Nympha, sensit.

               GRAY, ‘Alcaic Fragment’.

   When Friendship or Love
   Our sympathies move;
When Truth, in a glance, should appear,
   The lips may beguile,
   With a dimple or smile,
But the test of affection’s a Tear.

   Too oft is a smile
   But the hypocrite’s wile,
To mask detestation, or fear;
   Give me the soft sigh,
   Whilst the soul-telling eye
Is dimm’d, for a time, with a Tear.

   Mild Charity’s glow,
   To us mortals below,
Shows the soul from barbarity clear;
   Compassion will melt,
   Where this virtue is felt,
And its dew is diffused in a Tear.

   The man, doom’d to sail
   With the blast of the gale,
Through billows Atlantic to steer,
   As he bends o’er the wave
   Which may soon be his grave,
The green sparkles bright with a Tear.

   The Soldier braves death
   For a fanciful wreath
In Glory’s romantic career;
   But he raises the foe
   When in battle laid low,
And bathes every wound with a Tear.

   If, with high-bounding pride,
   He return to his bride!
Renouncing the gore-crimson’d spear;
   All his toils are repaid
   When, embracing the maid,
From her eyelid he kisses the Tear.

   Sweet scene of my youth!
   Seat of Friendship and Truth,
Where Love chas’d each fast-fleeting year;
   Loth to leave thee, I mourn’d,
   For a last look I turn’d,
But thy spire was scarce seen through a Tear.

   Though my vows I can pour,
   To my Mary no more,
My Mary, to Love once so dear,
  In the shade of her bow’r,
  I remember the hour,
She rewarded those vows with a Tear.

   By another possest,
   May she live ever blest!
Her name still my heart must revere:
   With a sigh I resign,
   What I once thought was mine,
And forgive her deceit with a Tear.

   Ye friends of my heart,
   Ere from you I depart,
This hope to my breast is most near:
   If again we shall meet,
   In this rural retreat,
May we meet, as we part, with a Tear.

   When my soul wings her flight
   To the regions of night,
And my corse shall recline on its bier;
  As ye pass by the tomb,
  Where my ashes consume,
Oh! moisten their dust with a Tear.

  May no marble bestow
  The splendour of woe,
Which the children of Vanity rear;
  No fiction of fame
  Shall blazon my name,
All I ask, all I wish, is a Tear.
My shattered life is like the forsaken Black Widow spider.
The victim's detestation does not even show passion to me.
I bit my victim in two and also hurt them in the process.
The more I hurt my victim in the process, the more woe I have
and hope they are still my friend tomorrow.
The deeper I sink my teeth into my victim,
the more fatal my poisonous venom becomes and hope the fatal
poison doesn't execute them.
I think of all the hard times I've had, just by being nice and
friendly, but it does not work.
When I let go of my victim and hope they do not smash me,
But have the time, I get squashed and hope my sin are forgiven.
Then time was wasted for unanswered dreams and in the process
making new friends.
But I never did.
Life has gone without a prayer, without friends and for someone
to love me.
The next time you see a Black Widow spider, ask yourself,
"Could my life be like a Black Widow spider's?"
Copyright ©2007 Norma Hutchinson
Bassam Mar 2010
Proceeding in the wake of mankind's scourge,
Spoken are the words of this great demiurge,
At dusk the cowled of the night shall emerge,
And convey a true evil on God's Earth to resurge.  

Unleashed and unfathomed, behold the words of a phantom
Turning cities into craters and the oceans to chasms,
Imagine: a picture perfect world, can it exist,
Without the plague of the human race, lost without a trace in abyss!

Ignorance tragic, the magic of bliss,
Static damage to the rabid on this planet of ****,
An example of this: the progression of time
Deteriorating in abundance, a final judgment for mankind.

Exterminate the population, man, woman and child,
Convictions, the arrival, apocalypse nigh!
None will survive, total disaster, blood stain alabaster
Abstain, refrain, salvation from a heavenly ******* shall be sought in vain.

Unexplainable cataclysm,
The missing piece of the puzzle unseen in catechism,
But it was written somehow and somewhere
And the emergence of its purpose was unclear, deny what you fear!

The end is near, malevolent seraphim invade,
The end is here, a feeble humanity kneels and prays
It was revealed, none prepared and none spared
And act of evil, fitting for the slaughter of a people.

Mephistophelian ascension,
A requiem for the souls of the ruined be sung
For a destruction, beyond all human comprehension.
Alarum with no human intervention!

An apoplectic annihilation, fed lies by inhalation,
Microbial immolation, infected detestation,
Evasive evasion, catastrophic, melancholic
Leaving mankind intoxicated by his own narcotic

Whilst hypnotically induced, the demons invade,
Equestrian quartet lead the massive evil brigade
A battalion of stallions, on fray to slay grace
Laid to waste in the face of the inhuman race.

To keep pace, without a trace, Messiah on Fire
In dire need, erase calumny the Heavenly liar feeds
Desire breeds and hatred grows
Within those a crueler fate chose the pyre to bleed.

An ascension to an unknown throne overthrown,
A crown adorned in thorns be thy Kingdom's scorn
To the Black, I am sworn, prophet to the swarm,
The scores of the forlorn born to battle in the storms

Of Ragnarok, the magma rocks rain from the sky,
The Earth will end in fire, watch the genesis die.
Terrestrial crucifixion, the mortals' last affliction,
Desperation bringing forth a dogmatic dereliction.

Infliction of pain, deadly diction to the slain in vain,
A spoken name, confliction causing friction
An addiction to the wicked, auspicious yet pernicious,
Foreboding a sinister outcome of ecumenical wishes.
**lyrics by Samuel H. Kelly for the Rare Form "All Will Suffer!!" EP, released in 2004.
It's getting kinda old,
You know..??
I'm drained and tired,
Worned out by your fights.

Our fights.
Your words always accepted,
While I bury mine unspoken.
The one sided fight,
Where the opponent is silent.

No,
This isn't fair.
But fair doesn't exist.
Fair is a word that is created in fantasies,
Fair is a word spoken only in fairy tales.

I want this to stop.
We want this to stop.
Wait, don't you.....?
You don't speak the words,
But your actions strongly differ.

With every moment we spend together,
You explain to me the answer.
Why,
Why you treat me different now.
When nothing has really changed.

Your abhorring stares and frowns of detestation.
You tell me,
I don't belong here,
I took away your freedom.
I deserve to die.

You want me dead.
Ameerah Holliday Nov 2016
Silent
is the barred mind
of a Girl
of a Boy.    

Colored prints
of my colored prints,
and America wasn’t great
to those whose hands build it.    

And their anthem plays on,
disguising detestation as protection
resentful the Sun’s
never made love to their complexion.
Daisy Chain Oct 2012
What lies in your eyes
are the lies that I despise
doesn't come close
transparent as a politician
yet I still listen
in hope that my optimism
can twist it
into something I can believe.

Your smile can erase
every trace
of my abiding detestation
for something as smile
for a moment
for a while.

I trust the haze I feel
the curtains which in my heart
only absorb the light
in my mind
I know there is only the devastation
of your cold night.
Neha shimoga Jan 2016
My stomach flips
When I think of you.
My head spins,
my hands shake and
my legs palpitate at the
thought of losing you.
I enter my own world
of the blues where the
monody is being played.
I see the Dybbuk with it's
venomous blood thirsty beasts
dancing to the lugubrious ditty
It's a place of hatred and detestation
where love doesn't exist.
A place that's perfect for your
Stygian soul
As soon as I look into the Dybbuk's
red boiling eyes the memories sneak
out of my eyes and roll down my cheeks
The pain I feel is unbearable and inadmissible
And all I can think of is a way to escape
from this love prison.
But oh, I realized a little too late
that you're the king of the sinners
and you turned and twisted my heart
and I'm just another victim of your favourite crime...
A Lopez Mar 2016
Crazy
Wild and free,
Climbing the earth
In nature's tree.
Sipping the suds
From bubbly seas.
Creating love
Out of detestation's
Seethe. Scribbling
Quick the words
I know, I am the
Poet
You seek
To know.
My vibes you
Take in, from them
You grow, from you
I glow, because you
Are all
My inspiring
Muses.
Brandon Apr 2012
The days where you were respected have become a memory
But it’s going to take a century to expunge all the damage you’ve done
And rewrite the wrongs that you’ve held as a nation of conviction

The world looks with weary eyes as the skyscrapers climb
In the name of bombs dropping, wall street journalism, and cash flow

The initiative that everyone is judged by the actions of corrupted officials
Humanity ruined in the eyes of offspring growing into a world of detestation

The silence of the unvoiced majority grows louder as the streets crowd
We are not the same and we are not part of the hidden agenda
Of world *******, civil suppression, and authoritative tyranny
J A Kind Apr 2015
Her pants will not ascend up the body.
They exhibit the various mountains and valleys of exhibition
that exhibit all and every stifling opening in the land between the limbs.
The progenitors apparently never trained the lass in class.

Her pants will not ascend the body.
I slam the image processor shut
and beg the higher powers for more cloth
but the portrait remains hung in the palace,
exhibiting, exhibiting, exhibiting,

weakness and detestation in the wake of insomnia,
for she can spine-chillingly be pictured in the movies they show,
the ones with palm and sand and ******* for all.

When the tape ends its shift as a documenter she still exhibits,
plagiarizing the greats like a trombone entertaining itself with exhibition,
its brass perpetuating nausea and its horn emanating
aromas of catastrophic consequences

while it sits there like a *******, echoing the words of the vivacious
director in the silk scarf of silhouettes and the exhibition of pure animosity,
that pops and fizzles like the dying carcass of an ****** ridden rodent
who decrees that Cersei is the finest in the land.
Angelique Ahrens Sep 2010
And then the wind came…
Out of the house I stormed
I stepped onto the ground
Thanking it for being the only thing holding me up
And then the wind came…
The wind came and wrapped its cool arms
Around my heart
Stroking my hair and
Giving me the comfort I needed
I then looked at the ground in detestation
Cursing the ground for locking me upon it
The wind reached for me again
But the earth forced me down, down, down
Never to feel the comfort of the wind again,
Leaving me to think of how I wish the wind had never come.
Angelique Ahrens copyright 2008
memoona kazmi Feb 2019
in the tsunami of self loathing,
i am not going to swim,
i am sitting numb,
staring at the walls,
questioning myself,
why am i this way?
why can't i be what they want me to be?
why can't i?
i hear the waves of ocean of detestation,
crashing on my mind,
destructing my trueself,
shaking the buildings of my self confidence,
i can feel the water filled inside my lungs,
and this time,
i am not swimming,
i am not trying to save myself,
i am drowning,
and i don't want anyone,
to save me from drowning,
coz i know,
they can save me from demons,
but no one can save me from myself....
Kyia B Aug 2013
I live in a world,
full of magic and creatures.
Where no one can find me,
hiding in it's features.
A place all of my own
Where I call it my home
It lives in the back of your mind,
so someday I'm sure you'll find,
the wealth and beauty that lives within us.
They call it imagination.
Well call it detestation
of the world we once knew.
Now its all falling,
because of their calling
my home a world of make believe.
BC Durden Jul 2011
A white lily
floating down the river Styx.
Untouched by detestation.

Is she my hope?
my warmth?
my salvation?

Or is she something else,
Meant to drag me under?
Plunge me into Cocytus,
my flowing lamentation?
Amelia Louise Dec 2013
Feeling like the end of an era.
The era of
respect
and communication.
The era of mutual
agreements
feelings
interests.
The end of an era
of
trying and
caring and
giving two *****.
The end of an era of
pursuing and
speaking and
engaging.
The era of introspection,
and reflection,
and self detestation.
The end of the era of
strained relations.
It was the era of
“I love you”s
And I wanted to end it
with an era of
honest responses.

Go home,
you’ll be fine.
Melanie Cruz Jul 2015
There are countless of metaphors I could create to express how much you mean to me, but the one idea I haven’t quite put into words is this; when there’s a warm breeze brushing against my skin, there could be a storm tearing down the trees in your backyard. While Florida’s gust of wind is messing up my hair or calming down my anxiety for the night, a Texas thunderstorm is tearing your house apart, and the reason for your last breath. And now the trees in your backyard aren’t the only thing the storm tore apart, but my heart too with every grain of faith left in me. The Florida wind isn’t going to mess up my hair this time, but the Texas catastrophe will mess up my mind and the love we once shared from a distance. A person’s last breath and the narrative of it has never been more important to me. Thoughts rid me of sleep when this is what they whisper; the detestation of the miles between us only multiplying, wishing it was you whispering sweet nothings only inches between us instead. Wanting your fingertips brushing against my skin instead of the breeze in the middle of the night. There are too many moments I long to, not have sun kissed skin, but my skin kissed by you instead. I just pray the trees stay in your backyard and you become the reason my hair is a mess because I’m tired of giving the credit to this dreaded Florida wind.
Poetic T Mar 2016
Glazed in white this porcelain skin you entrap me in,
I am sundered from the beauty that clings in detestation
My beauty like a crystallise will be fragmented from here.

Slate crevasses like a web clinging to the surface entwine
Aloft as they perch on every part of its superficial holdings
They edge ever deeper till all that was pearl now descends.

Cascading into oblivion where like autumn leafs magenta tears
Descend like ruins that now like coal wisps fade to nothing.
Now there is exemption from what manifested in thought.

This lingering lucent thought given form, but never seen,
Light permeated off its featureless misgivings a kaleidoscope
Of emotions ran free touching all surrounding, static now standing.

There stood a moment of porcine imprisonment ,featureless
Yearnings to touch, but then a tear of crimson detached and a
Rose web did start to ascend from where it collapsed below.

The circle of what would be what was only a matter of time
Created where form became static then birthed in non caporal
Form touching those near as it had yearned all that time before.
Abbie Crawford Feb 2015
I had spent the majority of my life dosed up on antipsychotics,
pills floating in my stomach in a desperate attempt to flood my brain with sanity.
Grown men and women asking me questions and then putting me somewhere with white, cushioned walls.
And if I did so much as raise my hand to defend myself, i'd find myself being restrained by men in white clothing.
I never really saw daylight.
I'm writing this letter to whoever may read this as i need to apprise of why I did such a thing.
I selected the first woman I saw, I saw plenty of women within the white walls, but none with a complexion so beautiful and so unique.
I had this urge since I could detect detestation,
It was as if i needed to make my mark on the world as I has not done so before.
The urge seemed infinite, I could not cease the sensation.
The last thing I saw in her eyes was my reflection.
That night, I watched her blood drip from the coffee table to paint the carpet red,
I watched the whites in her eyes grow more intense,
And that night I lost my virginity to the most beautiful woman I had ever met.
****** from a killers eyes
Dreams shrink with age and our aging bodies
follow
Disappointment underlines the expectation of
self
Deprivation withholds participation from true
form
Death in shallow waters and the stream of
always
Downfall isn’t anything without the rise of
hope
Dawn sprouts life on days we don’t
believe
Detestation dwindles when our first choice is
love

See?
For mike
aphotic blue May 2020
A REVERSE POETRY
-read from bottom to top

stop hoping for the future
gaze for the stars and don't ever
stop hating yourself
please, I tell you
you’re truly a humiliation
don’t ever believe that
you shine in my eyes and mind
because you really, as a person,
change me on who I become
never be scared to
make yourself torture in hatred
not in a million years you'll try to
be the epitome of perfection
because you will
be forever loathed by many
never believe that you will
always be the person I loved
reminisce the memory and  
be the detestation in my mind
don't every try to
convince yourself that you are a treasure.
-read from bottom to top
Jan Svoboda Feb 2017
The buzz of the computer gets me down
does?’t stimulate it at all
condemned to doing nothing
****** to worthlessness
a zero with nothing to lose and nothing to win
drowning itself in chaos of meanings
with no final meaning in sight
sure sure
death will be the final meaning of it
there is one more year left
maybe more maybe more
one more year is like one hundred of them
and it wants to sin
for that short feeling of freedom
flattening itself on the ground and twitching
flattening itself on the ground and twitching
saying anything that comes to its mind
making noise
with some ability to defend it against the rest of the world
provoking distress and detestation
always somehow trying to throw others into the arms of disillusion and pain
tchutchutchu
childishly trying to do what others don’t
with little success
destroyed by its inability to understand feelings
still the same *******
a zero asking for being erased
with nothing to say
with poor style
with no gentle moments anymore
repeating itself all the time
boring and lifeless
faceless
a desperate but sometimes convincing actor
hopeless writer
mean
ugly
weak
lazy and soft
not a man but it
a cry-baby
with undefinable ambitions
like doing something that would touch somebody
like make others trust it
by saying the ******* it usually says
like gaining unspeakable high virtue
by being something close to a *****
genius, indian, bohemian, child and pig
not knowing what it does or why
not knowing what it does or why
drinking too much
shaking legs under the table endlessly
eating too quickly
making everything around stained and *****
smoking too quickly
hating itself
adoring itself
stupid
animal
with a few natural instincts
making too much about itself
with no will
strength or (chances to stay)
not even strong enough to **** itself
with no peace
with no love
with no listeners
zero
with nothing to lose
and nothing to win
how can anybody trust it
how can anybody trust it
people beware
it ***** you up

with no peace
with no love
with no listeners
zero
with nothing to lose
and nothing to win
how can anybody trust it
how can anybody trust it
people beware
it ***** you up
——
The Department of English and American Studies, Faculty of Arts, Masaryk University, Brno, 2000
Abbie Crawford Feb 2015
I had spent the majority of my life dosed up on antipsychotics,
pills floating in my stomach in a desperate attempt to flood my brain with sanity.
Grown men and women asking me questions and then putting me somewhere with white, cushioned walls.
And if I did so much as raise my hand to defend myself, i'd find myself being restrained by men in white clothing.
I never really saw daylight.
I'm writing this letter to whoever may read this as i need to apprise of why I did such a thing.
I selected the first woman I saw, I saw plenty of women within the white walls, but none with a complexion so beautiful and so unique.
I had this urge since I could detect detestation,
It was as if i needed to make my mark on the world as I has not done so before.
The urge seemed infinite, I could not cease the sensation.
The last thing I saw in her eyes was my reflection.
That night, I watched her blood drip from the coffee table to paint the carpet red,
I watched the whites in her eyes grow more intense,
And that night I lost my virginity to the most beautiful woman I had ever met.
****** from a killers eyes
A pure flower in the wind,
taken in by smog and chemicals.

An angel of darkness,
destroyed by earthly woes.

The secret love of my life,
now the thing I detest.

A delicious dish of food,
now a plate of cockroaches.

A strong tree leaning on her own,
now dependant on another.

A sight once seen as perfect,
I now puke at the very thought.

A taste so sweet and rare,
ash in my mouth and stomach.

Liptea be thy secret,
pain be thy end.

If thy purity can't be so or mine,
in the ground belongs thyself.

— The End —