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JDK Apr 2015
There's a number you can call
to listen in on all the sounds of unresolved love.
The sighs and gasps.
The beating of pulses in throbbing song.
The voices of the unwanted and desperate
crying out in passion
for just one touch.

There are radio waves reserved for the place where longing lingers -
for voices mangled by mad grips and furious fingers.
A flurry of sound that culminates into one palpitating heart.
A graveyard for romance that was doomed at the start.

It swells up inside your telephone.
A coagulation of feeling hopeless and alone.
Crawling ever toward an unobtainable ******
that will never come.

There's a number you can call,
but if I were you, I wouldn't dial it.
There's an insanity involved.
The effect of that collective sigh;
some people die for it.
Inspired by a Ray Bradbury short story that I can't remember the name of.

UPDATE: Nearly nine years after writing this, and after getting (slightly) wine drunk and reading fellow HP poet Pradip Chattopadhyay's "Beatiful Ohio," I recalled what the cover of the short story collection that the tale that inspired this poem originated from looked like. After a short quest on google, I found the book by the cover, (it's the one titled One More for the Road) and read the titles of the short stories contained therein and lo and behold, those ol' bells of recognition started a'ringin'.

I now believe (but do not know for certain, as this does remain unconfirmed at the moment,) that the Ray Bradbury story that inspired this poem is the one called Beasts published in his 2002 collection One More for the Road.

I remember that this collection, in particular, was almost kind of a let down. I remember being almost disappointed with the content of the stories. They lacked the punch and intrigue of many of his other works I'd read before then, and paled in comparison to his short story collection I Sing the Body Electric, which I had read probably right before landing on One More for the Road.

Still, one night about eight and a half years ago, one of those stories that I had deemed lackluster had left enough of an impression on me to lead me on to write this poem. (Which, over the years, has grown on me, being the first one to appear whenever I view my published poems with the A-Z filter. I've likely re-read it more often that most of my other poems at this point.)

What a wild thing memory is. And how wild is it that something read and considered kinda mid can still plant itself back there in your mind long enough to germinate such a writing?

Okay, alright. I'll admit it. I may be a little more than only "slightly" wine drunk at this point.
Megan Parson Dec 2022
I'm all she would like to be,
this fuels her blazing envy.
I'm all she can never be,
prolonged hatred & enmity.

So the obscurus ignoreth me,
casting seeds of blatant partiality.
Mental turmoil, choking humanity,
jealousy jolting the remnants of sanity.

Beware of the truth in entirety,
"Peculiar beasts exist in reality."
Inspired by the Fantastic Beasts movie, & a fading past of being the other woman. © Megan Parson 2022
Masha Yurkevich Nov 2020

I'm twisting, turning,
sweating, burning.
What's in my mind is so disturbing.
The world is falling,
People are mad like angry beasts.
I open my eyes but the remain closed,
showing me this world that is
out of control.
I pry my eyes but the refuse,
exposing this world of issues.
I don't want to see this;
its far too ugly.
People are mad, everything is ******.
I want to wake up from this nightmare;
where is the other world, where?
But I don't wake up, not now, not ever.
This is the nightmare we are
living together.

The ravaging beasts of the folds of south
Once marred, Yaakov, the man out of them.
For his kinnor sang a thousand vibrant sonnets
And the muttering arachnids of the north
Once defied, Ingrid, the woman out of them.
For her visage was a thousand radiant sunsets

In the midst of the luscious green grasslands
Was their bleak prison of grey, still and stale
In that chasm, she was shrouded from the light
In that chasm, he was girdled taut by that light

Amidst their floundering souls, was an iron veil
‘Twas a bleak wall, seeking his absolution from them
I saw him ‘n her, in dreary and stale, weary and pale
But I felt their hands caressing me, the iron veil

Those ravaging beasts, brutishly, gnawed his fingers off him
In envy, those arachnids ravished her joy and youth from her.
The blood-red moon, wept rivers of lamentations, for him
In shame, the blue sun hid himself in light, far... away from her
Thirsting for his marrow, those beasts, foully, scourged him
In vain, those arachnids gnashed their sickening fangs over her
I stood there, as a frigid shoulder to rest on for them
In pain, I urged the skies, “Strike me down!” for them

As Ingrid searched for him, she held on to me
As Yaakov stumbled for her, he leaned on me
In silence, I heard their hearts pacifying the other
In shame, I saw their voice bleeding for the other
In sorrow, I saw their scars salving together
I saw the locks of her hair, yearning his kiss
I saw his weary spirits yearning her warmth
I saw their cinders yearning to become one.

Despite, me, the unfortunate accursed iron veil
I saw her palms drying Yaakov’s tears away
I saw his arms caressing Ingrid’s fears away
Despite, me, the unfortunate accursed iron veil
I saw the brightest light in their teary smile
I saw my prison, be the Eden for their love

The austere bricks in me have finally seen a crack
I see Yaakov’s Ingrid and Ingrid’s Yaakov beside me
Never had the air smelt sweeter in this grassy sea
I now see a waltz after four scores of… lamenting
I now see a solace from the pounding pulse in me
But for my absolution, I pray “Strike me down!”

Strike me down, O agents of the heavens above
Flood me down, O seas of this broken paradise.
Tear me asunder, O lamenting winds of the sky
Have you, all-righteous hosts gone to slumber?
Why do you hide yourself, the all-righteous sun,
When the filth rejoices, the paradise cries pain?
Ah, Daphne, do you see this unsettling… silence?
Despite my cries to unbind us from our torment?

Behind her wrinkled, pale, cold face was that radiant sun
Behind his tremoring strained voice was that sonnet sung
Unchain my heart and free us I implore you, righteous fires.
Unchain their love, even the distant stars heard their sorrow
Let there never be another harrowing and writhing adagio
Let there never be another Yaakov and Ingrid in torment
Let there never be arachnids, muttering in viscous vanity
Let there never be beasts, lusting their blood and marrow
Set me free, let me return to my eternal slumber in solace
Set us free, Strike me down for their love… my absolution
This is another one of my poems which took me a lot to write because it was pretty painful for me to dream this over and over till I got this out. I hope you enjoy this.
William Marr Mar 2020
God said                                  Satan said
Let there be light                      Let there be shadows
and there was light             and there were shadows

God said                                  Satan said
Let there be mountains                      Let there be valleys
and there were mountains             and there were valleys

mountains of light                     valleys of shadows

God said                                   Satan said
Let there be humans                        Let there be beasts
and there were humans              and there were beasts

God said                                   Satan said
Let there be beasts                         Let there be humans
and there were beasts                    and there were humans

humanly beasts                             beastly humans
Marco Feb 2020
In the forest late one summer day,
between the trees and prams,
a sweet girl whistled a small tune
that made the rabbits dance.

They danced and hopped and frinked about
and it was all quite nice
until the Wankerschmacken came
and brought a plague of Braifs.

The Braifs, they danced and frinked as well
and grew and grew in size
until they grew to twelve feet tall
much to the girl’s surprise.

The Wankerschmacken watched with glee,
with joyous hate and hunger,
the rabbits, the girl, they were confused
as they stared down the Schmacken’s flanger.
The flanger was his mouth, of course,
filled with teeth like daggers,
and the beast lunged after the poor girl
who through the forest yaggered.

She yaggered and ran and over a root
she suddenly fell and cried;
The Wankerschmacken took his chance
and this is how she died:

The monster opened its flanger large,
its throat was charcoal black;
A blue tongue stretched and grabbed the girl
and hurled her into its depths.

She fell for an eternity,
she seemed to fall for years;
And in its stomach she cried and cried
and drowned in her own tears.

A century has come and gone
since this cold-blooded ****
but if you put your ear to the woods
you can hear the Schmacken still.

It snores and roars deep in its sleep;
Can you smell its rotten breath?
but once you do it is too late –

You will die a vicious death.
A nonsense ballad heavily inspired by Carroll's "Jabberwocky", one of my all-time favorite poems.
Anastasia Aug 2019
the warm wind filled her dreams, while she dreamt of what she was missing
her eyes shined
and her cheeks blotched
the stars whisper a soft hello in her mind.
her hair gently floated,
the breeze playing with her locks
the beasts in her head nuzzle softly against her skull
she watches the stars
guarding them in their slumber
collecting her crystal tears
to make a chandelier
her shadow twirls in the dandelions
catching fireflies underneath the violet sky
stitched together
as a blanket for the night.
I don't remember writing this, but I found it in my drafts. Written June 4th, I love this poem, and I think I could call it one of my favorites. It didn't have a title, but I was able to create one. I hope you enjoyed, and have a lovely week.
Anastasia May 2019

a night colored ocean
white clouds, floating above.
casting shadows along the jagged, watery surface.
or perhaps
they are the silhouettes
of beasts
leviathans beneath the surface
with water filtering through their jagged teeth,
scales as sharp as needles.
or maybe
there are just clouds.
soft tufts of water
above a jagged
Inspired by a passage of a book I read.
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