"bedchamber" poems
She flew in her chariot by the light of the moon
Knowing the day would come all too soon
Gathering herbs from underground
The forest of darkness where twas no sound
To the river of blood to fetch her wine
Imps hovered about
Ran fast the time
From the wing of white owl
Snatched three feathers
Out of midnight sky
Stars of heather
The mountains north vials of whispering winds
Tails of magical deer
Running forbidden glens
In charm covered cape
To sacred circle flew
Leaving behind a trail of sparkling hue
Incantations spoken
Revenge beget
The man who spurned her
He demons would get
She drew up the potion
Called forth the demon
Hells brimstone smoke
Dead souls singing
Orders from the woman
Sent the Devils spawn into flight
With orders to return the following night
The night time fell
As did the following day
Black flickering lights in pentagram array
Each dark candle did kindle desire
The demon appeared amid red fire
Spells muttered under breath
Cast the ancient way
Over the conjured one silver bond did lay
To despised castle
I commandthee
Destroy the man
The one she had loved
Pledged to another's hand
Fly now winged one
Not one more moment spent
Evil black smoke
In a swirl the demon went
To the bedchamber of the king
Dispatched him with single blow
Wretched creature peered into his thoughts
As life ebbed in drops from body slow
His love for the strange enchantress
Hearts secret she did not know
Ghastly smile on the demons face
For the price of desire was her soul
This poem is copyrighted and stored in author base. All material subject to Copyright Infringement laws
Section 512(c)(3) of the U.S. Copyright
Act, 17 U.S.C. S512(c)(3), Tammy M. Darby
I awoke from a dream and wrote this piece where it came from I dont know
Sep 7, 2013
Sep 7, 2013 at 11:09 PM UTC
it operates like a revolving door
there are no hinges
but it extends from ceiling to floor
it is fashioned out of multiple parts
in various geometrical shapes
each with an intricate pencil etched
message that speak of the ways
to reexamine the perplexity
of what remains behind the walls
of your bedchamber calls that
became trapped in long
recondite walkways and halls
May 7, 2015
May 7, 2015 at 1:18 AM UTC
Eve held two cigarettes in her lips and lit them. She passed one to Mark, beside her on the chaise. Thomas was with Delilah in the bedchamber getting a few lessons in life. They were making noises like a slaughterhouse as Mark tried to focus his thoughts.
He left the couch and went to the phone, dialing Satan’s office. Eve watching him with heavy lids, her arm stretched across the curved backboard. She inhaled forcefully, making thick clouds that obscured her face, then her head, and then the whole couch. He was watching her too, wondering what she was up to as Satan picked up the line.
“Yeh?” said the devil.
“Satan, Mark. We’ve got to talk.”
Satan was silent for a moment, then said sharply, “Look, they’ve got wire-taps.
Why don’t you come over here? We can talk in person. It’s safer then taking a chance on them listening.”
Mark thought that was smart, but if they were listening they’d already gotten an earful, but he had to take that chance.
He hung up the phone and fanned the air with his hands. The girl was gone.
He heard chuckling from the bedchamber and realized there were more voices than before, loudly squealing and giggling. He heard Thomas moaning in utter delight and decided to leave him there. As far as Thomas was concerned, Purgatory never felt so good.
Jul 18, 2018
Jul 18, 2018 at 11:33 PM UTC
Welkins so melancholy, welkin so gray,
How mine isolation dost mock me; for
Only the lonesome make sharu fotay.
Bedchamber so hushed, bedchamber of many tears; how I feel thy ivory paint,
How I feel thy pain here.
Hallway so narrow, hallway that breathes, O' hallway, O' hallway, listen when I sing.
Grab mine hand, O' hallway of mine abode,
Mine feet do walk quietly, on thy carpet; thy soul.
Spirit O' spirit, how heavied thou art, soon shalt thou depart; for the world is to much.
Mine skin yearns for kisses, mine fingers for touch, O' many hath wishes, guess I ask for to much.
Mine hair screams loudly, to be caressed, ruffled. How gray art the welkins; when a poet's love is muffled.
Mine hand tis weak, from not having ones grip, mine lips chapped; no wetness
Nor mist.
Mine dance is off, with none holding of hips, mine glance is off; eyes pained
By watching worldliness.
Mine old worn out ninety-sixties Beatles boots art worn, tired they mourn; they've
Walked many miles; on trails I've turned.
They've walked through streets, where dope addicts fiend, I've been that pusher, that user in scenes.
I've dreamt, I've dreamed, hath had many emotions; with mother and dad, I've smoked and mind opened.
Mine hope in God strong, unearthly, outspoken; I'm here on thy globe,
To bring hope to the hopeless.
Mine garb is bygone, outstandish, I'm Irish, Scottish, two types of native American Indian blood; Chickasaw-Choctaw,
From mother's generational flood.
A Greek man's inside me, one of biblical times, with french royalty, even Charlemagne, is connected to
Family of mine.
As well french power, and kings and queens, emperor's, empresses in mine relations; who ruled Rome with
Maximus, and around
Constantine.
With pilgrim cruor from England, that came here on ships; on the Mayflower they traveled, to this place of new bliss.
Even tis I am Swiss, these art mine bloodlines, O' how mine souls old,
A gold refined.
This is me O' Lord, thy lonesome son,
O' this is me God, thy writer
Of love.
Welkins so melancholy, welkin so gray,
How much longer O' loneliness; til
Thou shalt go away.
Tonight, O' tonight, shalt be silence once again;
Thus the dream of being held, is just
A thought with none end.
© Brandon nagley
© Lonesome poets poetry
Mar 26, 2017
Mar 26, 2017 at 8:41 PM UTC
i.
Into her boudoir I went,
A queen, staring into her mirror;
Heavensent.
ii.
Her chamber Perfumed
With frankincense and myrrh;
All of her I yearned.
iii.
Wearing around her neck
Lapis lazuli metamorphic;
An angel, purely historic.
iv.
Garbing her seductive body
Yellow maria clara terno;
Her cat eyeliner, lit me as an inferno.
v.
Taper's were held in place
By screw's in the wall's;
Fire sparked ourn taste's, for eachother we longed.
vi.
Now in eachother's arm's
Never to let go, or goeth away;
Ourn love's eternal, tis preordained.
©Brandon nagley
©Earl jane Nagley dedication ( Filipino rose)
©Lonesome poet's poetry
Oct 7, 2015
Oct 7, 2015 at 9:01 AM UTC
From Publius to Terra
Salve, amore mea,
I greet you from this new land,
My heart heavy with your absence,
Yet buoyed by the promise of our home.
...
Spare no thought for toils unfit for you,
My love, whose radiance rivals Juno.
A grand atrium will welcome your step,
Adorned with garlands for your triumph.
...
Through halls paved with Jove’s mosaic might,
Pastoral murals of Ceres’ fields will bloom,
Reflecting our farm in vibrant hues,
Your presence warming my impluvium’s heart.
...
A bedchamber awaits, fit for royalty,
Arched with cubes where Cupid dances,
His bow drawn to bind your heart to mine,
Sealing our love in eternal embrace.
...
All that remains is to build and sow,
Tilling under Sol and Luna’s gaze.
Watch over me, amore, from afar,
Your love my guide through field and toil.
...
I’ll write again with tales of this land,
Till our home rises to greet you.
Vale, amore mea,
The work endures for you.
Signed, PERTINAX
Aug 28, 2024
Aug 28, 2024 at 11:25 PM UTC
a Masters hand wrapped in bandages
sad fans walk slowly in the rain
no death. The frown of the boy turns to a smile
teeth missing. Eyes glistening in the tune of the storm
****** around the stadium fight over raw meat, chained at the neck
naked with shaved heads. Red lipstick and overpowering perfume
They were doomed from the minute they left home
airplanes crash in the distance. Smoke fills up the horizon
a wicked sultan pulls at his chained up prepubescent date
before returning to his bedchamber, a master key in his pocket
the eye sockets of his friends and family have been emptied because of distrust
disgusting behavior only him, his slaves, and the Gods can discuss
Sep 19, 2014
Sep 19, 2014 at 1:26 AM UTC
In the lore of leaves always Woman
Moon light & sorcery combs
Mysterious desire
As transparent cities in my ribs make roots
Scrimshaw jumble the sky and earth with mysterious kiss
Ah, the self-fulfilling prophecy of griffon.
Often i have felt griffon
Within me as i read the curves of Woman
Chanting spells and writing the stars within my kiss
my lips form letters on your corners and combs
the dark roster of remainder roots
Within the potent growth of uncontainable desire.
Dark is the unspoken desire
That within me shapes a griffon
Talons and the roar uniform of its roots
Weird talents of Woman
Release the door closed in me as you comb
the tresses & the navel that moon envy in its monthly kiss
Delicious kiss
Stir desire
Release the magic fur with combs
Transform the inward griffon
Come closer Woman
The tree must spread its roots
Dark are omens of roots
Within the bedchamber there is only kiss
luminous nefarious Woman
i am appalling in my desire
Transforms me into monstrous word, griffon
no flesh but shadows within the combs
Unfathomable combs
Intoxicating roots
the midnight eruption of griffon
my beak kiss
with hybrid desire
such monstrous cage is the comely love of Woman
She combs and polymorphs with a kiss
now only roots the shapely diagrams of desire
as a griffon sprouts feathers is bound to charms of sky clad Woman
Jun 21, 2014
Jun 21, 2014 at 7:28 AM UTC
Weariness of straining stress
In a bedchamber of thick darkness
Illumination drowned in the
darkfield of ******
Mysterious mole in the conclave
of concord
Crawler of cruelty crawling for prey
Eulogising gods of darkness for
caging light in the attic of
darkness.
Espionage goon of evil
Drenched in darkness to sell sorrow
Where are you migrating from?
Where are you swaggering to?
In bewilderment, my spirit watched
you
In astonishment, my soul monitored
you
But my body wallowed in deep-sea
of deep dreamless slumber.
Creeping like a poacher
In swarthiness of darkness
Habitant of evil you are
To sting
To ****
Denizen of death you are
To turn hubby to widow-man
Undertaker of tragedy you are
To turn wife to widow-woman
Envoy of hemlock of hell you are
Dweller of darkness
Agent of disaster
But suddenly!
And suddenly!!
Light engulfed the aura of darkness in
the cavity of Illumination
Lucidly l saw you
Clearly l heard you
Dangling proboscis of danger
Waggling poisonous *** end of death
You stuck on the wall
To sting
To ****
Helplessly you watched me
Now pray your last prayer
Clod of callousness
Vasoconstrictor of wastages
What is your real name?
Scorpion!
Jul 1, 2019
Jul 1, 2019 at 1:12 PM UTC
Rippled outside, and slit open the evening
Like a sword tearing the skin of a badger
Gone upon the arrival of the morning
In peace lingered out of the bedchamber
Out the young maiden walked
An angry light shines on her hand
Bright the green grass thus she trodded
Into the bland scene she blended
Like a piece of wild thunderstorm
She cried and whined and wailed
In all silence and no sounding of a horn
Tore farther afield and waited and waited
Never did her little love appear
All to her doubt and fury and dismay
And smote herself with a shady spear
Whilst the other roses bloomed, lifeless she lay.
Dec 17, 2012
Dec 17, 2012 at 4:05 AM UTC
The end was nigh, he scanned the sky
For portents, dark and deep,
He’d sensed some troubled signs within
While tossing in his sleep.
He told his wife to pack some things,
The least that they would need,
But she said, ‘You must leave alone,
I’m staying here, God speed!’
He found he couldn’t change her mind,
No matter that he tried,
He told her of the darker times
That he had sensed, inside.
But she was quite content, she said,
‘In fact I’m quite serene,
I shall not run before the tide,
It may be but a dream!’
The Castle walls with hallowed halls
Held shadows grim and bleak,
Where muttered shades from former days
Would flit from moat to keep,
From tower, to hall, to bedchamber,
He cast his nervous eyes,
Where even in the flagstoned floors
He thought, ‘There evil lies!’
The evening skies were tinctured with
A weird orange glow,
And then the Moon rose up above,
A baneful, blood-red show,
While winds that howled like none before
Now clattered at the eaves,
And whispered down the chimney’s core,
‘God help the one that leaves!’
He wandered round the halls at night
And shook in some dread fear,
At sounds of chains, and distant pains
Deep in his inner ear.
He stood up at the battlements
And scanned the dark surround,
Where gargoyles leered, to spout their cheer
All on the hallowed ground.
‘But surely you must hear them, Maud,
They’re plain, so plain to me!’
‘I only hear the chirping bird
That flits in yonder tree.
Perhaps your mind has been disturbed,
You need to rest at night,
I’ll lock you in the Castle Keep
Until your dreams take flight.’
That night, asleep, but fitfully
He heard a horse’s hooves,
That clattered in the courtyard, echoed
With its iron shoes.
And then he heard his wife, who whispered
Like some painted *****
‘He’s almost driven mad, I’ve locked
Him in, and barred the door.’
Then like a charm that runs its course
And sets its victim free,
He knew that she’d been feeding him
With Belladonna tea.
He waited for an hour, and then
Burst hinges on the door,
And sought his wife’s bedchamber
Where her lover felt secure.
‘I told you I’d sensed darker times,
Such darker times, for you!’
He said as he approached the bed
And ran her lover through.
He raised the sword that dripped with blood
Then stood with drooping head,
While she went pale, to no avail,
In moments, she was dead!
David Lewis Paget
Oct 14, 2014
Oct 14, 2014 at 3:27 AM UTC
This was prompted by the wonderful The Queen Creative over at Wordpress.
From Wikipedia:
Honne and tatemae are Japanese words that describe the contrast between a person’s true feelings and desires (本音 honne?) and the behavior and opinions one displays in public (建前 tatemae?, lit. “façade”).
1. Sent Up For Good (Tatemae)
I’m a convincing stranger.
My Englishness pulls at my
Starched white collar.
My fingers,
So piano fine and buttoned down,
are little sticks of ivory.
My spittle mouth brushes away
indigo blushes
of spent ink
and my hair
has a perfect parting
separated by
a red pencil
in the morning.
A little gentleman in
Tom Brown tails,
Nervously buttering bread.
Hammy, clipped,
Knows it off by heart,
( Lucien tells me that
He plans to get a new suit made).
2. Sent Down For Bad (Honne)
In my Prince’s bedchamber
My Englishness pulls at his
Starched white collar.
My fingers,
Like white-wine and goose down,
Flick with the
little kicks of bribery.
My little mouth flushes
with overflowing gushes
Of his spent ink
And my hair
Has an imperfect parting
Which will be separated
By a red pencil in the morning.
A little temperamental man in
**** detail,
Gluttonously giving head.
Jammy lipped,
The School ****
(Lucien tells me that
he plans to **** a maid).
Sep 12, 2013
Sep 12, 2013 at 12:19 PM UTC
Once upon a time
in a tiny kingdom
called Beautiful Water
there lived a silly faux monarch and his fair maiden
in their castle aka duplex
No mote, no portcullis
but one groovy fence about a humble abode
littered with rooms
ill-appointed and dingy
but with affectionate wainscoting in spades
Nonetheless, they would often rue
the lack of spoil within those walls
'twas an age of shoddy floor-space
like a page with no margins
hence, the royal bedchamber was more a sleep shed
Trips out of town, no doubt
called for something fancy
a room with a view
a bed fit for a king
to stretch out without bother
But a funny thing happened on the way
to forming a quorum
they both pined
for the cramped quarters
left behind
The little bumps
and rubs in the night
came to be a comfort
a way of saying
"Hello, I know you're there and I like it that way"
Jan 16, 2020
Jan 16, 2020 at 7:35 PM UTC
i.
Grooving cricket's
Mardi gras the copse;
A bedchamber shut
The door's art locked.
ii.
The luster of the moon
Sparkle's her face;
Locking I tightly with her finger's
Her body with mine in place.
iii.
Wall's bodacious, to match her flavor
Raiment she weareth, I sketch on poetry paper;
Though I'm no artist, only a writer
Her look's art an eyeful, I've become her virtuoso, her guider.
iv.
As tis, she's mine muse
Thrice I hadst held her;
She's mine only residence
I seeketh none other shelter.
v.
I shalt die in her arm's
And awake in her psyche;
Because tis I do knoweth
She's where everything's right.
©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
©Earl Jane nagley dedication
Aug 30, 2015
Aug 30, 2015 at 7:21 PM UTC
Ya, finding yourself more naked than you ever fathomed possible...
(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCLXXXIV)
So, showr just AFTER midnight, with a sense
Of eerie things as lo, the verse' detail
Which warns, "curse not the king..." nor in betrayl
"...The rich--" ah, whither oh my soul, fr'intents?!
Not e'en "...in thy bedchamber:..." wherefore hence?
Lo, how "...a bird of [yes!] the air shall [pale
Now, dearest me, as] carry [what?! bewail]
The voice, and that which hath wings tell--" what hence?
"...The matter." O thy secrets! Did I stir
Myself to stoop so low, did I? No. Do
Not tremble? How a Blue Jay's call as twere
Wakes me at dawn. Why did that Scripture cue
Me thus so many hours ago in tour?
I am not guilty, am I? Or...who knew?
17Mar19b
Mar 17, 2019
Mar 17, 2019 at 5:43 PM UTC
I was the Goddess and you were a mortal
yet I was the one who followed you
like a supplicant
night after night
I left my bedchamber
& the demiGod in deep slumber on my bed
swathed in the shrouds of darkness
I kept coming to worship you
quotidianly
but it wasn't enough
for you were never satiated
even after reaping all that I possessed
and trying to make an immortal out of you
is now obliterating the light
within my heart's eyes
thence go back to your realm
you can't dwell in mine no longer
& my knees can't kiss the hassock anymore
Dec 18, 2017
Dec 18, 2017 at 4:33 PM UTC
The old enchantment rawky castle was her mesmerizing haunt, she knows she shouldn't escape to there every time, she was feeling scared, when a mans seductive words of love were really sweet nothings, breaks her heart, oh she knew especially when she felt the fiery of loneliness creep upon her, with the protruding sensual lust flowing through her, but she can't, her heart always allured her to him, he always knew what to do every time, he carried her up the grand stairs, down the long hallway lit up with beautiful candles, to his bedchamber, where he would be her lover for as long as she needed, he knows how to love her in all the most ****** playful, sinful ways a gentlemen knows how to a woman that knows herself as well, cause from the moment he opens those doors and they lock eyes, she begins to feel love.
Than on a stormy nite she went running there, she arrived soaked, he wasn't there, for he had left a compassionate letter telling her of the deep love for her, telling her she will always and forever be in his heart, he left his castle to her, as she finish reading she couldn't believe it, as her eyes begin to swell tears rolled down her angelic face, she knew deep down in her heart she couldn't keep his castle, for she will forever fanaa.
Aug 29, 2018
Aug 29, 2018 at 4:34 AM UTC