"daemon" poems
Drip yourself into a cup
Fill up your body with antiquity
Let the collagen insist
An allegory of Capricorn
Memories crystallised
Settled in
Forevers harvest
Insensitive
Misconstrued chemical
Collective symmetry's sin
A condition, livid
Fleeting in Human imagery
Ships break
Loop our tongued
Hands, tossed in Dramamine
Whittled in a succession of malleable fashion
Talent spilled spread in supper
Collate our atrophy
And drink from baroness
Flavours tarnished
Super-collider
Blood soaked in Gematria
A garden of totality
High brow comparison
Entitled in your vacuous stigma
Forever burning
In the lesser key of Solomon
28 daemon
Tessellation in trigonometry
Temperance towards an infinite
Champion of mind, complex
Sep 12, 2014
Sep 12, 2014 at 9:57 PM UTC
My deformities decorate me
As if I were Persephone
Married to all that could incinerate me
I dance with daemons, but they do not consume me
Instead we rub up against each other, like
The good kind of scratch
Like the skins of fruits
And I delight
In the weight
Of cool scales that press my dress to my skin
And rest monster heads in the curve beneath my skin.
Great claws finding the fork tines of my fox spine, and I sing
O, Daemon Mine
O, Daemon Mine.
And they let go, and they sometimes even
Cry.
Mar 25, 2014
Mar 25, 2014 at 5:36 PM UTC
Temple bells ring.
An angel sings;
its voice fades into the gutter like screeching tires
of an oncoming vehicle,
a demented daemon that jumps the curb,
heading straight toward us.
The steam hisses;
under your feet where your cracked soles scrape over the frost,
you freeze hell over through the roots
of frozen kikuyu dimension-blades
that stand out like Satan’s daggers.
Your hands turn blue,
every joint a rusted copper-chain link that squeezes out
the smell of playground oil over your coconut skin,
which, in turn, turns to jasmine milk that flows
from the split-ends of your hair
into my temple.
Feb 10, 2011
Feb 10, 2011 at 10:13 PM UTC
Caged in a prison, high on a hill, actions ensued but didn’t quite fit the bill
Words of not-always transformed promises to forever,
Side by side, naught to hide,
despite the cloudy weather
A friend, a rock, a ship almost wrecked was looking to dock
Alone in the harbour, under the moonlight,
Ashamed,
The half-wreck shone bright for what it was famed.
Tough stains were covered, remains left undiscovered to be smothered by another
Heart still full of what was before, keen, loveful pursuers already knocking at the door
Cabin wide open: “Ahoy mateys! Ahoy!”
She soon set sail with the innocent boy.
Tides were rolling on peacefully by, some of them were low tides but mainly they were high,
When in need there was a shoulder upon which to cry
And the girl thought the boy would help her get by.
Way out at sea on a tropical isle the boy showed the girl daemons not seen in a while
Opened her up and dove right in, illustrated the flaws of reacting to whims
Open
Broken
Alone at sea,
the boy turned his back as she fell to her knees
Floundering, drowning, thrashing in the waves
The girl succumbed to what her daemon craves
Underwater tears remain unobserved
A not-so-sly Fox spoke of acts undeserved
An unsure girl, curled up, abashed
Covered up the act and watched her daemon be tamed
A ship in the darkness, a ship under the stars
Saved the girl and craved the girl and hoped she knew right
And Oh! How she flourished in this dependable new light
“Love and peace, me mateys!”: a new reason to fight
The boy on his island, soon to return,
Will see that the shipwreck upon which they met, though
not
yet
quite
perfect
Trawls the coast to find an isle of its own
And though different to first-envisaged, Bristol shall be its home.
Feb 20, 2013
Feb 20, 2013 at 11:27 AM UTC
While sleeping and holding Shadow Queen tight Shadow King slowly began to feel his body being puked away from her, like it (or something else) didn't want him close to her. He caught himself and fought the urge to let her go and stayed where he was. Then he felt it again and heard a voice inside his head telling him to let her go. He fought back once more and this time held her tighter. Then in his mind he saw a creature dark red with glowing red eyes pop into his mind it began to pull his Shadow Wolf spirit. The more it pulled the more his body tried to pull from Shadow Queen. It seemed as tho his Shadow Wolf was almost helpless when it came to this daemon so he fought back. Soon both Shadow King and his Shadow Wolf were fighting this creature. They finally destroyed it, tho it was not easy. Shadow King was finally free to hold his queen tight all through the night. The next morning Shadow King felt something strange...it was happiness, pure happiness. He had not felt this in a long time, might never really have felt it. There was no longer anything holding him back from loving his queen with everything he had. They're lives were so much better simply bcs they were finally happy together. <3
Aug 24, 2014
Aug 24, 2014 at 12:36 AM UTC
When the daemon of a person is lost
that person will wander through trackless wastes.
If she sweeps her house and prays diligently,
It may be
that seven new spirits
will come and take up residence with her
and there will be dancing
and a turning
and a new fire may be kindled.
Feb 25, 2019
Feb 25, 2019 at 2:59 PM UTC
Pluck thy feathers, angel,
To bless the world again.
But alas! Take care of thee
Or all thy effort is in vain!
Pluck them all, angel,
And be angel no more;
For in thy craving to retrieve them
Thou, angel, shalt fall.
Thou shalt turn into Daemon
To ravage these green lands.
Until wood and field consumed
Shalt turn into black sand.
In fight with a feathered one
A featherless shalt always succeed
And rob the angel of his precious feathers
Turning him, too, into adversary of greed.
One day, though, an angel shalt be reborn
To seek redemption for them all.
But as the reborn awakens
The greatest angel shalt fall.
Fear not, sweet angel,
The saviour shalt come.
Be brave and be kind
And the darkness shalt be undone.
Jan 13, 2023
Jan 13, 2023 at 6:33 AM UTC
.
The street lamp barely pierces the gloom
as darkness fills up Nature's room.
Any icy breeze blows down the street,
the air is full of rain and sleet.
She stands beneath the murky light,
one of a few out working tonight.
Her clothes do not reflect the weather,
miniskirt, t-shirt, long boots of leather.
Pinprick marks upon her arm reveal
a habit to hide all that she feels.
A daemon that has to be well fed,
from money made in a punters bed.
A low rumble, the quiet is disturbed,
creeping slowly, pulling up at the kerb.
Quick furtive words, a deal is complete,
she opens the door, slides into the seat.
Sometime later she has returned to her place,
crying and shaking, blood on her face.
The blood on her shirt is already dry,
and purple black bruises adorn her eyes.
She does not complain, she does not speak.
It just happens. At least once a week.
There is always one will have his way,
beat her about, and refuse to pay.
Give her a minute to fix her smile,
she will be back in just a short while.
Waiting tartly to be once more defiled,
hoping tonight she can feed her child.
She dreams her daughter will never see
this sick, dark side of her society.
For her sake she hopes to escape
the drugs, the violence, and the ****
Maybe one eve she will not show
her charms under the street lamps glow.
Has she escaped to a better life instead?
Perhaps she is in the river, floating dead?
But 'til then she walks the pavement.
Big smile, **** out, making a statement.
She won't wait long for another ride,
she will block out whatever happens inside.
And the cycle repeats almost every night,
beneath the lamp with the murky light.
This is her spot, her street, her world.
This is the life of a poor street girl.
© Pagan Paul (03/03/17)
Mar 5, 2017
Mar 5, 2017 at 6:30 PM UTC
startup…
logon… password “Hello Friend”
K: Windows/system32> whoami
Description= reminder to update system
Exec start= bash(repeatedly) sleep-10; notify send “This Is Gonna Hurt”
K: Memories/ cd
Couldn’t load library “K: Memories/Hopeful/GoodTimes/v1997/launcher”
no such file or library
Invoked from within
Library path could not be found while executing
newtype.sendkeys {DELETE}
integrity check has failed
package requires ansinfo
(package ifneeded script)
def listen= {dummy}
ip config_release
User interface "you’re_not_losing_your_mind!” not found
NOT ENOUGH PARAMETERS OR PARAMETER ERROR!
User daemon reload - update script
Are you sure you want to delete? Y/N
Apr 4, 2021
Apr 4, 2021 at 7:47 PM UTC
DEAR PENPAL PEOPLE, don't pretend the innocence when you know that evidence:]
you know I'm a forest a wild sent rule crucial
scars abandoned on attached feels I call brutal
on you a ceiling too high to reach
far from the abnormals we share we teach
my sick matches your sick
your sick matches mine
it collides it ticks
burrowed from the glares of a daemon monster flare
been sold to the harsh heads
been kept at stake
the stark of shame
glosses of unhealthy addiction of reigns
no one knows nor understands us our meaning
things we used years to strive hard to achieving
rotten wolves as in our animalistic
in search of prey
a hellish nature fevered burning hate of the realistic
remind my mental
were owned by devils
not sentiments not rental
pretend the innocence when the obvious seeps
let go of the hold to grip on the recklessness that creeps
bent beats of unmeasured clefts but for the darker not the tender
a dominant number on the silent hypnotizing hummer
i ravish skins when control is no more
its hunger
shot on veins killed
****** out of blood
same as ecstasy
same as adrenaline
still racing on a flood
------ravenfeels
Apr 1, 2021
Apr 1, 2021 at 3:58 PM UTC
DEAR PENPAL PEOPLE, sometimes strangers can become the holders of our deepest secrets:>
awaited so long so vast to confess a blurt out a must say
that my hopes came to the ultimate settle to the unspoken overwhelm of this May
hurdled in my lap like a shiny relief anticipation
hidden doors under that rag to a whole new brilliant creation
never have I ever came to express to redeem a share
in a chaotic crowd in a room for that daemon monster flare
bare me the tears
been shed been dear on the angel
on that blanket that saint of the painful
don't get this wrong it was a cry of surreal
of a friendship that I dreamt of a cherish
for those pure souls to come to an emotional peel
------ravenfeels
May 3, 2021
May 3, 2021 at 12:21 AM UTC
The world curves around me,
spinning on its axis;
oblivious to the colors that
fade and change and fade again.
Light pours out-
an attempt to envelope the shadows,
but the shadows always win.
Always hide in the bark on the trees,
and between the blades of grass beneath my feet
waiting, patiently, for the chance to escape -
to shield the earth from the glow
of the stars and the moon.
In my solidarity,
I wait in isolation to be born again,
to resurrect,
to wake from this finite coma,
to learn that it’s all a lie.
Show me the way to redemption;
free my soul from the demons that live
(the darkness that hides) in the trees
and the grass
and the cracks of my ribcage.
Patient and waiting,
ravenous.
Jun 18, 2012
Jun 18, 2012 at 11:04 AM UTC
My heart is a derelict graveyard
Sodden with poetry that reverbarates miles and miles away with each painful throb
And so...
The aftermath, the ache
Tantamount to phantom limb pain
Surgical exorcism of the heart from the other
Here we go again
Some dude said Love is a dog from hell
And maybe its a fairy-tale mirage like Christmas
Hail Mary
Rid us of this daemon
That which instills terror in these frail hearts
Schizophrenic attempts to make the Mermaid of Venice copulate
Filthy little beast LOVE
Next season I might never unleash you
And forever extinct you shall be in me
Good riddance, mind pollutant, even air
Nothing like love is in the air
I couldn't have jammed into darkness and stench
Today you might just fall down into your ****** organs and vanish
Like a pin dropping into the Grand Canyon
These feelings
Phantom limb pain
Finally the warmth is dissipated
Culmination of the opposites is impossible
Not with you and other various forms of human ****
Rigour mortis of my soul
So what choice do I have?
Except to evacuate this fantasy of madness
And secretly nurse my phantom limb pain
At least this "Stiff" gave birth to a poem
And maybe a poet
Sep 10, 2016
Sep 10, 2016 at 2:41 AM UTC
Alert!
Oh. It's only a reminder.
Automated, automatically sent
to us.
An email, a text.
They pop on devices,
trained that way.
Tomorrow's a birthday.
Always tomorrow an Alert!
Someone's born.
Yet, the helper has become a daemon.
Friendly assistance
become nudges of melancholy.
A Daemon for grieving?
How many Alerts
can the heart take?
Yearly jolts,
automated realization
that our family is fading.
Not tomorrow's children
born into midnight's Alert,
but the child father,
mother, sister, and brother we
remember in bleaching photos.
Chemically fading away,
decaying like data
on hard drives.
Our stormy lives
remembered with
a half-life of gentle reminders.
Remembered as
ghostly background processes
sending alerts of birthdays so long
ago there's no trace except
in shared memories.
Dec 12, 2015
Dec 12, 2015 at 12:21 PM UTC
Once upon a midnight,windy,
Graveyard heavy, tombstone weary,
Rose a man of great renowned-
The writer of which works can be found
Classroom sat in many a volume galore.
As the news and folk declare-
The dead whose lungs again took in air,
The writer who now stood before-
T’was Poe (and raven) of “Nevermore”.
“So if it be daemon, omen, curse or hex-”
In deciding action next, he spoke forth these words of old,
“I have been given further morrow, time of which furthers my sorrow,
Yet if I may this new life borrow- borrow perhaps to bring prose more-
In the hope,to continue prose more-
Pen to paper I’ll restore.”
Many a night spent struggling to create rhymes anew,
Edgar realized how language had changed,
For **** no longer meant to slay, and his beloved had turned to bae!
On his desk the perched bird had flown-
To say these words in had it flown-
Quoth the Raven “Just use Rhymezone.”
Feb 18, 2019
Feb 18, 2019 at 9:32 PM UTC
we have been deceived.
corralled like tepid sheep,
fattened beef
waiting beyond
the doors of the slaughterhouse.
as pigs lick their lips,
a daemon’s death dirge drifts
listless across the
Atlantic, an erratic dichotomy
corroding rationality—
this executive edict
barring refugees.
caught without a compass,
a flotilla of ships weathering
the elements.
for forty days
and forty nights,
we’ve been lead
two-by-two
by elephants
and donkeys.
demagogues commandeered
the lighthouse, directing
our ark across
scattered rocks.
an armada
of shattered splinters,
remnants of water-logged vessels
we’d hoped to sail to utopia.
caught in the webs
we wove, droves
of drones spewing
bombs across Aleppo.
as spittle collects
on spluttering orange lips,
will we
pause
for but a moment?
collect
our thoughts.
reflect.
history is a shattered
mirror and we’ve pricked
our fingers trying
to piece the image
back together.
there’s a hunger
for blood
refracting in our eyes.
a misanthropy
that smarts and stings.
a recalcitrant population
coerced by a television
rhetorician’s clever
devices, devised
to separate and segregate
during this crisis
caused by our missiles.
there is no moral arc
to the universe. hope,
Hedges wrote, is mania
if it remains vapid
and refuses to address
the depravity of our
physical reality.
we’ve already lost.
just ask the children
barely clinging to life,
covered in the debris
of their former homes.
all that’s left for us
is to bash the fascists.
smash every illusory border
in our heads and hearts.
burn down the walls
they try to build
around us.
overturn the tables
of the oligarchs,
stuff Molotov cocktails
down their bloated throats.
open revolt is our only hope.
we’ll build a sanctuary
in this City Beautiful.
Jan 28, 2017
Jan 28, 2017 at 10:12 PM UTC
sea mother eat me
i want to remember
the spill of the mud
the prayer for breath
eyes turn to pearl
skin slips of seaweed
coral bones
bring me to kneel
receive the rain
a morsel of
the heavy mound i am
fill me creature
salty daemon
fire on the water
claw of the sea
Sep 18, 2012
Sep 18, 2012 at 10:00 PM UTC
Once
I was a man
Consumed by the voices
Causing horrible choices
Made by a corrupted mind
But know i find
Silence
Deathly silence
Sweet silence
A clarity unrivaled
Mark
Drake
Darkness
Sly
Sam
Daemon
Thomas
Adam
All of them diminish
This series can finally finish
What it began
Now I am a man
Cured of psychotic visions of vast violence
By the occurrence
Of my mind's sweet silence
May 23, 2016
May 23, 2016 at 6:32 PM UTC
From the past I am revealed
A lonely mind to which I appeal
To rescue him
From his dark past
Although my chances are slim
We make progress fast
I am his past-life manifestation
I must stop his dark delegation
With the only tools I know how
To make these in-mind dark creatures bow
I may not be able to save him
But **** it, I'll try,
I am Steven's rescuer, Daemon
Jan 22, 2011
Jan 22, 2011 at 8:35 PM UTC
We didn't--
Comprehend-his-daemon
Upon a precipice of
Rounded metallic.
They wouldn't mimic
Pixies regurgitating
Amino acids,
For no accord
Of constellation.
We sat--
She sits-
They disturb ontological
Passives first, never thinking.
This girl would watch
At wigwam pace because--
Instead of learning
Who and how...
Our dry hearts, pumped dust.
Sep 20, 2014
Sep 20, 2014 at 11:41 PM UTC
I am deceased with love
For poetry's sake You are my Medusa
And I your ******
Your piercing eyes solidify my heart
And turn my love for you into stone
Suffocate me with affection in our little gas chamber
The Gestapo will keep intruders at bay
Set me ablaze with madness
Let my schizophrenia watch from behind with awe
De-exorcise me from this angelic daemon LOVE
Medusa lubricate our union with your venom
I shall see to it that the Wehrmacht safeguard this treaty
African queen of infinite tantrums
***** love and hair
Ovid has already said that you are the jealous aspiration of many a suitor
What more shall I want
Aug 31, 2016
Aug 31, 2016 at 10:56 PM UTC
I've got a pet daemon,
Every once in a while, I let him out of his cage.
I find it most beneficial,
If every once in a while the wise one gets to play.
I've got a bad desire.
I want to see you when you're out of your skin.
My bad thoughts are inspired
By the ugly, dark world I live in.
No matter what you believe,
No matter what you think you've been told,
There's nothing you know about me.
I have never been the one to be a tortured soul.
A bead of crimson forming,
I see it and my heart starts to throb.
The story few people know,
Is the tale of my midnight macabre
It's like a tale from Lovecraft, brother,
But I was never surprised to gaze upon my face.
And I have always known it.
To others, there was barely a trace.
I revel in self-adulation.
Your pleasure brings me such pain.
I look in desperation upon you.
I want to see your tears fall like the rain.
I understand my desires.
I know why I exist .
I suffer from no allusions.
Your soul is meat, I am a carnivore.
I've got a pet daemon,
Every once in a while I, let him out of his cage.
I find it most beneficial,
If every once in a while that wise gets to play.
Nov 23, 2016
Nov 23, 2016 at 11:24 AM UTC
Why do I still crave
you when all you craved
for was what lies
between my legs?
How can I miss
you so when you gave
me up so easily?
I was just another,
one more mark on your
**** as I made another on
my wrist.
You were tender like the
skin that lies there,
lips sweet like July afternoons,
lustful like Parisian
nights.
You were a dream fallen to
a nightmare,
taking me in your
arms only to throw
me away, down into
a pit too
steep to climb
out of.
You're a gentle
daemon,
hands like
claws, drawing
blood from my neck,
trickling down my
breat like a
corpsed stream.
Mar 20, 2013
Mar 20, 2013 at 9:30 PM UTC
I hear it in the twilight there; the
Head of Orpheus singing
It comes out of the black earth shining
Wrapped in a cloak of shadows
Who can trace it or predict its path or flight
Ink stained wings beating the air
In the clap and the step of the flamenco
Dancer
The last breath of the bruised guitar
The hand of the trembling poet who
Channels lightning terrible and swift
It moves in creation as well as destruction
The onyx statue that waits in the desert
To be worn down by wind and sand and Time
The canvas of the purple and yellow dawn
And the artist that summons it like a daemon
The fallen angel polishing the skull of a once
Great King
In crypts and cathedrals
In chapels and temples
And the sacred groves when so moved to
Animate and waken there where it dwells
In the deepest recess of the mind
I call
Do you hear me my secret twin?
I summon, I invoke you
I break these manacles that enslave
You to Time
I free you from the battlefields where
Blood and bone stain and scrape
Consecrated ground
Come and invigorate these pale limbs
Brink your black fire and death song
To all who seek to know your name
Sep 15, 2010
Sep 15, 2010 at 11:04 AM UTC
I dream, I dream and morphine seems to take the pain away,
the poppy fields are my armour,
the shields against the clamours of
the day.
If I could,
I would and should awake but that takes moral fibre,
and I am just the turpitude, the crude and base, no shame,
and furthermore, I can't face the accusing looks, or
the debits in my credit books.
I dream, I dream and lean towards the light that
shines from the opthalmoscope,
there is no hope I hear them say,
more clamour in the clamour of my day,
more morphine takes the pain away.
I dream to dream and dreams dreams me,
dreams will be my
downfall.
Jan 13, 2015
Jan 13, 2015 at 4:39 AM UTC