"eldritch" poems
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This poem is self translated version of my Hindi language poem titled "शिव स्वरूपं" published in pratilipi on (Dec. 2017) Can be read through the link ==>> https://bit.ly/2P4j7vE
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That face of Lord Shiva is most beautiful in which he holds Ganga in his hairs
The Moon feels blessed by beautifying the head of Shiva as a glittering crown
The Serpants also became jewellery by themselves and decorated his blue neck
Shiva holds the trident on one hand and plays the Damroo from the other one
He has seated himself on a mat of Tiger Skin and rubbed pyre ash on his body
He has left elephant and the horses and decided to travel on an old Bull Nandi
By such an amazing face form, he is always ready for the welfare of devotees
The cruel and wicked have always been afraid of his eldritch face and form.
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Shiva (See Line 1): A God (The Destroyer) in Hindu Mythology
Ganga (See Line 1): The Holy river whose flow and speed is controlled by the coiled hairs (Jatas) of Lord Shiiva
Damroo(See Line 4): A sort of musical instrument ( Pellet Drum )
Nandi((See Line 6)): A bull in Indian mythology who is the vehicle of Lord Shiva
Aug 18, 2019
Aug 18, 2019 at 4:55 AM UTC
Dear,
My vision is clouded by two green eyes, alike emeralds gazing at me,
A delicate body, frankly short yet mature and smart, but so warm,
This is what you are for me, you feel human, you smell human yet all the others see you as something else, a monster is what they call you,
But this is not true, even if you should be some kind of eldritch abomination, for me you're a gal of grace, of elegance and kindness,
Even if they talk ill of you, saying you are twisted and weird,
And even if they call me naive, for not seeing what you really are,
I will not give up, for the both of us are not like them, we can't be.
I love you. For a world we see is true, what we manifest, what I'll build you is a mansion of crystal and of course pure, starlight.
The beauty rising by your own hand is a blinding light in the dark,
Bloom, as the world around us fades away, blossom, we become one.
But all that remains just a dream, the cruel reality is,
I can only meet you there.
~ Umi
May 12, 2018
May 12, 2018 at 9:07 PM UTC
Strange reflections, indistinct flickers whipping past, caught out of the corner of my eye.
An eldritch feeling takes over, as if to say this is what it to feel like to watch time pass by.
I lay witness to a whirlwind of intricate memories being swept away, jostled getting lost between the spaces.
The remnants of a hurricane filled with moments doomed to oblivion, intertwined inside an eternity of forgotten faces.
Anxiously I sit inside a cage of my own mold as I contemplate if this place is a sanctuary at all.
Finally realizing that those reflections were small glimmers of the pieces I let go during my own painfully beautiful fall.
Weep not for this wayward stranger, the trial and tribulations are something that we all must soldiers through.
Diligently stripping layers away, remaining hopefully that the journey will lead to something magnificently brand new.
Jan 12, 2014
Jan 12, 2014 at 3:50 AM UTC
mom betrays us.
headlights into the night
& up the breakneck boulevard bluff overlooking town and terminus.
she brings his heart in a ziploc bag,
an offering
to that old burnt-out oak.
[husband\father\corpse]
front porch blood trails forever. she
claims self-defense and the camera-eyes caramelize her
fame & fortune & stepdaddies & book deals & ziploc pb&js & dead dog omens.
when did the heartache begin?
heir\son\brother\body
racing car ****** and fluxed up the boulevard in a ritual reach for daddy and the oak.
the girls are waiting. one two three, seeds.
brakes sabotaged. he
bursts into death, a molten ball of mazda.
father and son laugh there on the brim of here and hereafter.
apparitions uncoiled.
[home movies]
where mercury avenue ends
the woods begin.
& those woods are evil, an eldritch place, she laughs.
even the indians wouldn’t bury their dead there.
america.
caught between the whir of spokes and windshields reflecting
sky and skin, the blue hue
of television flickering on the hands of a family.
grandsons conjure grandmaster demons
on the ply of their treefort high.
the heart of grandma in a ziploc bag.
jupiter and saturn are in conjunction,
twelve past midnight on a tuesday in september.
a school night.
[the babysitter brings over an unlabeled video tape, says its scary]
the children watch.
slumber party screams and pb&js.
ghouls blunted by pungent neighborhood inertia.
son, a ghost returned in rhythm and electronics,
hungry for pizza and pure vengeance.
Oct 26, 2015
Oct 26, 2015 at 12:32 AM UTC
Look for the sparkle he went
With no fears or regrets
Just him and his special hat
For days and days he walked with no course
But he didn't repent
He just believed it was a curse
The way to the Eldritch village he couldn't find
But suddenly he sees the who knows everything cat
And there he stood before the cat for a while
So many days had past that he couldn't say a word
Thus the cat open his wise smile and said:
"The path to the Eldritch village I know"
The man was astounded - "A talking cat? This is absurd!"
Therefore the who knows everything cat walked through the snow
And so the man, believing in his special hat
Followed him through snow, space and time
After not knowing how many hours, days or years had passed
They reached the end of time climb
And there it was, the Eldritch village
The curse was caught in time
He, Lochesh, with his special hat
Lastly found the sparkle of rhyme
Feb 26, 2012
Feb 26, 2012 at 8:18 PM UTC
He sneaks in the night,
and grinds upon the gristle of your bones -
in a cloak woven from the finest skin,
from the chimney he descends and creeps through your homes.
For old Saint Nick
is the propaganda before the fear,
his legend created to cover
the sick evil that manifests itself into cheer.
What's that thumping on your roof?
Trust me, it ain't no reindeer or adorable little elf -
before you can scream the world's black before you;
just another stolen skull upon his shelf.
For Krampus is one nasty wicked little devil -
so lock your windows, barricade the doors;
with a magic key he enters
his shadow bleeding blood into the snow-dusted floors...
lice jittering in the fur beneath his mangey pits,
and eldritch horns jutting from his head
he's a carnivore of the festive spirit;
his hunger and blood-thirst never truly fed.
And upon the Eve of this coming Christmas
he's got an exciting new trick -
for once he's gonna spare all the naughty children,
and instead devour our beloved old Saint Nick...
May 4, 2015
May 4, 2015 at 6:27 AM UTC
Blondie finds a shell
peeps out an eldritch pearl
begins a new vision
Sep 6, 2016
Sep 6, 2016 at 9:00 AM UTC
Returning son, his daughter at his side,
imagines now the men who once amassed
the limestone locks to straddle the canal,
an obsolete image from an eldritch past.
On a ritual hour of summer dusk,
if you should know precisely where to stand
that ghost of Syracuse can still be seen,
a rotting timber craft trapped deep in sand.
Mosquitos drone their hungry mother song.
The two upon the towpath, side by side,
survey this stagnant waterway where once
their ancestors lived and worked and died.
The silt entombs the boat’s untimely end –
how many years before the blasts of steam
sent veins of iron shooting ‘cross the land
did this canal boat capsize like a dream?
May 18, 2013
May 18, 2013 at 3:36 AM UTC
Oh the devil hath found
Interpreting perverse anomalies
Oh the devil hath found
May you sphacelate you worthless antiquity
Oh the devil hath found
You reek of cigarettes and unfrequented deliriums
Oh the devil hath found
What pandemonium!
Oh the devil hath found
An oasis in a wasteland
Oh the devil hath found
A humanoid dichotomy
Oh the devil hath found
A sought after moral wreck
Oh the devil hath found
Love.
.................................................................................
....Que le diable et son amant se chargent........
.................................................................................
Oct 19, 2018
Oct 19, 2018 at 2:55 AM UTC
12 BARS
Twelve brazen bars, one frozen lock!
Confined, sublime, an ancient Roc
endures inside a barren cage,
her catacomb in sundown sage.
Of former days there is no trace
except displays of fallen grace –
Twelve dreams, abiding in her place,
are free, inhabit yawning space:
12 DREAMS
... of wings unfurled, and seething eyes
that dredge the depths of dawning skies,
devining clouds that cling below,
once ice, dissolved in morning’s glow;
... of clutching winds that carry free
above an anguished leaden sea,
dispersing dust of distant stars
midst chunks of chain in slave bazaars;
... of swooping to a silent shore
to perch beside the ocean’s roar,
at last to feel the sobbing breeze
message the leaves of rooted trees;
... of stalking strays and twilight tramps
within the fog of lighthouse lamps
that blink forlorn through caldron nights
in search of shades of errant Kites;
... of darkling vast deserted lands,
with shadowed stones on windswept sands,
where ghosts of Moorish maidens lost
disgorge faint groans in mourning frost;
... of blotting out the bloated moon
while feathers beat a banshee tune
and glimmers dance and prance aglow
upon a pearly pale plateau;
... of tasting cool torrential rains,
beyond the realm of binding chains,
and sipping freedom they exude
in quite drops of solitude;
... of vanquishing a galley crew
aboard a ship in midnight dew,
beneath the pierce of seagulls' screams
that mock the strands of scarlet streams;
... of sating once an aching craw
with tearing beak, with ripping claw,
and echoed by an eldritch screech
while feasting on abandoned beach;
... of restive thoughts and weary wings
that drift on haze in smoky rings,
obscured within the opal shroud
of her resemblance in the crowd;
... of croaking caws in broken rhyme
in winter woe, in summer clime,
while building nests of sundown sage
beyond outside a barren cage.
May 10, 2013
May 10, 2013 at 8:28 AM UTC
world wrought to ruin
i can feel the creeping dark
dancing between my fingers
the foreign, strange, eerie
uncanny arcane
Mar 2, 2015
Mar 2, 2015 at 1:02 PM UTC
i am a wandering comet
a long forgotten star
drifting listlessly through
some eldritch darkness
the stuff that dreams are made of
sustains my formless husk
as i drift and drift and drift and drift
towards that wyrd and faint light
i want you to call my name
i want you to say it!
but...
even if those words did expell
from those lips that i long to kiss
i would not know...
the void pilfers greedily all sound
no matter how powerfull the meaning behind them
there are endless stars and planets
in this symposium of emptiness
one day i will crash somewhere
and, it might not be on your planet...
it might not be where you are
will i live for eternity alone?
searching fervently in vain
through ancient smog and blackest rain
that melts my mortal coil
and tears away at my lungs
until i am truly but a husk
a vestigial being, devoid of light
please...
call for me
i am drifting away
Jul 18, 2015
Jul 18, 2015 at 8:29 PM UTC
The sun never shines, the moon never sleeps,
Beneath the sky's blanket the earth is still.
Irises blossom and irises weep
And narcissi thrive in the uncertain chill.
Radiant colours have painted the fields,
Green of the gammas and epsilon black.
Change is a force only nature can wield,
Grief is a certainty nature brings back.
The sun never shines, the sky's never rich.
Cursed with a greyness of which it won't shed.
Monchromatic and bleak and eldritch,
Stitched to horizons with lavender thread.
Spring, in my youth, was a beautiful sight,
Desolate land would be painted anew.
Now that I've aged I can see through its sleight,
Engulfed by despair as the grass is by dew.
Aug 21, 2018
Aug 21, 2018 at 8:45 AM UTC
*A Poeme from ye Penne of
ye right learned Professor Peter Buttocke
collected by hysse Pupille Edna*
There is an ancient Shittah in my Garden, eldritch and right dun in alle Aspect
Wherein dwelleth a loude and noisome Ouzel, ye like of which I have ne'er yet seen
Under thysse our goode Goddes fayre Welkin up in ye Skye above us alle.
This foule and unwholesome Beeste, with trespassynge shote-like ****** Effusiones
Hath performed ye veritable Antithesis of kindly horticultural Edulcoration
For whiche Sinne I shall emasculate ye Brute, so God may grant me Pow'r.
Sudating at ye Nostrilles I advance, my trustie Stang at ye ever-ready,
And I prepare to eject it from yon Pollard, having previous shattered
Alle its horryd Frangibles with one brave bolde frampold Blowe.
Thwacke! A last Piffero-reminiscent Warble escapeth loude from its fowle coronoid Appendage;
Right severe Damage and harsh fatal Ruine of Nature irreversible have I caused
To ye shaggie shamelesse little avian Runte, whereon Goddes smile hath ne'er dawned.
Thus descendeth it to the Faeces-bedecked Herdwick, and I titubate triumph'lly o'er its conticent Corpse.
And were there yet a duodenary Set of ye Frass-Depositors, I would not give a Demi-Testrel for their Survyvall
Should they e'er again infringe the sacred Privacie whych ye ancient Shittah enjoyeth in my Garden.
Jan 12, 2015
Jan 12, 2015 at 6:37 AM UTC
nebious rubber skinned demons
haunting my dreams
eldritch casters of my fate
shape undefined
and vaguely human
they surronded me
and I knew I was asleep
And I couldnt wake up
and I couldn't fall asleep
Mar 13, 2017
Mar 13, 2017 at 6:29 AM UTC
If any item
should retain
eldritch potency
in this present age.
It would be
bacon.
wild magik
is released
by the fat
contained
within its
thick sliced rind.
Glamor can be
released
in simple
domestic rituals.
All you need
is a pan
& a heat source.
Many magi
have reported
in secret books
about bacon’s aid
in seeing
the future.
When bacon cooks
within a simple pan.
It sizzles
prophetic quatrains
of coming days,
and often is served
with well-cooked omens.
Seers
have reported
the auspicious energies
properly displayed
when bacon power
is properly
presented.
When the curl
of bacon
properly
interweaves
the tips of tongue…
For in
the tingle
the taste bud
apprehends
the shape
of infinite spaces;
where the future
is foretold
within
the chew
of inward knowledge.
May 6, 2015
May 6, 2015 at 6:08 PM UTC
There’s too much light
deluge of photons
an affront to Night’s ambiance
Harsh sulfur streetlight glow:
trickery. illuminating
arteries of Artificial
making the Night
dull dark distant
confined to human construct
robbing Mystery
masking subtlety
devouring nature
the Immensity
the Antiquity
the Beauty of Stars: gone
Lost
blotted out
by buzzing wasp’s nest
Denizens’ sting
to eyes & minds
inflaming consciousness
no longer can you Feel
small and lost
under the grandeur of nocturnal sky
all is set
before you
here to there
Elsewhere to home
Home?
Sleep in Darkness?
listening & thinking
‘til sleep succumbs
No, now rather
befalling Sickly
pallor of computer glow
we stare with blinders
all else fading
save the screen
before us
******* us in
trapping us
excising thoughts
keeping us
from ourselves
that is why we fill the night
Out of fear. To hide
but not from monsters
nor from ghosts goblins gremlins ghouls
not from lurking eldritch terror of yore
but from ourselves
from Feeling and Being
for fear of perceiving
tactile intuition in the air
of what lies ahead rather than seeing
for fear of walking by ourselves
just ourselves with unencumbered thoughts
and seeing through the facade
the facade of daytime ascribed meanings
the facade of of who we are
the facade of light
The facade that Darkness
is what is lacking
that light is normality
That light is beauty
light is hope
light is life
but it’s just that
a Facade
we plastered ourselves: an Illusion
But there’s truth
at Night and under stars
truth in the sensation of dusky hours
Artistry in ink
the allure of “unknown”
feeling small and lost
Under soft Milky Way
floating over dew laden grass
caressed by cool currents
There’s Truth
& Beauty
in the Night
Feb 10, 2014
Feb 10, 2014 at 2:19 PM UTC
This is number 12 my "Count Orlok" series. It is choice.
A blind woman weeps in the cold shadows
Tears for the agony she has endured,
And will endure as she must watch her son,
Her only begotten son, joy of her blind eyes,
Being ripped to shreds by the Beast.
Deep in the darkest shadows of blackest Hades
The Foul Beast wallows in virgins' blood,
Delighting in the raucous screams of pain,
As his devil-minions roast their victims
Before sodomising them with white hot rods.
She sees through her flame-ruined blind eyes
Her ****** son dragged down into the pit
And splayed onto the charred crucifix,
Naked and helpless before the mighty Beast,
Who bellows with eldritch joy at the sight.
Even the flames are too cold for the Beast:
He must have more white heat to relish the pain
That shall be inflicted on his curséd victims;
And the devils dance around the screaming boy
Before the Beast sates his lust in the victim's smelly ****
Feb 9, 2015
Feb 9, 2015 at 11:03 AM UTC
Rosey-colored petals, dear
Is that not what you're finding here?
Amidst a shore of colors dear
Though not the colors of your home.
Red and black, oh rage abound!
Dark cries and wails, a sea of sound
Waves they crash, sea foam surrounds
Oh you are still so far from home.
The salty air echoes despair
For there's no hope to find down there
Your doom does Eldritch voice declare,
"You're trapped and never going home."
Dec 7, 2018
Dec 7, 2018 at 1:55 AM UTC
I try to find a way to a calm,
an easy breath,
wash away, they say
come home. lay it down.
I ask,
where'd he go, where'd he go
it was only yesterday
three-minute cigarettes on our break,
mocha eyes on my greying blue.
*yours the rusted pier, mine the capped water
beneath*
a frantic heart I knew how to read,
elegantly,
with his quiet voice. quiet stare
into today,
I've forgotten our rhythm
you turn away at jokes about my present lovers
I turn cold at the thought of you, her, new york,
you said,
you said you didn't love her
what happened to the plead?
the casualty you couldn't let slip
the phone call from 6 hours away, I'm gone,
I'm gone,
I tell you to leave but I love it,
and once you leave I'm lost.
In a trance, not yours but the lack of you
is crippling
wrenching, curious,
as strong as my steadfast belief in lovers' telepathy,
you'll call, you'll call
I tell myself on and on
in dreams of you I was too tired to watch
hidden fragments you subtly show
show
show, don't tell
Jun 28, 2016
Jun 28, 2016 at 3:15 PM UTC
One night I drowsed, I dreamt about
A halcyon azure world without
A sign of mortal coil or wars,
Of idleness of eldritch sores;
Yon heavy clouds quietly crawled
Savouring the zephyr's shiny-gold;
And there, midst vast and endless wides,
We could have found a place to hide
Whereupon I could pree your mouth
Touching you gently, never tough;
Those fervid, tempting, blushful lips
Could the sublunar realm eclipse...
Aug 25, 2025
Aug 25, 2025 at 7:39 AM UTC
An eldritch aura permeates
a palace, long forgotten.
I fell. Which may illuminate
my place amongst the rotten.
How long these ruins slept, I fear's
a desert measured aeon,
for sand has creep'd and crept in here,
a structure so protean.
This place it whispers death and dust,
a sister to the barrow.
I must escape this depth. I must!
These halls are much too narrow.
The stench of age, it fills the air,
with hints of green and purple.
Appendages, they slither there,
My thoughts they now encircle.
A mutter on the wind calls me,
it sends my digits lame.
Fluttered eyes. Where two should be,
five globules cry my name.
That fickle murmor, foe at first,
but now I know my error.
He tickles thoughts and quenches thirst.
Come, how could it sow terror?
All is well, I've found a friend,
His hug is warm and tight.
His many arms they do not end,
but wriggle, kiss, and bite.
Apr 12, 2020
Apr 12, 2020 at 5:51 PM UTC
Ancient secrets in dark, dry, caves
filled with airs of eldritch winds
suffocated of life and it's needs
solemn graveyard to the nonexistent
Biting brown of antiquated dunes
dead fire of fossil sand
burning with the lost rage of lost ages
exterior to great alchemic secrets
Heavens filled with brooding anxiety
pining and craving teem in the atmosphere
desires to combust and crystallize
eroded off by laws of impossible physics
Uncongealed remnants of shells and beasts
bacteria and algae now unearthed to light
testimonial to buried memories
mummified by cadavers of glaciers and mesas
But a glacier for whom?
Can resolution be concluded by the uinverse
that vast cosmic void hanging in oracle's riddles
staring back at the stargazers?
Ancient secrets, eldritch airs,
solemn graveyards, and requiem for what?
Jan 11, 2016
Jan 11, 2016 at 5:47 PM UTC