"fanged" poems
(This poem doesn't belong to me. The rightful owner is the author Darren Shan who wrote the Demonata and the Cirque du Freak book series. This poem is from his first book of the Demonata book series: Lord Loss.)
Lord loss sows all the sorrows of the world, lord loss seeds the grief starched trees
In the center of the web lowly lord loss bows his head
Mangled hands, naked eyes
Fanged snakes his soul line
Curled inside like texture sin
****** curdle sheets for skin
In the center of the web vile lord loss torments the dead
Over strands of red, lord loss crawls
Dispensing pain, despising all
Shuns friends, nurtures foes
Ravages hope, breeds woe
Drinks moons, devours suns
Twirls his thumbs till the reaper comes
In the center of the web Lush Lord Loss is all that is left.
Jan 30, 2014
Jan 30, 2014 at 12:19 PM UTC
She walked out of the watercolor storm of a fresco
Like a cowl-bound form in a light drizzle of rain,
Her mosaic tiles of ancient lovers’ eyes, ceramic-borne,
Just as her hips held the curves of the urn, kiln-fired,
The coiled heat of Greece still stinging through her flesh.
For her, the treetops had been the summoners of storm,
In kind, she poured down the wet grove of her hair, electral,
Pantheress of humid breath and fanged flair of lightning,
Tamed once in the cloudy cage of Pentelic marble of the Parthenon.
But the world piled dust before her, baiting with its groveled roads,
For her black mullings, much-tasted rain, and heaven’s leaves to fall.
If only the Michelango-to-come had carved the clouds of her
For the light to remain, shining its centuries,
Then maybe the thunder would have been left undone.
Sep 5, 2019
Sep 5, 2019 at 2:17 PM UTC
Percepts of enlightenment & civilization to encounter
The grim aftermath of tales unspoken from the galaxies afar
Betokening Indian tales of deeper truths than ever,
For the Great Spirit still swirls in gestures previously milder,
At a snail's pace and surely winning the pursuit among souls or
Is example better than pre-conceived precept?
or
“Is that a dog in the manger?”
Now cherishing the viper?
The human dilemma between liberty & authority?
“Has mythology now become psychology?”
A dingy white color in disguise of tranquility
To suit the blemished features of the 21st century
With fair women & brave men turning fables into verse,
Yet Socrates’ doctrine about death bespeaks a wafture so callous!
The new-age “iron claw” screams nastiness in time and space.
The pretences of mankind like the puritan;
Mars trapped in the net of Vulcan,
Jupiter is serene and above the conflict to win,
While Venus tries to fight upon the plains of troy
That the Greek gods of serenity may win at Tuscany.
“When do these sultry groans of mortal remorse cease?”
To calm the sordid uproar that Love may peruse
Through the scattered white aromatic rose petals
In search of the scintillating path back to the highland stables
Were snowflakes are an irresistible lure for the Arctic snowbirds!
Nature herself is proud of her designs
Yet!
There is nothing grating in mortal cosmoses but direct villainy.
Sinister fate climbs the lonesome banister faster
Before the “fanged dawn” descends nearer,
As stronger minds virtually become weaker;
These “shameless actors” are melted into “thin air”
“Must they cheat themselves with that same foolish vice of honesty?”
Mischievousnesses feed!
Like beasts till they be fat, and then they bleed
As they are led to bend the curve of “No return”
Since it is only rational that after the darkest of nights
There is a brighter day to reveal the true knights
Of the once gloomy age of Democritus.
Tis plain, from hence, that our vows
Request hurtful intense things,
or useless at the best.
Sep 17, 2009
Sep 17, 2009 at 5:16 AM UTC
When he was a youth of fifteen or twenty,
He chased a wild horse, he caught him and rode him,
He shot the white-browed mountain tiger,
He defied the yellow-bristled Horseman of Ye.
Fighting single- handed for a thousand miles,
With his naked dagger he could hold a multitude.
...Granted that the troops of China were as swift as heaven's thunder
And that Tartar soldiers perished in pitfalls fanged with iron,
General Wei Qing's victory was only a thing of chance.
And General Li Guang's thwarted effort was his fate, not his fault.
Since this man's retirement he is looking old and worn:
Experience of the world has hastened his white hairs.
Though once his quick dart never missed the right eye of a bird,
Now knotted veins and tendons make his left arm like an osier.
He is sometimes at the road-side selling melons from his garden,
He is sometimes planting willows round his hermitage.
His lonely lane is shut away by a dense grove,
His vacant window looks upon the far cold mountains
But, if he prayed, the waters would come gushing for his men
And never would he wanton his cause away with wine.
...War-clouds are spreading, under the Helan Range;
Back and forth, day and night, go feathered messages;
In the three River Provinces, the governors call young men --
And five imperial edicts have summoned the old general.
So he dusts his iron coat and shines it like snow-
Waves his dagger from its jade hilt in a dance of starry steel.
He is ready with his strong northern bow to smite the Tartar chieftain --
That never a foreign war-dress may affront the Emperor.
...There once was an aged Prefect, forgotten and far away,
Who still could manage triumph with a single stroke.
2.3k
It happened every moon that
Filled the sky, the transformation
Couldn't be stopped.
I howled in defiance
I howled to cure the moon
I spoke unto the heavens
"Freedom from you"
I walked the places I could not
Have before, birthday suit
Wasn't the suit to show my
Face arrested for sure.
"Washing lines"
"Like a free store"
Socks,
Knickers,
Trousers,
Then last of all a shirt to finish me off,
Knickers you think?? this doesn't happen
All the time, but I find them nice to the touch.
I could feel you clawing upon the flesh
"Needing release"
But this is the moon of plenty now play
Nice, soon it will be your turn.
I sink pints as if water, then I find
Myself licking at the pint of ale,
Looking around,
Quizative,
Stares,
Beard
Upon my face, weren't you shaven when
You entered this place??
Hoooooowwww.
Do I know, I didn't look in the mirror
Before I left home.
"You drunk fella"
Nooooowwww
Right out the door I was politely
Thrown to the curb.
Well at least I tasted it this time,
"Golden nectar"
The animal is approaching
"My moment has pasted"
As I arch in agony,
Some one kicks me,
"Laughs at my pain"
"Would you like to meet my friend"
"He'll take a bite out of you friend"
Kicked upon the face as clothes shred off.
"The wolf is released"
Gone is man, primal form freedom
From that white hell that plagues
Every full moon,
I clamp down upon
Meat,
Marrow,
Bone
Shatters in my fanged grasp,
As my claws rip upon his throat.
I swipe once more as his head detaches
And leaves a frozen look of terror,
Rolling upon the floor.
I am free, I am the beast as I
Pounce upon road and path,
I reach the outskirts of my home
"I look at the manmade filth"
Howling into the night I am wolf,
Cured to be man for when the moon shines
I am that which is cursed I become man.
.
Jan 18, 2015
Jan 18, 2015 at 4:43 PM UTC
Grey-Green-Red-Brown Dawn
stains right through a.m. sky
so the atmosphere
looks weird today.
The forecast calls for heat again;
that silent, seething drum that beats
the blood-drenched dollar sky--
beats out a March of Ages--
beats us copper lumps to shape.
The shelf we Occupy on this drifting
westward continent, constructed from
the flesh that fell from our fathers' hands,
from the bones of distant lands
becomes a dusty storage closet
for the corpses of our days
Our days--aha.
That's supply and demand, kid.
What's a life but flesh-time?
And what's time if not money?
Nothing!
Nothing is anything
but money.
You. Are money.
Like time.
Sleep well tonight. And set your clock.
You gotta work to buy their robots
that **** Mid-Eastern skies
(and Midwestern ones alike)
Sink real slow beneath the surface
of that rising ocean of noise--
growing louder--hot air melting ice caps.
Watch that boiling, acid ocean
roll in on the tide and sink
beneath the waves of noise--
of monotone voices--
sawdust seasoning on cardboard--
crying, "These colors don't run!"
and, "Stand your ground!"
and for fun, when bored, answer the
Call of Duty.
It's that silent, seething drum
beating 'gainst THE TERRORISTS
while we deny the summer heat
as we sweat in SUPERBOWL SUNDAY dreams,
Like it beat against the COMMUNISTS
through all our TOP GUN weekends,
Like it drums up portraits of
vampire fanged IMMIGRANTS
and ILLEGALS
while we guzzle our BEER
and sweat beneath those acne-scarred skies
on the FOURTH OF JULY.
Sleep well tonight
And set your clock.
Don't wanna be late for work,
to buy their robots that **** Mid-Eastern skies
(and Midwestern ones alike).
What's that hum outside your window tonight,
whirring, buzzing
droning
beneath the blood-drenched dollar sky?
Jul 31, 2014
Jul 31, 2014 at 12:40 PM UTC
The light quit working in the jukebox,
the melodies' surrender,
a commonplace extinction,
against the salt and the breeze
of your false Mediterranean.
The burden of your rational soul
in a world of extremes
has torn your spirit to tatters-
tatters littered across
your Toronto abode.
Divided amongst the heirlooms
and emptied bottles.
This desolation you
sought to translate
for the harmonious pulse
of the dial tone.
Hazy,
is this ancient mind,
a smoking fallout of
yesterday's parties
to be discussed over
lukewarm coffee
and cigarette butts,
while the shivering streams
and green plains become
commodified for a higher power.
Dan, my dearest friend,
I loved you
ferocious and freely,
fanged and supremely,
and as your mind coagulated
on a couch,
microphone in-hand,
I felt nostalgic for
your clumsy alcoholism,
and clumsier guitar strumming.
The white fog descends,
the city is hungry--
no longer can it expand.
Toronto eats itself
with you inside,
shall I write you a postcard?
Shall I kick down your door?
Shall I let you join the bones
you so beautifully alluded to?
Whisper, my friend,
amidst the soft croon of
the saxophone,
whisper, my friend,
of a Europe gone defective,
whisper, my friend,
for an apocalypse of sun
to release us all from
the white fog slowly burying
our Toronto.
Feb 9, 2011
Feb 9, 2011 at 7:18 PM UTC
Blackness tugs at the edge of my vision.
Everything is blurry and all I see is a man,
He’s yelling at me, telling me to run.
He scares me, with his yelling.
I look around, searching for something,
But finding nothing.
I blink and I’m in a meadow,
Blurry images of grass and trees.
Beautiful flowers nuzzle up against me,
Hugging me and filling me with warmth.
I see him again.
He’s yelling at me, telling me to run.
I’m surprised to see him, and hear his yelling.
I look away from him, and ignore his voice,
And I feel pain in my ankle.
I look down to see snakes where
The flowers once grew.
I fell, away from the snakes and the man,
And into a room with you.
You hold me tight, and whisper things to me.
I look over your shoulder and see the man,
He’s yelling at me, telling me to run.
I pull away from you, listening to his yelling,
And see you’ve changed.
A pronged tongue pokes from fanged teeth,
And your kind eyes are slit green daggers.
I turn and run
Away from you and to the yelling man.
He leads me to a meadow where
Flowers don’t bite.
I asked him his name, but he refused to answer,
Just reassuring me that I’d be safe with him.
I wake with a warm feeling, and a clear head.
I forgot his face, the story, the why
But I remember the warmth and the safety.
Jan 13, 2013
Jan 13, 2013 at 10:36 PM UTC
"Once upon a midnight"*, ghostly,
Partied many, dead ones mostly.
Feasting in the graveyard, sprightly,
Black fanged werewolves gorged, engrossedly.
In the bone yard, drab and squalid,
Apparitions (staring stolid
Neath the veiled moon, clouded lightly),
Sought fresh bodies, lean but solid.
Fiendish eyes shone, light and sparkly,
Ghouls and demons danced, so darkly.
Maggots munching mush unsightly,
Black blood streamed like ink, quite starkly.
Fetid flesh oozed, flowing freely,
Through the crypt doors, cold and steely.
Shadows, ashen, pranced contritely,
Ebon serpents slithered eely.
As it happens, all too often,
Zombies dimly closed the coffin –
Ra, the sun god, rising slightly
Hunger pangs were soon to soften.
If you ask, I’ll tell you blankly,
When you’re feeling dark and dankly
Come to where this happens nightly.
They’ll enjoy the feast, quite frankly...
;-)
* Apologies to EAP
Oct 8, 2013
Oct 8, 2013 at 9:17 AM UTC
you
brave and foolish soul
found me here
followed into
my impossible labyrinth
to battle with glowing torch
the demons
the fanged savages
those howling monsters
that take me into
their chest
bind me up in their fury
til my jaws rage
and claws strike
deep into your
earnest heart
and only after the damage has
run its burning course
will they drop me
the fire flickering away from my hollowed eyes
and i will see
your tears
and i will
press
my scarred
forehead
to your
quivering feet
and
with what is left of my agony
dragging itself from the ruins of
what is left of my soul
beg for a forgiveness
that you had
already
given
even before
i ceased
to be
myself.
Nov 4, 2013
Nov 4, 2013 at 10:01 PM UTC
wild night videos
for the dark web
3 Atlean men
and a girl
she got it
by a mob
of Moroccan **** rockets
and will pine
for the rest of her days
screaming to the hells
in a reimagined language
the regression to Lilith
**** *********
the world
when hell touched paradise
***** and man handled
shot by shot
mouth to ****** to ****
split and folded
tooth and nail
to drive the ****** tides
of the world
***** monsters like
T Rex
force a ritual infliction
butter meat of dreams
pain sensually
reworked into pleasure
blister-hot and oh so sweet
married to a paradox
like feeling bad
about feeling good
give me your ankles *****
an unveiled immediacy
right off the bat
i got just the girl
confiding in me
so ready to die
like an Aztec princess
to be the star
like a peacock
in an engorged circus
blizzard of jealous snakes
strangled fanged and spewed
a swansong exhibition
in blood-soaked ponytails
a bobbing head
and choke throat ***** picnic table
with mayonnaise wounds
mediating power
in a psychoanalytic fetish
death is not death
but performative submission
her body ransacked
in tooth marks
and red tipped *******
steaming eraser head
pulses
a **** soaked
chicken on a plate
eradicating reality
are you gonna eat that?
pass the ***
collapses time
lust
custodian
of human archeology
**** piñata
bearing gifts
of squirty pork gasms
******** and cuchifritos
corpus of ****** horror
as liberation
crosses-temporality
and breaks the vessel of time
oow
Nefertiti where are you
a tongue up the ***
sniffs
Prada's Candy Perfume
**** blinking licks
up there where havoc lives
in **** **** farm country
Oct 5, 2020
Oct 5, 2020 at 2:28 PM UTC
My lover of the night she was a biter,
what can I say I liked that way she
****** on parts other than my neck.
But I threw caution to the wind, I had
a cold, eating breaded mushrooms.
She was coming around as night fell.
Mouthwash not wanting my breath
to smell like the undead on her lips,
she is eternally flawless in moonlight.
I guide her downward towards my
stake, she can bite off more than she
chews, and then some more.
I tell her to take it in taking it all, but
then a scream as I expelled my life blood
as my fanged beauty turns to dust.
I wonder what happened no light or
garlic? then I read the empty wrapper
garlic mushrooms, this really *****
Apr 2, 2016
Apr 2, 2016 at 10:37 AM UTC
Do ya feel that?
The rough scratch of air scraping over skin,
God’s calloused hand running over heaving shoulders.
Outside, the wind never stops for a rest,
It just changes pace.
Do ya feel that?
The frantic shedding of desperate sin,
The chains of Tartarus falling like feathers;
An eaglet free of the nest,
Kicking the straw into the gaolers face.
Do ya feel that?
When the prison is broke from within,
And the fields are skies to beating wings,
Disappearing into sunlit clouds,
Lost in the storm of long sweet yellow grass.
Do ya feel that?
The rising wind carries the sound;
The horns of blind men bearing fanged arrows.
The long grass beckons in the breeze
And I’m running, flying.
Do ya feel that?
The stalks brush against my legs,
Weak hands fumbling for a grasp.
I hear my despair in my head,
A stumbled scream caught in the act.
Do ya feel that?
When the prison is broke from within,
And the fields are skies to beating wings;
Ware the fangs at your heels,
Arrows in the long grass.
Do ya feel?
The dogs sniff at the feathers,
Bloodied maws dripping with spite.
A crow takes the eagle’s eye,
The final irony of freedom is chaos.
Jul 9, 2015
Jul 9, 2015 at 3:10 PM UTC
poetry, poetry;
my little fairy,
i cut open my wrist
and lovely daisies blossomed!
poetry, tiny pretty ghost,
is it a good sign?
would you heal me, please?
i feel their roots in my veins...
poetry, you silly phantom,
it isn't pleasant anymore!
they're ******* my blood,
there's vultures in my bloodflow.
poetry, silver fanged wraith,
your roots are in my bones,
it's a temple crushing down.
the past is hunting me down.
poetry, my little fairy.
i'm nothing more than dust.
i love you, but i fall apart.
you brought my old demons back.
poetry, my little fairy;
i cut my wrist open,
and lovely rotten daisies bloomed!
Jun 1, 2020
Jun 1, 2020 at 7:16 PM UTC
It was affection at first sight but I was blind
A little Persian cat with too much on my mind
You give me chills in the sunshine
You hold me tight until everything turns out fine
Your UFO voice abducts all scorn I hold dear
It ices down my raging jealousy and familiar fears
I’m enchanted by your majesty, full-blown smitten
under the mercy of a fuzz-fanged kitten
You and I, kid, we’re one and the same
wondering out loud “who’s to blame?”
I bet if I put my ear to your lips I’d hear the ocean
Keep it coming, you’ve set my heart in perpetual motion
Your rock bottom still soars above everyone else’s clouds
The hushed utterance of your name summons crowds
After breakdowns and a mental mother,
I’ve certainly found myself a permanent lover
Much beyond any gemstone could hope to muster,
your smiles gleam with infinite luster
You’re moonlight dripping at a cemetery
Fearsome waves propelling my life’s ferry
I’ll be your constant, your Northern Star
A comforting presence to be found regardless of where you are
You’re my #1 gal, the only one I need
The lone rebel who’d make my soul kneel and plead
Phantom felines and dancing shadows everywhere
but at the end of the day, I really don’t care
Inside every atom of hate, my baby implanted kisses
I’m **** well going to make her my Mrs.
She’s beauty and rage, nothing in-between
She’s thunder and lightning, just not as mean
She’s carefully hidden, yet demands to be seen
She’s my best friend, ride or die
eternal lover on the sly
A lucky thirteen
Oct 29, 2016
Oct 29, 2016 at 4:11 PM UTC
There is humility in astronomy, an irony in the economy of the stars, stalling me in the calm, but violent swarm of galaxies formed in the back of a speeding car from afar, coming back to bet the bank on distances, and states of gaseous faces on planets placated with servants to Satan, flagrantly begging for space ships to take them.
Take them to the place where fate is sedated, and rearranged to uncling the things estranged in the fanged perfection of the prey that pray, to place their hope in a slate to later revive from, inanimate stardom, starring from the trunk, in luckless stunts to **** outer worldly ***** that harvest seeds to weave life into the galaxies, so that we can now breathe..
Feb 17, 2013
Feb 17, 2013 at 3:42 AM UTC
Its large scaly head rears back.
Fire roasting its throat,
Spewing out of its fanged mouth.
Veiny wings spread out,
Raising its *** into the air.
Its majesty dwarfs all,
Weapons are useless
Against its armored hide.
Its beaut graces all,
Fangs, fire, and talons
Destroy all in front of it.
Its elegance overshadows all,
Lesser beings run in fear
Of facing this beast.
Isn't it sad that we will never see
This wonderful, fantasy creature?
Mar 6, 2011
Mar 6, 2011 at 3:18 PM UTC
Almost out of body
Almost mad from the
Pressure of it-
Great leviathan
Crouching on my rib cage
My heart strains to grow wings,
To take flight when I glimpse
The poisonous rubies of its eyes
And when its fanged mouth opens to
Set me aflame
I wonder if
I’ll ever stop burning
Jul 24, 2019
Jul 24, 2019 at 1:03 AM UTC
Alas, if I had anyone else to blame besides myself it would be you
And how ironic,
How "you" is a universal or selective statement
The usage applies to one specific person or many
However
Out of all the "yous"
You have had the most impact
You have hit and run and left the most amount of damage
Years since and I am still owing debt to your wicked brainwash wash my mouth
Out with soap because I am not to speak until I am spoken to
You have resided in a cave a terrible dragon in darkness releasing fire memories
Memories
Are
Powerful
Things
In a present moment your actions so long ago bring me backwards
And I trip over my own feet in embarrassment
Sticks and stones will break my bones
But your words have formed a disease in my mirror
I was raised under the impression no one would really love me
I would not be good enough for anyone
You broke my confidence and my screams
So no one could ever hear me in the middle of the night
A fanged silhouette hovering against every background
All the ******* times you dug your fingernails into my skin and slapped me in the face and called me
Disgusting
I hate the things I have accepted
I hate how I let myself be a victim
I am ashamed I have ever let anyone have power over me
It turns me on but scares the **** out of me
A shadow over my interactions
You have secluded my sense of self to rot
In a cancer that you have created
And yet I crave the realness of pain
There is a dark side to every moon
And I know depth and I understand the art of deception
The pureness of sensitivity
My hair stands up on the back of my neck
Always sensing hauntings
Invisible as a ghost.
Jun 12, 2010
Jun 12, 2010 at 1:40 AM UTC
she cuts herself off
from the things that make her alive.
these things can destroy, too.
can cut the very life right out of her.
she won't take the risk.
won't bleed for them anymore.
their fanged smiles will fade, in time.
her spirit flows elsewhere;
strengthening.
May 27, 2010
May 27, 2010 at 4:10 PM UTC
The cold bodies rustled through the golden leaves of the forest as the young vampires Aleksandr, Lev and his sister Ana along with a handful of rogue vampires were searching for prey and the night was dark as the vampires hunted. They traced the prey’s scent until Ana raised her voice behind him, "Alek!", a lone werewolf lunged upon him as he opened his fangs to strike the werewolf with a fanged scratch to his muzzle, the werewolf then winced before vanishing into the woods as his brother Lev came up next to him and murmured “that was too close to the sun” as Ana agreed, “we were fortunate to have not killed the werewolf” and Aleksandr understood their words, for he knew that if he had slain the werewolf then the vampires and werewolves would enter war.
The gusts of wind had blown back Aleksandr’s long, wavy light ash blond hair as the group had returned to the cabin by the elder trees blanketed with green moss and were known by their branches that twisted, cascaded then descended as life and death itself. While the vampires spoke in the cabin, he walked out and started the path to the stream while his muscled arms lightly swayed to the music of the crickets in song. The stars shone as he reached the familiar waters, Aleksandr then heard the soft wings in flight approaching him as he witnessed his fairy companion Hilaera in flight towards him, he widened his scarlet eyes that sunk into the light of the moon as he smiled gently at her and called, “You have arrived at last, my beloved”.
Hilaera held her vampire close to her as he felt her scent of jasmine, wild berries and herbs, Aleksandr then ran his hand through her soft dark brown hair as her warm, magical light had floated upon them in their unity. As time had come to pass while the light of dawn slowly crept, Aleksandr sensed Hilaera’s flower-perfumed embrace in her kiss before she whispered to him “Often I muse, what do I mean in your heart, Alek"? The vampire glistened in his eyes and murmured, “You alone are love, that is the rose of beauty and thorns”. The two lovers felt the golden light falling upon the earth and Aleksandr was compelled to leave before he whispered to his lover, “Our goodbye is never forever” to which she returned in her magical voice, “Yes, for you are the moon to my petals as I am reborn in your arms” as they parted ways through the forest, for the sun awakens the earth and the moon lies in waiting for the lovers.
Apr 17, 2025
Apr 17, 2025 at 11:06 AM UTC