"lovecraft" poems - Hello Poetry

"lovecraft" poems

Did Lovecraft have it right no heaven but hell cold and wet and dark Wandering insane not right in the brain hell having left it's mark The slip and the slide unheard and unseen creeping just beyond ken Plausible creaks and blood that will streak every now and then How do we gauge it's existence comprehension just out of reach Letting our own imaginations wander and stumble the peaks Our hair standing up high on the napes of our neck Superstitions of myth and of legend no facts, just fictions too check

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Aug 28, 2018

Aug 28, 2018 at 6:15 PM UTC

Did Lovecraft have it right no heaven but hell cold and wet and dark Wandering insane not right in the brain hell having left it's mark The slip and the slide unheard and unseen creeping just beyond ken Plausible creaks and blood that will streak every now and then How do we gauge it's existence comprehension just out of reach Letting our own imaginations wander and stumble the peaks Our hair standing up high on the napes of our neck Superstitions of myth and of legend no facts, just fictions too check

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Tremble and hail at Cthulhu's call Who is Cthulhu? the Ancient One, A Dark God first recorded by H.P Lovecraft once long ago Now, Cthulhu has several followers few at first but rapidly on the rise Cthulhu is very real and soon will be revealed He's in deep slumber Way below in R'lyeh far under the sea If ever he shall awaken The whole world will be shaken All humanity will be lost Only a whisper of a spell From the Necronomican Can seal him back to his tomb Beware for when the stars align, R'lyeh will suddenly appear and Cthulhu will revive his subjects To rule this Earth once more Cthulhu, the powerful, ancient, and he who knows all Come and heed his call He speaks telepathy to those who will listen Come, Cthulhu, your child awaits To hear your voice and spread your message To those who don't believe

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Jan 21, 2017

Jan 21, 2017 at 12:59 AM UTC

mio-seanachaidh

Tremble and hail at Cthulhu's call Who is Cthulhu? the Ancient One, A Dark God first recorded by H.P Lovecraft once long ago Now, Cthulhu has several followers few at first but rapidly on the rise Cthulhu is very real and soon will be revealed He's in deep slumber Way below in R'lyeh far under the sea If ever he shall awaken The whole world will be shaken All humanity will be lost Only a whisper of a spell From the Necronomican Can seal him back to his tomb Beware for when the stars align, R'lyeh will suddenly appear and Cthulhu will revive his subjects To rule this Earth once more Cthulhu, the powerful, ancient, and he who knows all Come and heed his call He speaks telepathy to those who will listen Come, Cthulhu, your child awaits To hear your voice and spread your message To those who don't believe

Continue reading...

So apparently I'm a troll. Funny, most joke I look elvish. I think 5'6 is too tall to be a troll, I could be mistaken though, Afterall I've never had the displeasure of meeting one in person. So apparently I'm a troll, not sure why. I think it has to do with some stuck up guy. Can't we all just get along? I just want to write and not be accused of things that I'm not. I think I'm done here, hope it's not too long. I end with a sigh, because I'm tired of this already.

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Jan 4, 2015

Jan 4, 2015 at 1:59 AM UTC

HP Bullies Are Getting Old (Dear LoveCraft (2.0))

So apparently I'm a troll. Funny, most joke I look elvish. I think 5'6 is too tall to be a troll, I could be mistaken though, Afterall I've never had the displeasure of meeting one in person. So apparently I'm a troll, not sure why. I think it has to do with some stuck up guy. Can't we all just get along? I just want to write and not be accused of things that I'm not. I think I'm done here, hope it's not too long. I end with a sigh, because I'm tired of this already.

Continue reading...

Demon from Depressed Depths Horror lurking in the murk, squirting myself through liquid nightmares, paranormal animal portrait The walls of my bedroom are black, the ceiling navy, ****** sun above me winks in mockery My friends are few in this frozen almost-society; I wander the briny fog in boredom, purposeless Eyes swollen from swimming, swallowing so much salt: dehydrated underwater, skin pasty and ill I hide from starving sharks and their terrible tiny teeth, but duel the diving whale: he I can drown I can ***** forth literature; the pens of Whitman and Carroll were filled from my blackened innards From fingertip to toetip I am nearly biggest, in a world without fingers or toes, primitive appendages I am all knowing: I commune with the dead: I can operate a Ouija board alone with all these arms I was killed off by Tennyson after just 14 lines, but Lovecraft made me what I am: heathen deity Wonderful creature, yet I find myself here: battered next to chips in a polystyrene tray: Beach food

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Apr 24, 2013

Apr 24, 2013 at 4:10 PM UTC

Demon from Depressed Depths Horror lurking in the murk, squirting myself through liquid nightmares, paranormal animal portrait The walls of my bedroom are black, the ceiling navy, ****** sun above me winks in mockery My friends are few in this frozen almost-society; I wander the briny fog in boredom, purposeless Eyes swollen from swimming, swallowing so much salt: dehydrated underwater, skin pasty and ill I hide from starving sharks and their terrible tiny teeth, but duel the diving whale: he I can drown I can ***** forth literature; the pens of Whitman and Carroll were filled from my blackened innards From fingertip to toetip I am nearly biggest, in a world without fingers or toes, primitive appendages I am all knowing: I commune with the dead: I can operate a Ouija board alone with all these arms I was killed off by Tennyson after just 14 lines, but Lovecraft made me what I am: heathen deity Wonderful creature, yet I find myself here: battered next to chips in a polystyrene tray: Beach food

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Who is this H.P. Lovecraft, was he even a poet, this whole industry’s a bloodbath, I’ve got four aces in my hand and I’m willing to show this, to who’s pleasure do I owe this, how can I be the greatest, when they’ve got me battling ghost, in this never ending matrix, I ate the red pill and the blue pill, maybe that’s why I’m so confused, plus THT1 should be #1 for real, but right now it’s sitting at #2, I’m behind a dead man, Mr. H.P. Lovecraft, fck that, fame is a deathtrap, who is this H.P. Lovecraft, not even alive some random published his book, now he’s at #1 and I’m at #2 worldwide, for real take a look! I just published a new book, take a moment to check it out, all profits go to charity, to prevents child abuse and ****** assault, so not only are you getting an epic book of poetry, but you're also supporting a good cause no doubt, because I believe we can change this world for the better, but we have no time to waste so let’s start now! ∆ Here’s the link to the new book: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B01I4621OE

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Jul 10, 2016

Jul 10, 2016 at 9:11 AM UTC

Who is this H.P. Lovecraft, was he even a poet, this whole industry’s a bloodbath, I’ve got four aces in my hand and I’m willing to show this, to who’s pleasure do I owe this, how can I be the greatest, when they’ve got me battling ghost, in this never ending matrix, I ate the red pill and the blue pill, maybe that’s why I’m so confused, plus THT1 should be #1 for real, but right now it’s sitting at #2, I’m behind a dead man, Mr. H.P. Lovecraft, fck that, fame is a deathtrap, who is this H.P. Lovecraft, not even alive some random published his book, now he’s at #1 and I’m at #2 worldwide, for real take a look! I just published a new book, take a moment to check it out, all profits go to charity, to prevents child abuse and ****** assault, so not only are you getting an epic book of poetry, but you're also supporting a good cause no doubt, because I believe we can change this world for the better, but we have no time to waste so let’s start now! ∆ Here’s the link to the new book: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B01I4621OE

Continue reading...

*H.P. Lovecraft's most famous quotes about the horror genre is that: "The oldest and strongest emotion of mankind is fear, and the oldest and strongest kind of fear is fear of the unknown." And I will show you something different from either Your shadow at morning striding behind you Or your shadow at evening rising to meet you; I will show you fear in a handful of dust. The Waste Land, T.S.Eliot I. The Burial of the Dead As a child I was never fearful. Not of the dark, spiders or ghosts. In fact I was wilful. Hard hearted, cold. I liked that about me, it was a barrier to the outside world. I was the loner, the malcontent, the strange spooky one. I loved it more as a teen, embraced the Gothic, elevated the bizarre. I smoked, it was cool, I drank, it was cool, I was nihilistic, it was cool. Popular meant conforming, how that repulsed me. Why? Because conformity meant no individuality, no soul. My Grandmother said once "be careful what you read, it becomes you" Yeah right, look I'm Pennywise the clown! But she was right in a way. I became repulsed by myself. I had no compassion. No true love to call my own. I was alone with my fear, my fear of loneliness. Irony. I had no true identity, I hid in horror, then became horrified. I didn't know what was coming, where I was going, who I was. I was afraid. Truly afraid for the first time. Afraid of my shadow, of not knowing, of returning to the grave. Fear is a loathsome creature, devouring love and hope. Yet, know this, we are born to die, the clock runs down, no appeals. So fill up on love, fill up on warmth, for Hell maybe hot, but alone, it's cold*.

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Jun 22, 2014

Jun 22, 2014 at 7:29 PM UTC

Camellia-japonica

*H.P. Lovecraft's most famous quotes about the horror genre is that: "The oldest and strongest emotion of mankind is fear, and the oldest and strongest kind of fear is fear of the unknown." And I will show you something different from either Your shadow at morning striding behind you Or your shadow at evening rising to meet you; I will show you fear in a handful of dust. The Waste Land, T.S.Eliot I. The Burial of the Dead As a child I was never fearful. Not of the dark, spiders or ghosts. In fact I was wilful. Hard hearted, cold. I liked that about me, it was a barrier to the outside world. I was the loner, the malcontent, the strange spooky one. I loved it more as a teen, embraced the Gothic, elevated the bizarre. I smoked, it was cool, I drank, it was cool, I was nihilistic, it was cool. Popular meant conforming, how that repulsed me. Why? Because conformity meant no individuality, no soul. My Grandmother said once "be careful what you read, it becomes you" Yeah right, look I'm Pennywise the clown! But she was right in a way. I became repulsed by myself. I had no compassion. No true love to call my own. I was alone with my fear, my fear of loneliness. Irony. I had no true identity, I hid in horror, then became horrified. I didn't know what was coming, where I was going, who I was. I was afraid. Truly afraid for the first time. Afraid of my shadow, of not knowing, of returning to the grave. Fear is a loathsome creature, devouring love and hope. Yet, know this, we are born to die, the clock runs down, no appeals. So fill up on love, fill up on warmth, for Hell maybe hot, but alone, it's cold*.

Continue reading...

Acquainted with Mark, I walk to the bookshop; not the one with the ***** instead the neon green nightmare where there’s nothing good to read. It’s not so much that I’m searching for anything in particular, but the sun has gone down and there’s a need in me to get out of the house and walk around someplace that feels like someplace. Walking past the skateboards, (Why the **** are there skateboards here?) I start looking for Mark. “He doesn’t live here” they say, “He never has.” No, he doesn’t, I gather. The King does though, and if I wanted to fall in love with a vampire there, I certainly could. But, Mark is nowhere to be found. The Laureate of Drunkards has a room there, but he hasn’t moved in and the staff cannot remember the last time they saw him. Dr. Lovecraft and Chitulu have been known to set up a lemonade stand now and again, but they never stick around very long, their product is too sour for palettes around these parts. Regardless of this, my search continues. Mark is not here today, but Robert Parker has rented some space and is rooming with Ray Chandler, down the hall from Larry Block, sometimes they cook up some pasta and mussels in white wine, with good bread. Sometimes they pan fry steaks, and make home fries drinking rye until it’s all medium rare. It’s mysterious, how Mark became an afterthought and we all hope he hasn’t been murdered, kidnapped, or met with some other form of foul play. It’s poetic really, how Mark will come around now and again he’s not lost or forgotten, he’ll be waiting for me when I get home. We’ll sit in the dark, under the lamp, together well read his poem titled: “Poem” and I’ll tell him that he’s better at this noir stuff than all those other hacks. But, for now, Mark remains…Stranded. *** -JBClaywell ©2016 P&ZPublications

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Jan 4, 2016

Jan 4, 2016 at 10:45 AM UTC

Walking the Dark Streets Looking for Mark

Acquainted with Mark, I walk to the bookshop; not the one with the ***** instead the neon green nightmare where there’s nothing good to read. It’s not so much that I’m searching for anything in particular, but the sun has gone down and there’s a need in me to get out of the house and walk around someplace that feels like someplace. Walking past the skateboards, (Why the **** are there skateboards here?) I start looking for Mark. “He doesn’t live here” they say, “He never has.” No, he doesn’t, I gather. The King does though, and if I wanted to fall in love with a vampire there, I certainly could. But, Mark is nowhere to be found. The Laureate of Drunkards has a room there, but he hasn’t moved in and the staff cannot remember the last time they saw him. Dr. Lovecraft and Chitulu have been known to set up a lemonade stand now and again, but they never stick around very long, their product is too sour for palettes around these parts. Regardless of this, my search continues. Mark is not here today, but Robert Parker has rented some space and is rooming with Ray Chandler, down the hall from Larry Block, sometimes they cook up some pasta and mussels in white wine, with good bread. Sometimes they pan fry steaks, and make home fries drinking rye until it’s all medium rare. It’s mysterious, how Mark became an afterthought and we all hope he hasn’t been murdered, kidnapped, or met with some other form of foul play. It’s poetic really, how Mark will come around now and again he’s not lost or forgotten, he’ll be waiting for me when I get home. We’ll sit in the dark, under the lamp, together well read his poem titled: “Poem” and I’ll tell him that he’s better at this noir stuff than all those other hacks. But, for now, Mark remains…Stranded. *** -JBClaywell ©2016 P&ZPublications

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Once there was a mad Arabian poet, he said, who wrote a Book of Death and an Unsettling Couplet and inspired him in the way that a car-wreck may inspire a tattooist’s gruesome designs. O, the frightening things that ran through his mind! So unsettled was he, so disturbed. O, the way that they leered at his table they dined! So confused were his colleagues, so perturbed. God, the things that came creeping in the early hours of dawn when the town was asleep and the moon was forlorn. How he tossed in his sleep – Was it sleep? was it real? There were Things he did see there were Things he did feel. Lovecraft, Lovecraft – my quiet recluse – why are you so pale? Pray tell. What phantom-horror did you see in the night? Why are you so blue? Why do you shake? Are you ill, are you sad, are you broken in the mind? But all of the doctors, the scientists, the friends, THEY COULD NOT REALISE the horror, the nightmares, the Things in the dark. Escape through your head through the blood-and-ink stained alleyways within. Retire to your room with a pen and an electric light. Try as you might not all of your stories with their horror that some find unspeakable, others disturbing – THEY CANNOT EXPRESS that pure form of fear your mind feels at the idea of the mad Arab’s couplet. *That is not dead which can eternal lie And with strange aeons, even death may die.*

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Apr 25, 2014

Apr 25, 2014 at 4:40 AM UTC

H. P. Lovecraft

Once there was a mad Arabian poet, he said, who wrote a Book of Death and an Unsettling Couplet and inspired him in the way that a car-wreck may inspire a tattooist’s gruesome designs. O, the frightening things that ran through his mind! So unsettled was he, so disturbed. O, the way that they leered at his table they dined! So confused were his colleagues, so perturbed. God, the things that came creeping in the early hours of dawn when the town was asleep and the moon was forlorn. How he tossed in his sleep – Was it sleep? was it real? There were Things he did see there were Things he did feel. Lovecraft, Lovecraft – my quiet recluse – why are you so pale? Pray tell. What phantom-horror did you see in the night? Why are you so blue? Why do you shake? Are you ill, are you sad, are you broken in the mind? But all of the doctors, the scientists, the friends, THEY COULD NOT REALISE the horror, the nightmares, the Things in the dark. Escape through your head through the blood-and-ink stained alleyways within. Retire to your room with a pen and an electric light. Try as you might not all of your stories with their horror that some find unspeakable, others disturbing – THEY CANNOT EXPRESS that pure form of fear your mind feels at the idea of the mad Arab’s couplet. *That is not dead which can eternal lie And with strange aeons, even death may die.*

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No matter what Lovecraft wrote on his ******** post calling people trolls I most certainly do NOT support the bully f!cking Thee Artiste. And also I like saying the word fajitas.that was very random. Im upset. Fajitas

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Jan 4, 2015

Jan 4, 2015 at 3:04 AM UTC

ember-evanescent

Spontaneous Thoughts (series)

No matter what Lovecraft wrote on his ******** post calling people trolls I most certainly do NOT support the bully f!cking Thee Artiste. And also I like saying the word fajitas.that was very random. Im upset. Fajitas

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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.

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Nov 23, 2016

Nov 23, 2016 at 11:24 AM UTC

Midnight Macabre

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.

Continue reading...

The drive is endless, perilous, and being recorded for posterity, because one planet is no longer enough. H.P. Lovecraft is at the wheel, and we're looking at one thing and not your mother. That was a Freudian slip, but not really surprising since he's also along for the ride. And when we get there we'll scavenge for sovereignty in the orange filter of hope. Then a flag will mark our demesne, a spot defining both pride & terror, as it delivers a dose of ambition, yet, reeks of future tyranny. Pray our luck runs out along the way or we run out of gas or steam or headway... Then again, maybe we should hope for the breast. I mean best ! Freud's at it again.

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Dec 3, 2019

Dec 3, 2019 at 5:27 PM UTC

Carpooling to Mars

The drive is endless, perilous, and being recorded for posterity, because one planet is no longer enough. H.P. Lovecraft is at the wheel, and we're looking at one thing and not your mother. That was a Freudian slip, but not really surprising since he's also along for the ride. And when we get there we'll scavenge for sovereignty in the orange filter of hope. Then a flag will mark our demesne, a spot defining both pride & terror, as it delivers a dose of ambition, yet, reeks of future tyranny. Pray our luck runs out along the way or we run out of gas or steam or headway... Then again, maybe we should hope for the breast. I mean best ! Freud's at it again.

Continue reading...

"That is not dead which can eternal lie, and with strange aeons even death may die." -Abdul Alhazred Piercing light digs itself into my eyes A spread of bird calls funnel past open windows I lift my throbbing head off the splayed pages It seems that morning breeze has been perusing my book The Necronomicon With groggy effort, I go about my daily routine Brushing leads to breakfast which leads to brooding Today is Saturday and I am beyond unimpressed Not many activities catch my eye like they used to I think I’ll go for a swim Thankfully, the empty lap pool provides a haven Loneliness was never an outstanding issue among our family That pervasive sense of dull dread invades my heart, yet There is a thin verisimilitude between loneliness and contentment I muse upon the power of individuality while submerging Half-past 11, I notice some peculiar glow spreading in the lanes Emerald ooze steadily overtakes a pair of arms and legs It is not long before this strange goo overtakes my skull as well Instantaneously, terror plunges deep into my amygdala I assume sounds of thrashing water and stifled screams How does my body drift deeper than physically possible? When does my mind disconnect from our tangible world? Just why are suction-cupped serpents binding me? Questions spill over the brim and are not met with any answers Nonetheless, I embrace impending death Visions assault a cloud of sensory panic The chlorine chaos takes on saltier flavoring I see images of cyclopean kingdoms draped in sea growth Stupendous beings lumber with apocryphal disregard To these incomprehensible entities, I am dust They relinquish me back to my microscopic world I do not know why the cosmic horrors revealed themselves All I am aware of is that this was a mere glimpse at true evil One born millennia before the most ancient of stars One that will persist millennia after such bodies have extinguished I sink back into the water, exhausted "The oldest and strongest emotion of mankind is fear, and the oldest and strongest kind of fear is fear of the unknown." -H.P. Lovecraft

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Jun 22, 2017

Jun 22, 2017 at 1:06 PM UTC

"That is not dead which can eternal lie, and with strange aeons even death may die." -Abdul Alhazred Piercing light digs itself into my eyes A spread of bird calls funnel past open windows I lift my throbbing head off the splayed pages It seems that morning breeze has been perusing my book The Necronomicon With groggy effort, I go about my daily routine Brushing leads to breakfast which leads to brooding Today is Saturday and I am beyond unimpressed Not many activities catch my eye like they used to I think I’ll go for a swim Thankfully, the empty lap pool provides a haven Loneliness was never an outstanding issue among our family That pervasive sense of dull dread invades my heart, yet There is a thin verisimilitude between loneliness and contentment I muse upon the power of individuality while submerging Half-past 11, I notice some peculiar glow spreading in the lanes Emerald ooze steadily overtakes a pair of arms and legs It is not long before this strange goo overtakes my skull as well Instantaneously, terror plunges deep into my amygdala I assume sounds of thrashing water and stifled screams How does my body drift deeper than physically possible? When does my mind disconnect from our tangible world? Just why are suction-cupped serpents binding me? Questions spill over the brim and are not met with any answers Nonetheless, I embrace impending death Visions assault a cloud of sensory panic The chlorine chaos takes on saltier flavoring I see images of cyclopean kingdoms draped in sea growth Stupendous beings lumber with apocryphal disregard To these incomprehensible entities, I am dust They relinquish me back to my microscopic world I do not know why the cosmic horrors revealed themselves All I am aware of is that this was a mere glimpse at true evil One born millennia before the most ancient of stars One that will persist millennia after such bodies have extinguished I sink back into the water, exhausted "The oldest and strongest emotion of mankind is fear, and the oldest and strongest kind of fear is fear of the unknown." -H.P. Lovecraft

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I'm sorry, I know this sounds weak, but I don't think it makes me less as a person to swallow my pride and admit that Lovecraft hurt my feelings with his poem where he attacks beautiful poets on this site such as WickedHope who is magnificent in every way. He added me to the list as well. It won't pretend it didn't upset me... I mean he called me a troll. But I've heard so much worse. What really hurt was how he insulted WickedHope who is an inspiration as a poet and a person to me. Please no one like that poem it only encourages bullying like that. I can't see the poem anymore because he blocked me but please, in the name of kindness, don't Like his poem. I just really don't want something like that to trend.

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Jan 4, 2015

Jan 4, 2015 at 1:52 AM UTC

ember-evanescent

Yes. It did hurt my feelings.

I'm sorry, I know this sounds weak, but I don't think it makes me less as a person to swallow my pride and admit that Lovecraft hurt my feelings with his poem where he attacks beautiful poets on this site such as WickedHope who is magnificent in every way. He added me to the list as well. It won't pretend it didn't upset me... I mean he called me a troll. But I've heard so much worse. What really hurt was how he insulted WickedHope who is an inspiration as a poet and a person to me. Please no one like that poem it only encourages bullying like that. I can't see the poem anymore because he blocked me but please, in the name of kindness, don't Like his poem. I just really don't want something like that to trend.

Continue reading...

I'm not usually a person to hate on things. But for you to HURT MY FRIENDS, Well. Things just got very... very... personal. Now I have an idea, Why don't you take back your words, Back the **** off my friends, Or I will personally make you wish you never met me, aye?

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Jan 4, 2015

Jan 4, 2015 at 10:21 AM UTC

who-wouldve-thought

I'm not usually a person to hate on things. But for you to HURT MY FRIENDS, Well. Things just got very... very... personal. Now I have an idea, Why don't you take back your words, Back the **** off my friends, Or I will personally make you wish you never met me, aye?

Continue reading...

So I published a book recently; The H Trilogy Volume 1: City of Angels And I'm REALLY frustrated because the book should be #1 on the Amazon Hot New Releases right now in Poetry but instead there is an HP Lovecraft book in the #1 position and I'm #2. This is an atrocity to the integrity of all us real writers because for one the anthology is not New. HP Lovecraft is dead. And the anthology was not released by him. If you read the reviews on the Lovecraft collection you'll see! There are many 1 star reviews from people that I don't know but that share the same perspective of outrage as I do. PLUS, Lovecraft's work is public domain and it is actually illegal for people to capitalize off of his work. Let's focus on writers that are still living instead of giving credit to one's that have passed. "H.P. Lovecraft Complete Collection" is not new, nor is it poetry. So how can it rightfully be listed as a poetry new release? Come on, please, let's make this right. Here's the link to my book: https://www.amazon.com/Trilogy-City-Angels-Aaron-Lux/dp/1535054328

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Jul 11, 2016

Jul 11, 2016 at 4:00 AM UTC

This is RIDICULOUS!

So I published a book recently; The H Trilogy Volume 1: City of Angels And I'm REALLY frustrated because the book should be #1 on the Amazon Hot New Releases right now in Poetry but instead there is an HP Lovecraft book in the #1 position and I'm #2. This is an atrocity to the integrity of all us real writers because for one the anthology is not New. HP Lovecraft is dead. And the anthology was not released by him. If you read the reviews on the Lovecraft collection you'll see! There are many 1 star reviews from people that I don't know but that share the same perspective of outrage as I do. PLUS, Lovecraft's work is public domain and it is actually illegal for people to capitalize off of his work. Let's focus on writers that are still living instead of giving credit to one's that have passed. "H.P. Lovecraft Complete Collection" is not new, nor is it poetry. So how can it rightfully be listed as a poetry new release? Come on, please, let's make this right. Here's the link to my book: https://www.amazon.com/Trilogy-City-Angels-Aaron-Lux/dp/1535054328

Continue reading...

Less than 10 miles from my house is an insane asylum (Granny said "nervous hospital") (Papaw said ***** hatch.") It is built on an Indian Burial Ground. There is an adjacent golf course. How long, oh lord, before we get to see affluent white men in stupid pants running for their lives from a swarm of psychos and the ghost of the displaced Noble Savage?

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Feb 3, 2016

Feb 3, 2016 at 9:33 AM UTC

Where's Lovecraft When You Need Him?

Less than 10 miles from my house is an insane asylum (Granny said "nervous hospital") (Papaw said ***** hatch.") It is built on an Indian Burial Ground. There is an adjacent golf course. How long, oh lord, before we get to see affluent white men in stupid pants running for their lives from a swarm of psychos and the ghost of the displaced Noble Savage?

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according to the expert Lovecraft *did i mention it also called me beryl Dov **i think it just got banned

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Jan 5, 2015

Jan 5, 2015 at 11:26 PM UTC

according to the expert Lovecraft *did i mention it also called me beryl Dov **i think it just got banned

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My words don't Shake like William's, nor, do they Frost like Robert's. × My words barely lead the Way like Ernest's, nor, do they have Hughes like Langston's. × I don't know how much my Wordsworth like William's, nor, do my words keep people ******* like Edward's. × My words are far from an Angel like Maya's, and they are barely Lovecraft like Howard's. × Indeed I profess, my words cannot do those listed things, but, my words can be a great expression of me. × (sumairu•¶oetry)

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Nov 7, 2019

Nov 7, 2019 at 8:11 AM UTC

Self-deprecation Of A Poet

My words don't Shake like William's, nor, do they Frost like Robert's. × My words barely lead the Way like Ernest's, nor, do they have Hughes like Langston's. × I don't know how much my Wordsworth like William's, nor, do my words keep people ******* like Edward's. × My words are far from an Angel like Maya's, and they are barely Lovecraft like Howard's. × Indeed I profess, my words cannot do those listed things, but, my words can be a great expression of me. × (sumairu•¶oetry)

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A text filled with monstrocities Baffling Babbling Bleeding The Horror in the Museum Reeling Writhing Reducing Poor Stephen... Curiosity ate the cat

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Feb 7, 2013

Feb 7, 2013 at 12:19 AM UTC

A text filled with monstrocities Baffling Babbling Bleeding The Horror in the Museum Reeling Writhing Reducing Poor Stephen... Curiosity ate the cat

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'Cause after all, according to LoveCraft, I'm Beryl Dov. And we all know that Dov is the f!cking Emperor of HP

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Jan 9, 2015

Jan 9, 2015 at 10:01 PM UTC

'Cause after all, according to LoveCraft, I'm Beryl Dov. And we all know that Dov is the f!cking Emperor of HP

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Just read Lovecraft's most recent "poems" and started laughing my *** off. I think I'm going crazy XD I'm SOOOOO HAPPY that he would take the time to write poems about me, and think about me! I'm honored, sir, truly honored, that you would take the time to remind me of what I am, a, "Creep who loves is NOT a dove" Bravo, Lovecraft! And I thank you for your idiocy, your mean words, and reminding me that I **** cause I do, I know. :) Love, the Creep that does not love you. PS. Love your profile pic and background pic, where'd you get them?

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Jan 25, 2015

Jan 25, 2015 at 3:22 PM UTC

who-wouldve-thought

Just read Lovecraft's most recent "poems" and started laughing my *** off. I think I'm going crazy XD I'm SOOOOO HAPPY that he would take the time to write poems about me, and think about me! I'm honored, sir, truly honored, that you would take the time to remind me of what I am, a, "Creep who loves is NOT a dove" Bravo, Lovecraft! And I thank you for your idiocy, your mean words, and reminding me that I **** cause I do, I know. :) Love, the Creep that does not love you. PS. Love your profile pic and background pic, where'd you get them?

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