"necromancer" poems
the child's house
domicile of estrangements
his parents dressed him like a little girl
against his will
a pox of gender confusion
glum aura
he ascended by violence
and lived through the logic of a mirage
except for copulating with demons
which of course
was ruined by
the good Christians
they who always hate ***
not wanting to be reminded
they are animals too
their heaven withheld
their halo's sullied
the vulnerability of desire their crime
Eros a disgrace
still beating their genitals until a wicked thunder
the pro-creative
an affirmation of paradox
between the continuity of life
and the dread of death
***** resurrections
a second *******
**** flood
without redemption
Satan standing on their necks
while God pulls them up by their hair
rebels to reason
bewitchers of wit
deranged by the myth
of dolls
wood and plastic painted corpses staring
and a blossom throated Goddess
ham handed monkey fist
jerking off in search of a bulls eye anyway
eyes bleeding on bare legs; lifting a white cotton dress
a bulwark of erections
like canons blasting puce spats
under his frilly skirt; a red rain
haunted by dead girls dancing
like homeless hip bones sway
a bewildered phantasm
in a doll house dream
Jul 23, 2017
Jul 23, 2017 at 2:32 PM UTC
115
What Inn is this
Where for the night
Peculiar Traveller comes?
Who is the Landlord?
Where the maids?
Behold, what curious rooms!
No ruddy fires on the hearth—
No brimming Tankards flow—
Necromancer! Landlord!
Who are these below?
3.6k
The Peacock and the Necromancer
Dance upon the sky
Their light lives on beyond the stars
The thousand staring eyes
We show them where to find us
From Bridgeport to Camelot
We tell them our dark secrets
And we send them our bright thoughts
We flash our golden feathers
And we sing our pretty words
So they will see us, notice us
So that we can be heard
When every other edifice
And evidence is gone
They walk the dark ahead of us
Where our song shall play on
Jul 9, 2018
Jul 9, 2018 at 7:02 PM UTC
*i hate to break it to you kid,
i'm not mindful of narcissus'
economics that's all oh so very modern...*
but women are their own orbit,
more chance to find a single mother
than a single father...
it's against nature to make the man
without god,
as it's against nature to make the woman
with god...
thus we have the tectonic plates
making man with god, accepting
or doubting, church or laboratory...
and woman... an eroticism of jaw eaten
faces... but a kiss to be a fingerprint
likened to erasing the dangling of the bitten
jaw... erased only once by the aphrodisiac of sirens'
wail of aquatic opera so damnable that only
one man heard it, while others scolded
being in audience with beeswax...
and by second chance, erased, indeed,
but only by the suffragettes as the new nuns...
as the new nuns dare comply to change,
like every male become female and
vice versa,
and the popes disclose their continual
loss of matrimony in their misogynistic
involvement in ****** if i'm not the pope
and do no encounter such practices,
i'm not a pope at all!
*only a ninth spoke as the necromancer,
and of the nine spoke clearest,
as it spoke, it dawned on me
that sauron was invisible for the sword
to strike, a gravity enveloping,
a gravity envelope, rather than a skin
of infinite diadem sharpenings,
for nine rigs unto men,
seven unto dwarfs, three unto elves,
but none unto the orcs... strange....
ORC ARKHAN MORDOR ARRAC!*
Feb 14, 2016
Feb 14, 2016 at 10:36 PM UTC
Through eternal sleep he creeps,
On your heart his mark he leaves;
Seeping dark into your veins
His gentle call will permeate your grave.
From his sweet whisper
Your eyes, they will flutter
And with one sweet touch
Darling, you wont be sleeping much either.
So, dear children
Listen to me now,
For the man dressed in black
Is indeed on the prowl.
You cant hide
And you cant run;
Not from The Necromancer,
Not when he's done.
Nov 8, 2012
Nov 8, 2012 at 12:56 AM UTC
*serpent girl dancing
on a red stone cobbled hill
ritual of
Leviathan
trident to the belly
on stained alters bleached
blood and sweat sacrifice
candles burning
from the bottoms up
dipped in tears and pearls
nothing she won't do
swaying her hips
rhythmically
while toothless mouths sobbing
gum her body
a curse of deification
necromancer
*** pact
gorgeous fornicator
walking under water
her heart like a diamond
player of the infernal tarot
creeps daughter down on all fours
eating ***** with her butter *** up
quantum jumping
doing the planetary bunny hop
on vacation in a fire red bikini
and la dolce vita sunglasses
shes a guest of the sage of pyramids
catching solar rays
reading
from the book of doom
and fake dogmas
lips like obsidian fire
that eat bad children
especially ankle biters
scryer of black warped mirrors ranting
singing in the Vatican of the dead living
worm girls kissing muscular arterial shafts
and ***** in a twist
while making vampire paintings
in dark ritual adorations
****
of
oodoo
voodoo
i
do
to
you you
plying your soul
with dreams
of
Hollywood
cinema
and headless swiveling
Bollywood
jitterbug
beating devils gory
with harrowing archfiends
and ****** heels
for
love money *** and combat
gods above
angels to the flanks
north south east and west
seventy-two demons below
a crystal floor of vice gripped cherubim
with steal shewed pentagrams
holding dominion
with golden ring
enclosed in a synagogue of will
she's my hot randy *****
in leopard *******
don't **** with her
she eats souls
like taffy
while posing
as a kitten
outside her window*
May 23, 2017
May 23, 2017 at 8:05 AM UTC
Upon waking yesterday morn, the temperature was 8 degrees;
cancellation of events and slippery icy roads, disliking winter!
T'was out driving and dealing with the limited visibility; freezing.
Wasn't fun maneuvering usually two lane streets; turned one.
I'm sitting here wide awake and staring at ice crystal windows,
went to bed last night, temperature was frigid sub zero; No joke!
The furnace had a busy night keeping this old drafty house warm.
My cute little budgie who "was" chirping, is now sleeping on perch.
Giving a memory of yesterday brief thought and still find it funny.
Went shopping after losing the debate of exiting a warm vehicle.
Over heard a conversation regarding me, based on the "assumed".
The two ladies(without a doubt) read what's posted on net sites.
Standing in the next aisle, ears slightly alert, hearing my full name.
Should I walk up to say, "hello!" or tell them to mind own business?
Found it amusing and a bit flattering, despite negative words used.
Did they see me enter the store or did they even care that I heard?
If I were indeed the "rumored" witch, I'd melt every inch of snow.
Why did these villagers "presume" I'm holder of necromancer's card?
Defective reasoning of me practicing "voodoo" and casting many spells.
A bit of food for thought; It's one-dimensional and illogical thinking.
Jan 7, 2014
Jan 7, 2014 at 3:53 AM UTC
one undead sed to one too undead: "id **** for a romancer whos a necromancer."
Well, abracadabra with just an ounce of my magic
i produce half a cadavre and then the other half grab it and shake it until it blabbers:
"well im awake but id rather be underground with dead matter."
and though ive never been sadder i had to grab her and stab her a thousand times in such patterns
that all was left were mere tatters, talk about beaten and battered as all the pieces were scattered
(i made em smaller and flatter til they looked good so i blabbered):
"you look amazing"- "im flattered"
she sed but that didnt matter. im just a ****** whos madder than Hell oh well whats it matter
the feelings of a mad hatter madder than other mad hatters collaboratively dont matter
in fact the maddest just happens to have had all his dreams shattered.
evacuate bowels and bladder. souls eaten, demons get fatter, eternal state of dead palar,
dying in Hell, almost had her. god ****
May 24, 2013
May 24, 2013 at 3:59 AM UTC
God of Luck, please keep us in mind
As the rest of society falls behind;
Their souls all signed to goals refined
To the devilish needs, to find bold minds
Anti-eccliastical, non-canonical,
catastrophic bull misfit ****
Anathemas make paths for us.
So thunderous, their misfit ****
God of Fate, please choose the path
That's best for us. Please set up the math
With a positive answer, without this cancer
In body and soul. No necromancer's
Anti-eccliastical, non-canonical,
catastrophic bull misfit ****
Anathemas make paths for us.
So thunderous, their misfit ****
O' Cursed God, please stray from me!
Please stray from all of those in need.
The cursed souls, they bow to you.
Please stop my bowing, don't make me choose
Anti-eccliastical, non-canonical,
catastrophic bull misfit ****
Us anathemas make paths, we must.
So thunderous, our misfit ****
Mar 29, 2014
Mar 29, 2014 at 5:39 AM UTC
I am damaged goods
A corruption of heart
Up from abyssal depths,
Down to desolate clouds.
The fragment lying between
I am not the incessant air,
A rage of non awakening.
Culmination of all fears.
No words do then, describe
me; I do not conform to rules.
Exception I am; ambiguous
A regular consonantal fool ?
Decreed to consume it all
I carry a ravenous thirst.
Unchecked; I grow fervor
A demon, I am accursed.
Where, then, do I find home
Where does my soul belong ?
Whom shall I call my tribe
Then; what do I, thus long ?
I am damaged goods, get ye'
I do not conform to codes.
I belong to the nether realm
Let me lie, in my .. abode.
Do not then, exhume me,
I have chosen to slither in. And,
Lie dormant in the underground.
Where exist I may, in quiet
Lie hidden away, from the
carnal realm, I want none of it.
A monster of my own making,
A necromancer of the Undead.
May 10, 2020
May 10, 2020 at 2:54 PM UTC
Padre day always felt so gray
Typically too clouded for anything uplifting to say on a personal plane
Nor much of anything for me to really celebrate
Many moving pieces, some removed before "too late"
This month wouldve marked year 8 -
Of revolutions and opportunities to be great. I would've stayed and stumbled into ways to be brave.
*Instead again I sit here and isolate
Called upon a necromancer for a family to raise. He handed me a mirror and said, "Start here today."
I am grateful to be, and honor the planting of seeds from generations prior
But the cold washes over me alone staring at the embers of a life that was a fire.
I wouldn't say that this is all a test
Life is stress when comparing with the rest
Judge self only by your personal progress
Try not to take it personally and trust the process
When this sun sets, there wont be any regrets. Instead whispers in the wind reminding you to keep steps to the beat in your chest
Ive had my talks with suns, moons, and planets in their orbit...in many driveways, backyards, and various porches. Kicking it with night sky, a dark cave, with stars as my torches. These conversations elevate and ultimately nourish. Still, I can only fantasize about how we'd all have flourished. One daydream at a time finding the courage to surface
Jun 18, 2023
Jun 18, 2023 at 5:21 PM UTC
Out of the womb into the microwave.
The woodpecker and the tree.
Following the dead into the sea.
Undead in murky darkness, the darkness of a pale light.
Shimmering through the second presence in my room.
Necromancer raises me like a zombie from my tomb.
Standing on the precipice of the sleeping and the awake,
The siren sings through the holes in my head,
She likes me better when I am half dead.
She likes to play the dead girl when I'm awake.
When I close my eyes the dead dream of me.
Through their eyes I follow them into the sea.
It is here where I meet the woodpecker and become the tree.
A brain cell pops,
When her song starts.
Her disembodied voice comes through the video.
My song skips when it comes on the radio.
Fading in and out like a ghost,
Possessing me when she needs me the most.
It is too **** loud!
Turn down the volume!
Heard it ever since I was born!
******* me into a vacuum!
A silent place,
Where no one can hear me scream!
The baby bunny lost it's head,
The ones thought to be invincible,
Have all been found dead,
In a telephone booth.
Loveless love,
in an electric god's house;
Microwaving brains,
in the woodpecker's soup.
She used my axe to hack off my limbs,
Replacing them with parts made of tin.
She killed the lights fast enough,
For darkness to catch up.
I've forgotten how to love.
How do you even love,
Something that doesn't love?
Get this woodpecker outta my head,
It's making me hear the dead.
Jun 22, 2019
Jun 22, 2019 at 5:31 PM UTC
Whispering chants
and waving fingers
conjuring spirits
of all that lingers
Raising the ghouls
to see the future
Disembodied figures swell
in ghastly caricature
A promise is whispered
The living is lead
to a single untruth
told by the dead
Jan 23, 2012
Jan 23, 2012 at 2:53 AM UTC
Night after night, in the small hours
I am still awake
I remember and I write, 'til my dark power
rises, intoxicating
I seek you out, for once it's not in vain
and you are here
Beyond a doubt, I know I am insane
so I reach for you
My lips part, my tongue becomes a dancer
in harmony with yours
Behold my art - I am a necromancer
and you are here
Jan 11, 2014
Jan 11, 2014 at 8:27 PM UTC
It's unhealthy, I think.
Night after night
in the small hours
I am still awake
Thinking, hurting, writing
I intoxicate myself on you
your presence
I can only feel it
when I am not completely sane
when the crack in my mind widens
letting you in
embracing you
a mouth, lips parted
to meet yours
tongues dancing
I am kissing a phantom
in love with a memory
addicted to madness
to you
enough that I will raise ghosts
delude myself
I am the necromancer
in love with her own conjuration
when the night is done
I will have had my fix
and be on my not-so-merry way.
I think unhealthy
doesn't even begin to cover it.
Jan 11, 2014
Jan 11, 2014 at 8:26 PM UTC
My mind is a graveyard.
There is buried
a thousand and one dreams,
one hundred friendships,
countless fantasies,
hidden beneath layers
worn smooth by the years,
marked by fading tombstones reading,
simply,
"memory."
But in the night
comes a character,
cloaked in dark fabric
and protected by solitude,
to wake the dead from their slumber,
to reanimate even
the long deceased,
blood leaking
from reopened wounds.
With blade in hand
the figure marks each memory,
carves into flesh
(living and dead alike)
lines that read out the truth:
"eternity"
Dec 30, 2013
Dec 30, 2013 at 7:13 PM UTC
Here lay the souls of the dark
Under the deadly nightshade
Here the fair are sundered apart
Doomed are those who tarry
Sleeping under the Sorcery
The Necromancer is biding
A living desolation
The brave and the fair are falling
Here lay the foes of life
Feb 3, 2014
Feb 3, 2014 at 12:52 PM UTC
Necromancer dances,
Casting capricious echoes in his wake,
He stirs his melting *** as he conjures up his brew,
Whatever he is cooking up,
He wants to share with you,
For he made a love potion,
To fill you with desire,
What he's after most of all,
Is to truly stoke your fire,
Needs to show you what he's got,
Heaven be praised, he's really hot,
In a cauldron full of burning spice,
Good Lord this man is really nice,
This delicious wizard man,
Is really really sweet!
By ladylivvi1
© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)
Aug 11, 2013
Aug 11, 2013 at 4:38 PM UTC
Hello walls, glad you box me in, always allowing me to be misanthropic where I pretend I'm in the tropics no one can reach me on my imaginary beach
Stranded like a ship wrecked castaway
a thirsty love starved necromancer, trying to find a magic shop
Women are like lengthy sentences always having something loquacious to say followed by a period
I have periods too, in the form of tears of blood
No companion
D. Clare
Jan 7, 2015
Jan 7, 2015 at 12:42 PM UTC
To take the hero's journey, I left the ordinary world.
Now my heart is wildly pounding because the wolf is at my door.
That tireless executioner craves the very blood therein my veins,
but I set out to defeat it, so I guess I can’t complain.
The wolf is known as “ignorance” - when he’s posing as a sheep.
The most frightening aspect of the wolf is that he has a home - in me.
I find myself both - the hunter and the hunted.
I’m the question and the answer, the cure and the cancer,
the music and the dancer, the magic and the necromancer.
Oct 2, 2022
Oct 2, 2022 at 12:06 AM UTC
Pulling past layers
Pulling curtains
Seeing beyond
Memories
As seen from the mind
Never again in real time
Focus not there
Focus on the here
Trot around
Be a dear
Never live for fear
Sep 28, 2014
Sep 28, 2014 at 12:23 AM UTC
Do i care if you leave world war III at my front door, love necromancer?
My father whispers to himself all the time. I know a secret when i see one.
The mutuality of our feelings _are_ a secret society.
A feeling with multitudes—yet so skinny.
I mimic you. I _love_ you, you necromancer.
I don’t care if you leave world war III at my front door.
Fuel the fire with secrecy. Burn the cold with my sweater.
Do you shiver from fear or temperature?—
As romantic and poetic as this roundabout is, it’s hell.
Set me on fire, you always held matches but never lit them for my shiver.
I lost the battle and the war and my native tongue to you.
You shiver from fear, love necromancer.
Jan 3, 2021
Jan 3, 2021 at 5:55 PM UTC
Trust thy soul,
Remember the hole.
Draw thy sword,
Look upon thy Foreshadowing,
Tragic demise.
Duel me ghoul of zeal.
Thou shalt despise.
Thy reel.
Relinquish dark arts,
Pursue my soul...
I will destroy those around you,
Leaving you alone.
Now draw thy sword,
You blasphemic necromancer.
You will perish.
Within the fire.
Mar 27, 2014
Mar 27, 2014 at 8:31 AM UTC