"necronomicon" poems
Introduction
Burning pages
Blood-red sky
Rage of angels
Days gone by
The Chosen one, with eyes of searing flames
Is opening the book of Living Names....
I
The turning pages tell of lives gone by,
Furled by the one whose eyes are blinding flames;
Hot ashes flutter to the blood-red sky,
Like burning souls of undeserving names.
Where justice fails in life, death compensates:
Rare Mercy brings the angel who redeems,
While cruelty brings down avenging fates,
Even if conscience sleeps throughout our dreams.
The one with eyes of flame sees everything,
His Book of Living Names is always fair;
Yet every page frail as a fledgeling's wing -
Tread carefully if your name is not there.
There are but two volumes: one leads to light,
The other leads to Hell, without respite.
II
He sat in shadows, working through the night;
A scribe writing in words of ****** red,
While brass lanterns imparted sickly light,
As nightmare voices raged inside his head.
And all the names of those forever doomed,
Of future deaths and those of ancient past,
Were on the page, committed and entombed
In holy blood, scarlet and colour-fast.
All those whom God shall cast into the flames,
Unworthy of Heaven's forgiving grace
Are ever here, in this Book of Dead Names -
Named, numbered souls, each one bereft of face.
Thus, all enjoying notoriety
Shall be vanquished in anonymity.
III
Place copper coins over these weary eyes,
Gather my gold around me in the tomb,
Pray overlook transgression, all my lies,
Cradle me unto death, as from the womb.
Bury my silver at my lifeless feet,
Burn sandalwood, utter my name in prayer,
Drench me with nard and hyssop, bittersweet,
Remember me with lilies in my hair.
Pray write me in the Book of Living Names,
God turn thy face from my iniquity;
Spare me the flail, the pit of raging flames,
But let the quiet waters carry me.
Float me upon the Styx when I am gone;
Erase me from the Necronomicon.
NOTES:
This was inspired by some of the startling imagery in The Book of Revelation from the Bible.
Sep 2, 2009
Sep 2, 2009 at 11:47 AM UTC
A fist split the silence
the hard packing sound
followed by a liquid clogged choke
and Joe went under the water
limp in my arms
crimson red permeating through the cool blue salt water
of my parents’ pool
Nolan rubbing his hand - laughing
**** I didn’t mean to actually hit him
and we all laughed because it was a play fight
we were young, looking for answers which didn’t exist
so we filled the void like many of us did
with the seething, impotent aggression of youth
It went Gangsta rap
to punk rock
to heavy metal
and Joe and Nolan were in a band
and Joe and Nolan professed their love of Satan
because Satan never made them sit still and be quiet
they burned bibles and summoned demons
from an online version of the Necronomicon
and we went to shows
at fourteen and fifteen
drinking beer and whiskey in the alley out back
with all of the local rock stars
we hurled ourselves -
arms draped around each others’ shoulders -
into the swirling whirlwind of fists
and studded leather
and sweat and beer and blood
where grown men punched us in the face
and we gave back as good as we got
hugging afterwards in the warm glow of our pain
we were alive on the front lines
hanging from the edge that everybody else strayed from
domesticated wolves scared of electric fence flags
Nolan went crowd surfing at the Municipal Waste concert
only to be dropped into a stomping pile of ****** off kids
his lips split open and I gave him my bandanna to soak up the blood
I still have that ***** rag around here somewhere
He needed six stitches inside his lower lip
but we didn’t leave until after the show
even when the fire marshals came to shut us down
when ceiling fans and trash cans were being thrown around like beach *****
we were just kids
confronted with the meaninglessness of everything we had been raised to hold on to
like life rafts
we were just kids to whom
destruction seemed far more important
than creation
if we were ever going to make anything for ourselves
in this concrete clad hell scape
Jan 29, 2014
Jan 29, 2014 at 11:11 AM 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
Jun 22, 2017
Jun 22, 2017 at 1:06 PM UTC
It’s just a book. Nothing more.
A combination of translated words,
written upon tan paper
and bound in black leather.
It’s just a book, and yet somehow
it infects the minds of the readers,
twisting them until
there is nothing left inside their skulls,
nothing but its insidious whisperings.
“The Book of Dead Names”
is the title’s translation, as if to say
those whose times are recorded within
are among us no more.
Or perhaps the author,
so distraught by what he had learned,
sealed their existence away
in the shrine of forgetfulness
so that no others would suffer like him.
Just a book.
Just words.
Harmless, comforting letters, arranged
into patterns.
Yet, using only these written words,
the mad Arab has conveyed
our smallness in the immensity
of this our universe,
our insignificance alongside
the insatiable hunger of the stars.
He paid dearly for his prehension,
crumbling away like an ancient ruin
before the endless, shifting desert
that is the merciless chaos.
He is gone.
But his lexicon remains.
Just a book.
But such knowledge is not meant
for the fragile, breakable forms
of our species. To understand
our place in the universe,
and the immeasurable horrors
from which aegis of Ignorance
shields us, is to let go
of the handholds of sanity and drift
silently off into the void of enlightenment.
Yet still the book is read. Still humanity
turns its gaze to the stars,
and deep beneath the earth, searching
for confirmation of what we already know,
though our psyche may forbid
us to conceive of it.
Knowledge is not power. It is not freeing.
It is death. Death and ruin to all
who grasp the truth of this dark world.
It’s just a book.
A book penned by a man insane.
Rows of indecipherable words upon
innumerable pages, worn away by time.
Dec 19, 2018
Dec 19, 2018 at 12:38 PM UTC
May I say I had a hand in this work
blood for ink running down my fingers
do you know, angels have searched your know universe
but they would never dare ask one like me
It's my book and it goes back to Hyperion
all my fleet are active and would die for me
and when this battle is finished my brothers and sisters
you will never attain my sweet Necronomicon
I will keep the secrets of space and time
and here write it in one of my rhymes
never from her own mighty her Neon
never will I relinquish the Necronomicon
By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris
Jul 2, 2014
Jul 2, 2014 at 8:15 PM UTC
How to tell whether or not this Book, Film, etc.
that You, would like to / are considering whether or not to
/ your GF/BF/whatever wants you to
Consume
Is Good
or Bad
Put first things first, and
Judge the Book (Carefully) By Its Cover
I know, I know you hear that that is wrong
But...
they never put a cheerful cover
on
the necronomicon
And
the Inverse is also true
They cannot place /
deface
The Face
of the
Holy Bible
Censor the Bible, if you will,
Like a CIA Report
about the Most Important Things
It will still Save Your Soul
if you Read it between the lines
You will Find Jesus There between the lines
But, I Digress, Content,
There are only 2(two) types
Life Affirming and Life Destroying
CHOOSE WISELY
Feb 12, 2019
Feb 12, 2019 at 5:00 PM UTC