"unhallowed" poems
There is snow on the ground,
And the valleys are cold,
And a midnight profound
Blackly squats o'er the wold;
But a light on the hilltops half-seen hints of
feastings unhallowed and old.
There is death in the clouds,
There is fear in the night,
For the dead in their shrouds
Hail the sun's turning flight.
And chant wild in the woods as they dance
round a Yule-altar fungous and white.
To no gale of Earth's kind
Sways the forest of oak,
Where the thick boughs entwined
By mad mistletoes choke,
For these pow'rs are the pow'rs of the dark,
from the graves of the lost Druid-folk.
And mayst thou to such deeds
Be an abbot and priest,
Singing cannibal greeds
At each devil-wrought feast,
And to all the incredulous world
shewing dimly the sign of the beast.
7.9k
Delayed response to ground control, oh how I was crying.
In retrospect, I was just shallow; like an astronaut only watching
himself as the rest of the world kept steadily spinning.
Impersonal up here, never caring about winning or losing.
The star charts that mentors showed lost to what my mind followed,
A winding path through this sacred space which I unhallowed.
I didn't flinch at blastoff; it wasn't bravery, it was me being a coward.
Sweating in a far away bed, steel round walls with no decoration,
Straining my mind fighting the moments of suffocation.
Spots in my vision, distortion and discoloration.
Seeing stars I glimpsed my comet on exhibition.
I would have to come back around. It was just a matter of my rotation.
Retrospect from ages back and to beyond where we will have gone.
Black holes made that can never be filled, endless they came, endless they will come. To touch down in glory, or stay on the run. Life is just a rocket that departs from the sun. The rest isn't lost, it just hasn't been done.
So as we eventually drift into deep space and age becomes our dawn, remember to look out the window and wave to the passerby's.
They will cheer you on.
Jan 6, 2016
Jan 6, 2016 at 1:17 AM UTC
Dear diabolic debutante / Spawn of the unfathomable abyss of blackness / Daughter of dreadful dead desire / Black-shrouded sinister sister of celestial gloom before whose imperious gaze the heavens fall silent / Whip-lash girl-child of the graves whose pallid visage kindles the myriad infernal fires / Autocratic vampiress of lunar doom whose winding-cloth enfolds the thousand horrors of blood-drenched nightmare / Thou that wanderest the cypress-crested hills of funereal necropolises / Whose icy glance cracks the ungraven tombstones of utter desolation / Empress of night and madness / Who stalks the locked and shadowed hallways of unhallowed thought / Whose burial-boat glides the still waters over Lethe’s silent depths to the unglimpsed isle of eternal mourning / Whose parapets tower above the fiefdoms of quotidian banality / Whose flying buttresses overlook the Stygian waters of the forgotten drowned denizens of damnation / Whose unshackled dungeons open to worlds of regal splendor / Whose spires pierce dark skies where oblivion buries the ruined cities of revelry under the drifting clouds of leaden time / Oh maiden of melancholic alchemy whose petrified passions transmute base metal into pure gold…
May the gibbous moon of equinox shine its baleful eye upon you; may you tread in sacramental calm the winding starlit paths of somnolent cemeteries; may my unmixed metaphors unveil in delirium their parabolic mysteries before the smoldering altar of your uninterpretable allegory; may the favor of your scorn forever lay me out, embalmed, undead, on the cold stone of merciless reality. Behold: in cryptic script of spectral apparition, in tracery of coded illumination, amidst the dawning rays of torment I write thine unknown name on the threshold of daylight. And from within the mortared wall of self I speak forth from my sepulcher the Sibylline utterance,
unsought, unheard, undreamt:
JUST WANTED TO SAY ‘HI’ !
☻
Sep 10, 2015
Sep 10, 2015 at 9:15 PM UTC
Departing summer hath assumed
An aspect tenderly illumed,
The gentlest look of spring;
That calls from yonder leafy shade
Unfaded, yet prepared to fade,
A timely carolling.
No faint and hesitating trill,
Such tribute as to winter chill
The lonely redbreast pays!
Clear, loud, and lively is the din,
From social warblers gathering in
Their harvest of sweet lays.
Nor doth the example fail to cheer
Me, conscious that my leaf is sere,
And yellow on the bough:—
Fall, rosy garlands, from my head!
Ye myrtle wreaths, your fragrance shed
Around a younger brow!
Yet will I temperately rejoice;
Wide is the range, and free the choice
Of undiscordant themes;
Which, haply, kindred souls may prize
Not less than vernal ecstasies,
And passion’s feverish dreams.
For deathless powers to verse belong,
And they like Demi-gods are strong
On whom the Muses smile;
But some their function have disclaimed,
Best pleased with what is aptliest framed
To enervate and defile.
Not such the initiatory strains
Committed to the silent plains
In Britain’s earliest dawn:
Trembled the groves, the stars grew pale,
While all-too-daringly the veil
Of nature was withdrawn!
Nor such the spirit-stirring note
When the live chords Alcæus smote,
Inflamed by sense of wrong;
Woe! woe to Tyrants! from the lyre
Broke threateningly, in sparkles dire
Of fierce vindictive song.
And not unhallowed was the page
By wingèd Love inscribed, to assuage
The pangs of vain pursuit;
Love listening while the Lesbian Maid
With finest touch of passion swayed
Her own æolian lute.
O ye, who patiently explore
The wreck of Herculanean lore,
What rapture! could ye seize
Some Theban fragment, or unroll
One precious, tender-hearted scroll
Of pure Simonides.
That were, indeed, a genuine birth
Of poesy; a bursting forth
Of genius from the dust:
What Horace gloried to behold,
What Maro loved, shall we enfold?
Can haughty Time be just!
2.5k
Hath thou seen Queen Mab to-day?
in that bitter carriage, with her dreams
Forwarding to the cursèd fray
with unhallowed thoughts, or so ’twould seem
And creeping under willow’s bough
’pon rotting leaves and sick’ning scents
Of fretting unborn babes and now
she peddles with a marred intent
With foreign faeries in the leaves
who show broken wares and scattered souls
They hide amongst the dripping reeds
while dying rays reflect on shoals
And here, on the last hour of light
mab cursed the world into the night.
Apr 25, 2014
Apr 25, 2014 at 5:07 AM UTC
Of all who hail thy presence as the morning—
Of all to whom thine absence is the night—
The blotting utterly from out high heaven
The sacred sun—of all who, weeping, bless thee
Hourly for hope—for life—ah, above all,
For the resurrection of deep buried faith
In truth, in virtue, in humanity—
Of all who, on despair’s unhallowed bed
Lying down to die, have suddenly arisen
At thy soft-murmured words, “Let there be light!”
At thy soft-murmured words that were fulfilled
In thy seraphic glancing of thine eyes—
Of all who owe thee most, whose gratitude
Nearest resembles worship,—oh, remember
The truest, the most fervently devoted,
And think that these weak lines are written by him—
By him who, as he pens them, thrills to think
His spirit is communing with an angel’s.
1.8k
Crazy things we didn’t know were there
Without an X to mark its spot,
We shoveled and we dug over our bodies
We pillaged acres of skin, ravished even,
Our flesh fueled by the promise of glowing treasure
Wielding shovels and picks only our better natured angels
Understood, or could call “sweet intentions”
No map we possessed ended in gold
So we drew up our own tracing mountains and streams,
Upturning every rock, wading in every pool,
Our made-up languages became passcodes for secret doors
Our hair and nails became booby-traps
Like poisonous ivy and razor sharp spikes.
Perilous our hunt for heirloom, we would find.
But how could we not look?
Our compass points Northeast from down here
So as I climb towards your chest and you to mine
Our knocking proved there were unhallowed
Cavities under ribbed-caged bodies
And still we dig
Closer and closer to the treasure in our chests.
Oct 4, 2011
Oct 4, 2011 at 8:18 PM UTC
earlyish
in the mourning
the moon
begins to rise
to the
dirtiest
consorting
in the room
between the thighs
forbidden fruit
from a filthy city
that ruins lives
so the troupe
snipped ribbons
ripped ties
flew the coupe
and found suit
elsewhere
Hell
thought it was provoking
when they
caught em
smoking loosies &
tagging in
elementary school
bathrooms &
peeping ****** movies for free
mercy me, a perturbing
flea ridden circus
ballyhoo at
high noon
just
look between
the alleyways
like pearly gates
adjacent to
& facing toward
the gallow stage
saved for traitors
& may I say
these are unhallowed days
triple x files.
furious grady stiles
walked the
daily eighty miles
to the liquor store for
his quick pick or maybe just
a curious
eye sore for bored out tricks
on the nearest corner &
the queerest gory ***** flicks for
a nickel a dime a quarter
&please;
- mind the camera -
hammer
sickle
sanskrit
star
prison bar
stripe
flock stickered on
the flickering light
mock bicker then its
quiet on the farm tonight
doesn't seem right
the sicker sheep seek
sleepless nights
in the street
took Darwinian flight &
a diving leap
to diamond minds
thicker fleece &
meaner teeth
drinking on cheap forties
sneakin up on sweet
***** mother glory
lordy.
Apr 16, 2015
Apr 16, 2015 at 4:27 PM UTC
Some days the wind blows
and bends yonder willow
Its roots hold sway
perched high upon
steep sea cliff walls
No gale could affix
a bow to such a limber
heartwood backbone
Wind arched echoes
undulate to and fro
alike a gentle restoration;
a resilience unrenowned
It looks as if it takes
the skies weight so lightly,
while the rising waves
gather an unhallowed chill
fomenting untamed
at the heart of the prevailing
westerly swell
A human tends to lean rigidity
right up to the yonder most edge,
a thin line threshold
a step away ―
pushed by a moment's gravity;
a blind jump over a cliff
into an unfathomable deep ocean
far beyond
a forgiving
willow's bend
Jesse Stillwater ... 09 May 2018
May 10, 2018
May 10, 2018 at 12:37 PM UTC
I’m going to each of my suitemates' rooms. One at a time, methodically. I pause, for dramatic purpose, until I have their full attention. Once I have it, I rushingly, excitedly, breathlessly say, “I’M getting pizza later, for the GAME!” Like a seven year old child.
Now, my roommates KNOW we're ordering pizzas later. They’re all “on board,” everyone’s submitted their order and venmo’d their money to Sunny who will actually place the order for delivery at 5:30 pm. But I’m excited. I LOVE pizza (and American, NFL football) and I love being childish.
My roommates, like my brother, sister and parents before them, know this and love my manic, overactive way of excising tedium. Besides, I won’t do this more than once or twice - ok, maybe three times today before the pizza comes.
Since you’ve read this far - allow me to opine, for a moment, about “self restraint.”
Have you read about how they’re using familial DNA to solve old cold-case murders? I think they should use familial DNA to track down whomever it was that invented self restraint.
It was probably some old Protestant. I mean, Catholics only have sin - it’s yes or no - binary. So without researching it (at all), I think we’re dealing with someone born after the protestant reformation of 1555 - but I’m flexible.
Anyway, they should track that person down, dig them up, beat them with a stick, and then rebury them, in unhallowed ground.
I hate self restraint. It’s so.. restraining.
#restraintsux
Jan 23, 2022
Jan 23, 2022 at 9:06 AM UTC
Guarding the door,
like a bulbus Heimdall,
a blank pumpkin sits,
internally unhallowed,
without gashed gaping maw,
nor knife-notched nose,
nor eyeslits: triangular and odious.
Its inertia, serendipitous,
not for a moment did it greet
children asking
"Treat-or-Treat?!";
Never a one did it glow for.
Encased within, like
those stringy pumpkin guts,
is the puckish Pagan spirit,
craving bones ablaze in a fire;
Lost Loves manifested as moonlit
flaxen apparitions,
finding them Angelic
(yet unchanged),
easily as a ring
found in barmbrack.
A return to the turnip.
Ambling along ferns
rusted that same shade of pumpkin,
pondering the dead, and where
I long for them to reside now;
Rose, with her heaven,
Ryan, his Valhalla.
To each their Kingdom
of eternal inviolate peace.
Nov 3, 2020
Nov 3, 2020 at 1:28 PM UTC
*first it's the shock
you can't even believe it.
then comes the anger
oh god the burning you'll feel inside.
you hate him and hate him and curse him
for every single happy memory
he gave you.
then the despair comes
you're awake endless hours of the night,
and you hate yourself and hate yourself and curse yourself
for allowing yourself to fall in love
with his demonic smile
and unhallowed laugh.
you cry your eyes red
your sadness takes on a physical form.
you don't eat.
you don't sleep.
you feel no compelling reason to be
alive.
the longer it was, the longer this lasts
and every time you think you're getting better,
you spiral down the drain again and
suffocate in your own grief.
you cut your skin and
your veins are trying to accommodate
all the alcohol diffusing into your blood.
you scream at the top of your lungs
you believe you are going insane
and the only thought haunting you
for the rest of your days is
*"why wasn't i good enough?"
(e.s 'november fifteenth')
Jan 13, 2016
Jan 13, 2016 at 7:03 PM UTC
grasp the dark and take the night
ride the moon till morning light
set the banshees free in flight
and cover all the world with fright
seize the vale below the hill
bend the shadows to your will
bring the ghouls hot blood to spill
mist and fog the heart may chill
chant the spells to call the dead
howling beasts which must be fed
tooth and claw the streets run red
souls are shaken filled with dread
creatures prowl eyes gleam bright
victims scream at horrors sight
of devils heartless to their plight
till sunrise comes to bring respite
Oct 26, 2023
Oct 26, 2023 at 1:05 AM UTC
Word spoke in malice,
turn to silver as they roll off the tongue maniacally.
Intention of a depraved notion swivel backward in their motions.
Evil succumbing to the power of provocation.
The sin and burden of wrathful anger trickled down into one simple action.
An act of devotion...
The willful way of degradation.
Hypersensitive reaction to the extraction.
Asking to be acquitted of your transgression...
How does a Devil ask an Angel to condone such an act of wickedness?
Trespassing on unhallowed ground, and living within a ****** lie.
The error of time...
Feathers of white on a whim of a demon.
When does the madness of your demise separate oneself from the act of humanity.
In death?
Or in the will to live?
These question have been asked from the beginning of time.
The answer are yet, still to be found.
Find solace within yourself.
Stop letting the sins of others weigh into uneven hands.
They're not your's to own or to even know.
In lieu the knowledge I have bestowed.
Go forth and live your life.
Happy, peaceful and in the never ending search of grace.
Oct 3, 2013
Oct 3, 2013 at 12:02 AM UTC
Lawrence Hall
[email protected]
https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
What I Found While Cleaning a Faeries’ Well
Perhaps it was because I cleared the vines
The ancient vines, with tools of iron, of steel
And traced the circles of the well’s lost lines
With my unhallowed hands, by touch and by feel
Or that I wore my boots, or forgot my prayers
To the White Lady said to haunt this place
Or whistled secular songs, careless airs
Until the dusk, when I came face-to-face…
I have lived to tell of this wildest of adventures
I found on the lichened stone – a set of dentures
Nov 19, 2020
Nov 19, 2020 at 9:12 AM UTC
Cigarette smoke fills my lungs as I press graphite to the dimly lit page
I am uncertain if my light source is the street lamp or the moonlight
Mucus builds up in the back of my throat
Lovely habit
I look up and see Orion and wonder what he thinks of me
Does he think of me?
I put out my cigarette and the faint yet pungent odor of marijuana hits me
Maybe some Mary Jane would help this flow better
Maybe
I begin to count
Ten
Ten cigarettes to last me until Monday
I reach for another, begrudgingly
Filthy habit
Orion looks down at me with disgust
Or is it indifference?
Marlboro Red's
The sharp veil that adorns Death's alluring figure
Each puff is a tighter grip onto my unhallowed lover
Smoke hits my eyes, stinging them
Death is such a tease
And I am in love
Oct 23, 2015
Oct 23, 2015 at 3:24 PM UTC
Awoke
one
night
to
find
myself
inside
the
strangest
room
Or
was
it
mine
I
couldn't
tell
my
head
became
a
tomb
I put away my body's bones and let my thoughts deny
The only voice I ever knew was my unhallowed cry
Unconsciousness had settled in and once again I slept
Of sanity, of any dream, of any peace bereft
Astray I went meandering to lock the open doors
And in the place that I had been I saw them on all fours
The foam continued pouring out from deep inside their traps
I stood there watching 'til the fear had caused me to collapse
So
cyclical
it
seemed
to
be
how
long
before
I'm
dead?
With
barking
banter
beckoning
I'd
join
them
in
their
bed
Jun 26, 2013
Jun 26, 2013 at 4:10 PM UTC
I sit patient beneath a dying sky
watching flames
bleed from a wounded sun
brought down by falling stars...
like crystalline tear drops
poison tipped
they rend violet scars
across the blackened flesh of night...
for midnight comes without compassion
to bury this earth
in unhallowed darkness
amongst the grave stones of long dead planets...
and empty space.
Nov 16, 2012
Nov 16, 2012 at 12:02 PM UTC
The gates of the ancient prison creaked
And the chains clanked in the breeze,
When we pulled in with our caravan,
As we camped among the trees,
The kids went off for a quick explore
And were back before nightfall,
They said, ‘There’s all of this nasty stuff
Leaked out from the old stone wall.’
They said it looked like a yellow moss
But it had a putrid smell,
It clung in lumps to the chains, in clumps
That were hung in every cell,
‘Do you think it grew on the prisoners,’
Said Ted, with his eyes a-glare,
‘I’ve got a terrible feeling from
The damp in the cells in there.’
‘It’s only an empty building,’ said
Darnelle, but her eyes were bright,
‘I heard the prisoners whispering
As they must have done, each night,’
She let her imagination reign
Or that’s what we thought she did,
I learnt to listen more carefully
When she said that she had, our kid!
So later, when they were both abed
I took Clare by the hand,
And led her into the ancient Gaol,
To that misery of man,
Our footsteps echoed on cobblestones,
My voice came back like prayer,
Bouncing back from the old stone walls
In tones of a pure despair.
The moon came filtering down that night
And made patterns through the trees,
While beams shone in to the cells where once
Old men prayed on their knees,
And Clare would shiver where candlelight
Was once the only ray,
To keep the spectres away at night
Until the break of day.
I kept on wandering further in
While Clare would turn around,
‘Let’s go,’ she said, ‘it’s a scary thing,
We walk unhallowed ground,’
But no, I walked to the furthest cell
To the meanest cell of all,
And saw the bones, and the yellow moss
In a pile against the wall.
A beam came down from the rising moon
That lit up the pile of bones,
And there for a moment, all we heard
Was the sound of muffled moans,
A shadow rose by the weeping wall
Of a man who cried ‘I’m free!’
Who dropped the chains of his earthly pains
As he strode away, through me.
And all I felt was a deathly chill
As he passed right through my form,
My mind was frozen, my heart was still
And I felt I was unborn,
But then the morning arrived at last
With a terrible sense of loss,
For all one side of my face was gone,
Covered in yellow moss.
David Lewis Paget
Aug 15, 2016
Aug 15, 2016 at 9:56 AM UTC
Each day reminds me that I am depraved
fixated, titillated still with sin
and thinking I’m smart, I’ve ranted and raved
only to wake up again in this skin
wondering if I am actually saved.
Behold the deep cesspool I find within:
unhallowed Self, to whom I am enslaved,
doomed to start over every day. Begin
again Lord Christ, that sanctifying work
you promised to accomplish through your Word.
**** the vipers that in our garden lurk;
tell of your blood and all that it conferred.
Explain—as on the road to Emmaus;
or dull mortality may dismay us.
Apr 20, 2017
Apr 20, 2017 at 3:35 PM UTC
Skeleton!
Tell us what you lack ...
the ability to love,
your flesh so slack?
Will we frighten you,
grown as pale & unsound ...
when we also haunt
the unhallowed ground?
Keywords/Tags: Halloween, skeleton, pale, haunt, grave, graveyard, unhallowed, ground, thin, kin, frighten, frightening, scary, horror, terror, slack, flesh, fleshless, bone, bony, unsound, haunting
Feb 29, 2020
Feb 29, 2020 at 5:19 AM UTC
Statues shining ever bright
over walkways glowing white,
with souls that walked into the light,
bound there in forever night.
Statues show their daunted gaze
and keep their eyes 'this haunted I'm led,
towards the distance, passed the graves
to the House of Red.
Shadows follow as I walk,
and I feel their hands behind me.
I pray these demons that I talk
should never come to find me.
Though, when they do I'd pray be dead
that I may not know when;
for through the gates of this House of Red
I know I'll come again.
Footsteps follow towards me
from the House of Red,
as footsteps go on from me
to the doorstep where I'm led.
Following I wonder,
Am I already dead?
Perhaps I'm resting underneath
this unhallowed House of Red.
Statues keep their eyes on me
as I walk up to the door.
There's fainted laughter echoing
from those that laugh no more.
This house is empty I can see
and it feels my soul with dread,
as I open up the door to be
inside the House of Red.
But lost inside I wonder,
What'd I leave behind?
It can't be that important
if it's no longer on my mind.
Perhaps I could've gone
another way instead.
Either way I'd come again
into this House of Red.
Feb 18, 2021
Feb 18, 2021 at 10:20 PM UTC
The darkness overcame me,
Those shattered spectacles of fire were all around
As the curtains snapped to over the sun, you took what was mine.
The flames enveloped me, and yet I fought them.
For when I broke cover, the sun was shining,
Clear as it did in days of yore .
Your light had built me, and in that it failed
I fled into the darkness, for my fate led to death,
And to victory over your ambitions.
To fertility over desolation
To prosperity over the darkness that,
Unfolded upon us, like oil on canvas.
And yet I am afraid.
The living have traded for the dead.
The fire dwells over all that resist.
The light of the shadow is fading
Where art thou, o Evenstar, and why do you flee , before our end,
And though you may flee to bright lit shores
Where the maladies of death come to nought
It is we who watch thy girdle
The blood upon our swords and the splinters of our shields,
They hold back what thou fear
The halls of our fathers await.
We are destined to them
And as gentlemen though we fall to
This darkness that you hold
We shall not accept your order,.
And live and die as gentlemen.
For the hour is long gone for negotiation
The vultures gather for their treats
The unhallowed for their rank,
And yet I shall face thee to the death.
The leaving dare not come near us,
The dead dare not pass by
For as the flames of the elder days are stoked
We shall both meet our doom.
The dead watch our front
The living , betray us
But we of the mighty land shall stand
And fall for those that we hold
That mistress is arriving.
Gentlemen, I give you today's victory,
And tonight's mourning.
Feb 19, 2017
Feb 19, 2017 at 9:21 AM UTC