◢ Lucifer and Visitor

I wrote this poem for a class then proceeded to completely forget about it, so here it is.

Edit: Made some changes. Still needs more revision, though.

 The Devil mourned his homeland lost

Upon a stone in exile deep

Beneath the great Earth’s hardened crust

Where fires rage inside the sea

Much too far for father sky

To see the rock where The Devil lie

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◢ She Did Tell [POEM]

I met a woman, pale and fair,

and, enamored with her phoenix hair,

implored for her soft voice to tell

the look of demons outside hell

She raised her hands and showed her teeth

“Well,” she said, “They look like me.”

◢ Horror Haiku: One Cold Lover

I have a very
sweet love, though I’d say that she
comes off as quite cold

it’s not the fact that
she has no head or hands or
she’s rotten with mold

it’s not that I’ve, with
so much grace, taken her arms
and eaten her face

I’d say it’s more that
she never kisses back, and
she won’t bat an eye

Oh, my dear reader,
surely you didn’t think that
my love was alive!

◢ 09. [POEM]

Singing seamstress and midnight sprite,
will I find you dancing with your hair amongst the wind
behind the swing and float of your shoulder’s sway;
will you sit like a nymph with the curve of your
knees to your chest?
Will you kiss me full of blackness?

My love, my own, my fluttering bat
my falsely judged spider
the one whose shadow I see against the orange harvest moon
the one with her slender legs
Black Anansi, her nature’s dance,
will you sing in the voice of trees
that solemn withering of leaves?

Though your skin is a river dark
the dodging shadows of the forest
the faerie things that sprint from the nighttime star,
I wish your darkness to be mine
for yours is out and mine is in

A baby bat all dressed in black
said literature she’d take in
Faked to know Edgar Poe
but had only read The Raven

◢ 08. [POEM]

My sweet, the midnights whisper your name
in voices of oily down, your feather
hair of finches, dancing fields,
is a sigh from the softest throat
the most strawberry tongue

the trees call for you, my slender Venus,
the leaves turn for you
your feet are Mother’s orange clay
your calves are the gentle golden fields
the hills of a thousand Indian summers

ancient goddess, pretty thing
the sun is within you
the moon in her splendor

my love! in giving, how like a mother
in love, how like a child
in radiance, how divine
in perfection, how you inspire romance
and cure the aching heart

should you vanish into the dancing waves
the earth will own my breath
and my feet will touch the darkest sand

◢ Monsieur Diable [poetry]

monsieur diable, mon seul amour
who comes to me with kindness
whom I cannot repay

monsieur diable!
my brilliant illness!
my shimmering demise!
my bones are freezing diamonds
like the midnight desert stones of Arabia
the wire grass of frigid Russia that
snap at a child’s touch
winter fields

monsieur diable, I am weak
beyond weakness
I am a soundless mourning dove
I am the weeping rain
my roars turn to smoke against my teeth
like starving hands that reach at such
pregnant nothingness through innocent bars
innocence presumed

monsieur diable,
you have mapped me with scars
that bloom like lilies
that unfold like winged petals under
the pouting kiss of the moon
the sorrowful catchfly of my skin

monsieur diable, my sweet
my cherry thing
my sharpened stem