Archive for dark poetry

On the Edge of a Derelict Town

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on December 23, 2008 by dc

Just my presence it seemed
Made you sit back and slump,
New days introduced
With a groan and a sigh,

Communication lay dead
Like a rat in an old wooden shed,
No words left to probe
Just eyes slowly dying

And the love we once had
Just an overgrown plot
Where the runner beans grew
And died unattended.

To think we were once
The two unworn coats
Hanging all happy
In a cloakroom of chance,

In a dusty pub swaying,
Hit by the sunlight,
A bright perfect moment
We could summon in seconds.

It could have been forever
Or at least beyond a life,
But on the edge of a derelict town
The signs are painted over,

The roads that guided strangers
Are split by furious weeds
And daylight is a mask
That drops in times of woe.

Too soon came the dark
And the sounds of walls falling,
The world it had left us,
We were nothing but cloth,

Ripped ragged remnants
From the sounds of a town
That once buzzed like a bee hive
But now whispered conclusions.

It’s the pain that we pay for
As scars replace smiles
And the stench of dead rats
Brings the hum of lonely flies,

We could have been forever
Or at least as long as that seems,
Now we’re nothing but wasteland,
A fear inside a dream.

A Black Night Collapse

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , on December 4, 2008 by dc

Up a tree as the storm hit,
Floods of people scuttled home,
Worried looks were everywhere,
A hundred gods groaned,

Rain dropped down in sheets,
Buildings creaked and sighed,
Litter grappled the evening
In miniature whirlwinds,

There were widows screaming questions,
Dogs howling like coyotes
And children wailing
Like banshees confused,

Siege mentalities gripped
And the streets become rivers
As I saw from up high
A black night collapse,

Dreams visiting in waves,
Beauty snatched away in moments,
Regret a moving force,
Dark clouds tarring the sky,

A way to worry forever.

The Cellar

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , on November 17, 2008 by dc

The skeletons are rattling,
There’s blood on the walls
And the ceiling’s on fire.

Release the hounds,
Uncage the vultures,
There are strangers with photographs
And skinny children that cry,

In the cellar there lie pictures
Of what the world once was,
There are rumours and conjectures
Men in boiler suits and masks,

Politicians wait for transcripts
But the truth is more than words.


Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , , , , on September 3, 2008 by dc

The fat faced boy
With beef between his teeth
Has a cry
Like an Indian grandmother
His shoulder snapped
From an overloaded luggage rack
On the early morning train,
Blood painting his face
With sickly horror.

The skyline outside
A hovering kestrel
Is electrified by pylon wires
And drops like spit
From the top
Of a tower block,
A single feather
Floating behind
Like a death hymn.

I stay forever calm,
Always the witness
Never the victim,
A key-scratched name
On a window,
A seat cushion faded by sun,
A marker pen tag
On a heater,
A coffee stain
Alone on a table.

Gasp your first
Morning breath
As it hangs
In the crisp winter air
And you will see me
Pulling the tears
From your eyes,
A body simply living on rhythms,
A possible curse
Or a dream without sleep,

I barely exist.

And the Vampires Pretend

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , on August 16, 2008 by dc

The cancerous night skies cooked deep in winter
As the animals in the zoo jettisoned dins,
Beggars locked horns,
There were too many faces in the clouds
And there were charred photos everywhere,
Self pity had painted its frames.


It’s easy to fall into recollections of pain,
Like an old woman’s memoirs about a life of ‘not quite’,
Dead angels in a quarry,
Or ghosts floating slowly across rivers of tar,
When we all need love most
It’s often dead in a jar,


A gallery, a well thumbed book,
A photo frame, a yellowed note.


When we all need love most it stays quiet just like dusk
And the dust slowly settles
As the vampires pretend they are more than mere myths
And the cysts of world troubles pop like blisters in space,
It’s all races and graces if we all face the facts,
We’re just random truths lost
Amongst the scurry of rats.

Two Crows Glide

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , , , on July 27, 2008 by dc

Two crows glide
Like petrol seeds
In the breeze,

The mighty buzzard
Like a hole in the sky;

Upwards I go,
Onto it’s back,
The logo on a sweater,
The crest on a cap,
Then nowhere.

Looking down on myself,
The myriad of mistakes!
Crossed wires;

In a back garden
I see my ambitions
Rolling around
In a bird bath,

Branches randomly
Fall from trees,

Dancing shadows of pollen
Mouth songs,

And then I drop closer
And closer
Until I am lying
On the grass,

The trunk
Of a sycamore
My head
From my shoulders.

Grass Seed

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , , on June 18, 2008 by dc

Lying under a
Fallen ceiling,
Destroying ants
With my fingers
And tasting the dirt
On the floor,
My tongue
Is a blanket
On a now
Broken bed.

There were
Songs here once,
Memories that smelt
Like a buffet,
Well-organised food
Strewn beautifully
Across the room,
Alive from the hands
Of a mother’s
Plump ego.

The crimson
Sounds of ringing
Sit oozing
From my ears,
Trickles that tickle
Like scurrying mice
Across the heavenly lap
Of a vicar’s
Virgin daughter,
A numbness pervading,
A lesson in learning.

There is little
Time to waste,
Are mounting,
Lies punctured,
Silence is growing,
It’s a barren situation,
The crack of twenty ribs,
A seed upon the concrete,
A sparrow in the sky.

The Dead Are Not Buried

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , on June 7, 2008 by dc

It’s easy to feel paranoid
When you decide you’re at ease
With anxiety and fear,
When the people you love
Grow tired of your circles
And scratch pictures in the soil,
Faces with their eyes closed,
Messages of tired neglect,
Memories overtaken by dreams.
It’s easy to think the world is a haven
From bad people’s nightmares
And subtle destruction,
Just stare into the sky,
Lose your eyes in the light
And dance through the sun spots,
Most were born to just natter
And look gently at things,
The dead are not buried.
It’s easy to stumble around late at night,
The ground is uneven
When the dark explores brooding,
TV repeats itself like bad food,
Doubts whisper lonely
And the old floorboards moan,
Heartache is the best excuse
To rot like broken soldiers,
If only we had faith.

Half Fallen Leaves

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , on June 7, 2008 by dc

In the valley of the broken
Where the lonely like to roam
Beetles scuttle across rivers of teeth,
Beggars usher the elements
And clouds hang in the sky
Like half fallen leaves
On a canopy of nothing.

In the basin of the ruined
Farmers with faces like fists
And milk hags with cream moustaches
Poke the world with glee,
The skies cry mud
And pottery scarecrows too scared to stay
Crack under pressure.

In the crevasse of the bankrupt
Taverns filled with bile and blood
Open their curses to strangers
And rot all the grasses and hedgerows,
Ducks inhale the silence
And the only life left
Is the groan of wasted memories.