POETRY: various poets

The Miss Lucy Westenra Society Of The Undead

POETRY: various poets

Design

Alabaster arms wrap round, the deep breath of

mystery pushes through full pale lips of promise.

The longest kiss takes on a hue of immortality.

My neck burns with delicious pain.

The feeling of forever spins into

a quite solitude. Cold perspiration

slides over my body. Slick skin shivers

with desire for something beyond grasp.

Opaque eyes mesmerize, the bed becomes

my coffin. Complete surrender is required to

rise beyond this world. Elation takes wings

as I soar higher in oblivion.

Weakened by lust, I plunge back into darkened

musty earth. Hunger becomes my only thought,

the only reason for living. Humanness melts as

an acid ache for fulfillment boils within.

Taking over it drives what is left of me onto a lamplight

street where the dregs of society debase themselves

with every crime designed by poverty. Sickened and

dead with my deed a dark spiral takes my soul.

Salena

10-15-03

The Waking Beast

Claws scrap within the lair
A hulking mass rises in the night
Screams touch the midnight air Pain and hunger descends like a blight
Shadows fill the creature's eyes
Horrid sights spring to his broken mind
Memories past filled with lies
He knows he is the last of its kind
Creeping about like a thief
Stealing broken lies of the unwanted ones
Following ancient ways of belief
He is the hated that everyone shuns
Sorrow never finds his heart
Only feeding on empty souls brings relief
Pain that tears him apart
For his ancestors he lives in grief
He swallows memories of pain
To hide the fear of the past
Nothing left for him to gain
Graves etched deep in time to last
Tombs of life he lost
He harbors the deep pain over torments
Everything comes with a cost
Live he lives now in shallow laments
Changes take forever to bleed
Shallow empty shells reveal
Old, broken and tarnished are his seed
Reaching out for another meal

SUNSHINE

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ON WALPURGIS NIGHT

Such darkness rising
From ancient graves forgotten
By mortal men in their day by day
Sunlit hours,

Voiceless corpse
Waiting in oblong black coffin
For the tolling
Of somber midnight bells,

Vampire shadows rising
Infested by the blood thirst
Blood beast stalking
Foggy lanes and forest,

With evil intent
They come drifting
Past gravestones and churchyards
To the gathering
Of such darkness rising.

Lewis Sanders

Dracula

I heard a faint call
From beyond the mists
I could not resist it
But I dare not stray...
Still my heart seems to be drawn
To that darkness
To that voice
So I follow...

As his gentle cape enfolds me
Pulls me to him
I feel his breath on my throat
The pain is over before it's begun

My eyes opened to the night
His call is strong now
Pulsing through my veins
I follow him into the darkness
And beyond

By THE MAGNIFICENT
MADAME MORTEM

Madame Mortem's Midway of Madness Writer/Artist/Fortune Teller Extrodinare

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Night

The birth of The Vampire to the night..

Dark folds of a velvet sky
Fill the void
Make you see the night
With new eyes
Hold your breath a moment...

I can hear your heart
As it weeps
As it breaks
As it dies

Silk around the throat
And in the eyes of that
Which you cannot hide
As it tears
As it fears
As it gently breaks free

Night that engulfs you
As you wander into a place
Between asleep and awake

THE MAGNIFICENT
MADAME MORTEM

The Mistress Belle

"Twas on a midnight long since past
That first these dark deeds came to pass
That though it pains me to recount
I must before you now lay out
The tale of Mistress Belle

A lady fair of deed and face
Who's every move bespoke a grace
Bestowed by angels from on high
A soul where sin should never lie
That was the Mistress Belle

But woe upon ill-fated night
That brought her visage to the sight
Of one who walked in Hell's cold path
And turned his back on Heaven's wrath
In seeking Mistress Belle

Cold creature born of foul nightmare
To taint her perfect soul did dare
And so one late December eve
Her innocence for to deceive
He met the Mistress Belle

Be-cloaked against the wind's chill moan
She hurried o'er the frosty stone
To pray for love at Midnight Mass
The evil dark Lord watched her pass
The lovely Mistress Belle

He wove a song of deadly charm
Her noble heart for to disarm
And did by magic hypnotise
Her gaze to turn and meet his eyes
The saintly Mistress Belle

As Heaven wailed in loud lament
The loss of one whom they had sent
She gave herself in passion bliss
Unto the vampire's deadly kiss
His Lady, Mistress Belle

Fiona O'Neill @ 5/2000

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BLOODFIRE by Susan R. Higgins

I am immortal glorified
never to be satisfied

Forever walking death's dance
cursed without a chance

Past events are tangled
around my neck strangled

Choking my empty soul
with pitch black coal

Filling my passions' desire
feverishly fanning my BLOODFIRE

DARK BLESSINGS
By Lewis Sanders @ 2001

Dark blessins
The vampire gives
Sweet fallen angel
Wings outspread
Violet eyes sweeping
The nude sleeper
Encased in human dreams.

Sweet kisses given
To the child of man
So innocent in the night.

Sleeper awake
To the Dark blessings
of immortality
Forever in the folds
Of midnight waiting

-Lewis Sanders

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A Book Signing
by Terrie Relf

Her voice still whispers in my ear
urging me to write.
"It is your destiny to witness the affairs of men- so write them down. Make record of
their history."

Oh that she had laid upon me a lesser curse
than to bear witness to all that was to come;
but still I taste the hope that mortals know,
and so put pen to paper, books to press, to
feel the heat of their desire as
each time I ask their name, sign my own, I
mingle their thoughts--but not
their blood--with mine.

I take their money, smile, graciously decline
the offers of something more. As I walk away, in search of other fare,
grandmama's perfumed memory arises in my mind,

a family portrait of that bloody kiss upon my brow,
as she whispers, "so it is done."

by Terrie Relf @2002

An Ode to Selene, Goddess of the Moon

I embrace the moon at dawn,
who watches over my sleepless nights,
reminds that though mortal, I am
led by supernatural events.
She grants passage to those mystic realms
where paper, pen, hope and fear
mingle with waking dreams--or perhaps memories--
of gramma's rouged kiss upon my brow, and the promise:
"the moon is your light."

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From extreme madness-
the chittering
of something unseen...

Lewis Sanders