The Other Side of Bethlehem

‘The Other Side of Bethlehem’ – a poem by Leslie Moon. Sadly, also her last post with Pen of the Damned – Leslie you will be greatly missed! Read closely friends, this is not a work that praises the glory of the legend, but shows us the underbelly of a beast that many worship blindly to this day. Elusive commentary, I know – but take from it what you will…

Pen of the Damned - where angst and horror flow freely...

Soft caressing satin sheets the finest weave
laid out awaiting our grey mistress
today the surroundings a lowly cave
but tomorrow she says ” it will be a palace”
for she is deserved of the world’s best

*

We shudder as she draws near
her greatness is in contrast to our lowliness
I behold her and see earth’s riches clear
etched in her skin, reflected off her eyes, in her touch
my mate is poised to rearrange all and such

*

Fearing that the perfumes and oils
do not emulate her beauteous perfection
we like dogs in our groveling toil
have no ability to bark
we whimper at her approach in the dark

*

She kicks my mate across the rocky ground
“FOOLS don’t you know what is occurring
can’t you hear the angels’ grating sound?”
we had been too busy to listen to music
so heavenly, it would make…

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Reblogged from Horror Author Joseph A. Pinto’s blog.

Tags

Dusk and Summer, Joseph Pinto, Nothing Else, Pancreatic Cancer, Poem, Poetry, song

Reading over one of our authors blogs, I came across this little gem. It’s not horror, but a song inspired by a visit to a cemetery…

Nothing Else

Gazing out your window
Your cemetery of hope haunts your moments
Ghosts beneath your lids once your dreams
Tonight will be a long one
When you can’t reach pass your means.

But I’m the rain streaks your pane
I’m the soft breeze stirs your curtains
I’m the lone star in your dark sky
When nothing else remains.

Just outside your window
Your cemetery of life steals your darkness
Ghosts beneath your lids once your dreams
And tonight will be a long one
When you can’t breathe pass your means.

But I’m the bird sings your song
I’m the soft kiss on your full lips
I’m the one ghost never have left you
When nothing else remains.

Oh I’m the rain streaks your pane
I’m the soft breeze stirs your curtains
I’m the lone star in your dark sky
When nothing else remains.

Yeah tonight will be a long one
But I’m the one thing to count on
When nothing else remains.

© Copyright 2013 Joseph A. Pinto. All Rights Reserved.

Visit Joseph Pinto’s blog at JosephPinto.com – he’s running a giveaway for several Amazon Gift cards through Janyuary 1, 2015, in association with his book, ‘Dusk and Summer‘ and his blog, ‘Purple Hope‘. Here are the giveaway details!

Broken Banquet

An elegantly written stand alone short horror piece by Thomas Brown; or if you are acquainted with his village of ‘Lynnwood’ from the novel of the same name, a perfect companion piece…

Pen of the Damned - where angst and horror flow freely...

I

The forest is starving. Overhead the sun dies, bathing the branches in the pink glow of dusk. Walkers do well to avoid these parts but John knows them like the lines of his own face. His trade depends on them. Allerwood Jam sells as far as Netley, so it seemed only natural that his wife and he should move close to the forest’s borders, when they finally decided to settle down. They first met picking raspberries in the bracken behind what is now McCready’s farm. Grace loves natural produce at least as much as he does. Out here, on the outskirts of the village, they are free to live a quiet life, largely separate from the rest of Lynnwood. Almost twenty years later, they have not looked back.

The ground crunches beneath his boots as a wind sighs through the trees, rustling the few leaves and testing the…

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JUST A LITTLE ABOUT KEITH GARRETT

Meet Keith Garrett, read about his life, what he has overcome, and how he dares to dream. And by all means, enjoy his poetry as well…

keithgarrettpoetry

 

I was born In Amesbury Massachusetts in nineteen sixty two.

A mother, father, and in time four sisters and two brothers.

We moved out here to California in nineteen sixty six i recall.

I remember living in Lawndale and going to school in kindergarten.

When i was seven in second grade on Halloween night my dad died.

He fell off of a cliff in Palos Verdes in nineteen sixty nine, i remember.

The dreaming little boy found out that life wasn’t so magical after all.

I never stopped my dreaming or gave up on dreams as i went about life.

I’ve had my share of pain and disappointments as i walked my path.

I’ve had friends and family whom have disappeared and gone away.

I have had great times and memory’s through the years, a life.

When i was In Jr. high in Yorba Linda i fell on my…

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Damned Words 10

Damned Words 10 – a collection of ten drabbles by the members of Pen of the Damned…

Pen of the Damned - where angst and horror flow freely...

Misery
Thomas Brown

Misery rolled with the dogs in the shadows of Tompkin’s shed.

On August 25^th, 1968, Mike Callahan hung himself from a cross-beam in the ceiling. The wood was old and riddled with rot but it held his weight well enough.

On July 13^th, 1985, Sarah Paulson was stabbed in the neck while tending to the potted bulbs on the windowsill. She died instantly. The bulbs never sprouted.

1989, fire. 1997, rape.

In 2001, the Tompkins moved in. The shed became a doghouse. Two-year old Muttley howled perpetually. Three coats of paint couldn’t hide the stains seeping through the skirting board.

---

Inner Sanctum
Jon Olson

Don’t open it! Leave it shut! You must not let them in. I know you’re tired. You spent years building this place; this hideout; this inner sanctum. Yes, although you can’t see them, your victims are in here too…

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a soft kiss

Beautiful Poetry from Heartafire…

Heartless

A beautiful Poem by ms. tioko …

ms. tioko

The power and rage of this permanent pain,
sporadic avenues of reviving buried yesterdays.
The tall tales of a love I initially claimed,
a tragic romance which led to dismay.

Hurt resembling a thousand knives to ones chest,
a punctured ego, riven thoughts and broken promises.
With my severed heart and capricious requests,
no gain without pain, I’ve grown to be heartless.

Intentions are as prejudice as white supremacists,
I’m wildly sucked into this infinite tunnel.
Worshiping flawed emotions as a love atheist,
things never work out for me, they always crumble.

The passion’s gone, but memories compose tattoos,
maturing into a glutton for critical heartache.
It skips us like stones to a non-rippling lagoon,
what lead me to presume union would display?

What the hell was I thinking, I’m quite the fool,
this hopeless search for a fulfilled happiness.
Too busy dreaming, discounting logical thinking,
like a needle in a haystack, I’ve lost my place.

• Ms. Tioko

PHOTO CREDIT:
http://fineartamerica.com/featured/heartless-martin-dawids.html

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