The Pulse

The Pulse

I count the beat within my head

you whisper words so soft and true

I feel the heat that warms our bed

The love that flows our passions fed

that makes me cling inside of you

I count the beat within my head

I feel you rush as love is spread

upon the throw you softly mew

I feel the heat that warms our bed

As love lays blind and hope lays dead

where now its just a wanton screw

I count the beat within my head

The crimson sheets where love has bled

the punctured vein the blood you drew

I feel the heat that warms our bed

Into the night this evil fled

to leave me here in solitude 

I count the beat within my head

I feel the heat that warms our bed

***********

this poem, The Pulse, is my first ever attempt at writing in the style, villanelle, which is being highlighted at One Stop Poetry. If you would like to know more about this style of writing please visit the following link;

Welcome to One Stop Poetry Form: Villanelle

image creative commons http://www.flickr.com/photos/amanky/

The Return of the One: A Poem From the Darkened Tales Series

The Return of the One

In shallow graves lay withered bones

that once had walked with strength in life

but sharpened knives and broader swords

took breath with Death upon his scythe 

And stones were placed upon the mound

as heathen crowds would gather still

the clans would pray for her return

as winds blew forth a deathly chill

Delores watched from high and far

as songs were sung and blood was splayed

the throats were cut in sacrifice

whilst bodies thrived upon the stage

The Jackal pawed the sacred earth

and sniffed the lust that rode the air

the scarecrow smirked and felt his blade

and knew that life would not be spared

As mist would sweep across the ground

and hide the surge of man and beast

who flashed their teeth in maddened rage

and gorged upon a blood fuelled feast

Delores cried and felt the pain

as clans would strike and show no fear

tonight they died in spite of death

amongst the graves of yesteryear

**************

The Return of the One is the latest poem in the Darkened Tales Series.

I also share this with One Shot Wednesday, part of One Stop Poetry, a great platform for poets to meet, share, learn and embrace, which starts 10pm Tuesday night and remains open for submissions all day Wednesday

image courtesy creative commons flickr http://www.flickr.com/photos/martinb/

The Dance of the Masquerade....(A Tale In 160 Characters)

The Dance of the Masquerade...

(A Tale In 160 Characters) By Pete Marshall

Oh how the joys of youth would cry

Whilst mouths were fed their veins ran dry

With those that joined this masquerade

They’d dance through realms their masters made

*********

Couldn't resist it, an ode to vampires & all things Poe! Hope you enjoyed my 160?

For more marvellous tales in 160 characters visit monkeyman

image courtesy creative commons flick http://www.flickr.com/photos/redbettyblack/

The Sacrifice..(A Tale In 160 Characters)

The Sacrifice....(A Tale In 160 Characters)

By Pete Marshall

I travelled deep into her wretched heart

and staked my claim upon her will

I watched her screams whilst darkness danced

And prayed with friends that gathered still

for more tales in 160 visit monkeyman

****************************

image creative commons http://www.flickr.com/photos/mugley/

Jack: A Poem From The Darkened Tales Series That Tells The Real Story Of Jack The Ripper

Jack: A Poem From The Darkened Tales Series That Tells The Real Story Of Jack The Ripper

The sound of heel on cobbled stone

That stalked the streets of yesteryear

As sewage flowed with soiled dreams

Jack would walk bereft of fear

His mind was caged and wrought with grief

As pain destroyed his inner eye

And cancers crept and clawed his soul

A lovers voice that hushed goodbye

A nothing moon that held no light

On darkened paths and brick red walls

And staggered coves would leave their slums

To rest in doors amongst the gloom

No bells would ring in East End homes

As night would fester cold and smog

And as his heels clicked on the stones

The hooves of carriages would trot

And on this night he saw her there

As charm would ‘tice a drunken Lord

Who’s sword was stiff between her thighs

Whilst shillings lined her wayward hoard

But in the dark on hidden streets

The stench that reared on soiled paths

Jack lay down his leather bag

And drew the tools that played their part

And as the Lord would hasten thrusts

Her teeth bit deep on glistened vein

And then the whites within her eyes

Would roll as blood was left to drain

And as he pulsed between her legs

She drank the life he clung on to

But from the shadows Jack would walk

And drive his stake so hard and true

The night was filled with eerie screams

As Lord fell hard and wrestled free

He turned and fled beyond the street

As Jack knelt down on bended knee

And with his skill he’d cut & slash

To take a heart of hardened stone

That led a path to darkened graves

For him to walk once more alone

**********************************    

           

      

Image courtesy of walraven @ flickr

Share
|

The Scarecrow & The Cougar: Poetry From The Darkened Tales Series

When Van Gogh drew across the sky
He circled stars & captured life
And silver birches shimmer bright
Reflecting moons ensnaring light.
As dreams were told in epitaphs
He stayed beside her fresh warm grave
And clawed the earth with sharpened nails
Afraid to leave this sullen place.
But Jackal growled and sniffed the air
As blood & lust kept dreams alive
And as the yews would sway and dance
He turned his head in search of vice. 

The copper trees have withered stumps
And elms no longer roam the fields
The hedgerows choke on passing fumes
As Jackal preys upon our ills.

And fired light & candles burned
That glowed a hearth of hardened stone
A tingled air & painted lips
Awaited him in cougars home.
He wrestled thoughts from sunken minds
That stained the brains of self neglect
As smoke encircled doubts unwind
Where gin is poured with no respect.
And ragged jeans are ragged things
That hang upon a scarecrows legs
And as a crow would take a perch
He turned his head & snapped its neck.

*************************************


image used creative commons flickr gforster67