Category Archives: horror poetry

HAPPY HALLOWEEN!

Okay, okay, I know I’ve been slacking on posting new stuff lately. But hey… I could never let today slip by without a blog post. What sort of self-respecting horror blogger would I be if I didn’t say HAPPY HALLOWEEN!?

And to celebrate? How about we get in the mood with a horror poem by Rick Powell, then I’ll share a SUPER EASY pumpkin cookie recipe you can make last minute to enjoy this evening, and to top it off… How about sex in a haunted house? Haha. That is, how about we watch the short horror film ‘Sex in a Haunted House’? 😛

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The Midnight Hour

It is the time when the mortal forms succumb to rest,

The time to put your troubles and toils away till the morrow,

To not think about what has ailed you or hampered your mind,

To try to forget who has harmed you or has caused you to sorrow.

*

This hour is for other things to come to life and rise from the shadows,

Things the light of day had not exposed and revealed to human eyes,

Things that have no home here in the waking dawn of daily man,

This hour is for creatures of many forms to stalk under the ebony skies.

*

Some have claw or talon that can rip asunder your flesh in a minute,

Teeth that are razor sharp that will stop your scream before it has spoken,

Some are the most savage beasts of nightmares that your brain could ever conceive,

That to gaze upon them for a moment will leave your frail mind and soul broken.

*

Foolish is the man who would brave to venture out into this hellish world,

To try to show wisdom and courage and prove they are not the ones to cower,

Beware of these beings that are known to haunt the darkest of all graves,

It is far better to stay in your homes and not seek what walks at the midnight hour.

*

Rick Powell

5/19/2014

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Feeling festive but don’t have a lot of time? Try these Three Ingredient Pumpkin Cookies for a quick and tasty treat tonight.

Three Ingredient Pumpkin Cookies

1 (15 ounce) can of pumpkin

pumpkin

1 box of spice cake mix

spice

1 cup of milk chocolate chips OR butterscotch chips (Mmmmmm)

chips

Preheat oven to 350°F.

Lightly coat your cookie sheet with non-stick spray.

In a large bowl, mix together the cake mix and pumpkin with a fork or mixer until well blended.

Fold in chocolate or butterscotch chips.

Drop by the spoonful on greased baking sheets.

Bake for 15-18 minutes.

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Okay, now that we’re in the mood…

Sex in a Haunted House!

Mwahaha.

Happy Halloween!

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More Regrets Than Glories, by Rick Powell

A collection of dark poetry just hit the market, written by friend and talented author, Rick Powell. You may remember Rick from his guest appearance on April 3rd, 2015, when he shared a few poems from his book, My Soul Stained, My Seed Sour. A little over a year later, Rick is back with his new book, More Regrets Than Glories, and another poem to share. If you enjoy what you read, consider picking up a copy of the book, please.

KINDLE: https://www.amazon.com/More-Regrets-Than-Glories-collection-ebook/dp/B01GANL3U6?ie=UTF8&keywords=more+regrets+than+glories&qid=1464492710&ref_=sr_1_1&s=digital-text&sr=1-1

PRINT: http://www.lulu.com/shop/rick-powell/more-regrets-than-glories/paperback/product-22694866.html

 

The Coachman

The dark coachman stopped at my house this Autumn night,
I was hesitant as I stepped up to the cold seat to sit at his side,
His countenance was in shadow from the hood of his aged cloak,
We started on without a word as through the forest we did ride.

I then wrapped the thick wool blanket around my thin, pale form,
Ma said I have had the chills for days and nothing could cure my ill,
Pa had no money since this year the crops were bad all around,
I asked “Where are we going?” but the coachman’s voice was silent still.

I looked back to my home and at the windows dark as the blackest pitch,
The forest beyond my house was even more dark and silent in the night,
My memories of the last days were muddled and I hope to be well soon,
I hope that this fever will pass and I will be better by the morning light.

I remember my parents talking about the Doc at the edge of the other town,
They were most frantic as my Ma kept a cool rag on my burning head,
I passed in and out of the blackness as I heard them arguing about what to do,
I felt my skin was braised by the fires of Hell, even though cold sweat filled my bed.

Why would they send me with this coachman, when my health was most dire?
Why did they not come with me, my only family that I have ever known?
Why does this dark horse that pulls us seem to be a beast out of a nightmare?
Why do I see a deathly grin of the coachman, when the Autumn moon is shown?

mrtg

“Damaged Goods” nominated for best horror short story in the P & E Polls

Hi, all. Can I ask a wee favor? My short story “Damaged Goods” (which appeared in Issue 1 of Girls Rock Horror Harder e-zine) has been nominated for “Best horror story published in 2015” over at the Preditors and Editors poll. If you have read the story, or if you are a fan of my writing, please stop by and cast a vote for me!

HERE’S THE LINK: http://critters.org/predpoll/shortstoryh.shtml

Girls Rock Horror Harder author Sheri Williams has also been nominated for her story “The Piano” which appeared in Issue 2! Seeing either of these stories make it into the Top 5 would be amazing.

Here’s a little background on the e-zine. It features an all female line-up of kick ass horror writers, and it’s available on Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and e-book retailers. I have appeared in 3 different issues, but the story nominated in the Preditors and Editors polls – Damaged Goods – appeared in Issue 1. (That’s me on the cover right behind the word “girls”.)

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So, please, show your support by casting a vote. It would be much appreciated! http://critters.org/predpoll/shortstoryh.shtml

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VOTE NOW at http://critters.org/predpoll/shortstoryh.shtml!!!!!!

“Remedy” by Lindsey Goddard – video and narration by Lee Harral

Hey, guys! I’m popping by to post a quick video. My friend and fellow creative mind Lee Harral produced an eerie video narration of my poem “Remedy”. I hope you enjoy. Subscribe to his YouTube channel if you like it!

Remedy
By Lindsey Goddard

Withered skin and yellow teeth,
Gritty tongue, a stifled call.
Blinding sun adds injury
To her rigor mortis crawl.
Brittle nails, like insect wings
As her frail hands try to claw
To salvation she can suckle
With her chapped and pale-blue maw.

Shards of mirror in the sunlight,
Casting shapes across her picture.
He emerges from the shadows,
Twisted smile. He can fix her.
Spider veins and severed limbs,
It’s too late to sew and stitch her.
Lips strain open; he pours in
Another dose of the elixir.

Dark poetry by Lindsey Goddard

The great response we’ve received to horror poetry so far has got me itching to share one of my own. Do you mind if I steal the spotlight for a moment? The following poem has been published twice. In 2009, it appeared in the anthology Mausoleum Memoirs, and in 2013, it appeared in the October issue of Infernal Ink Magazine. It’s my favorite poem I’ve written. I hope you enjoy it. Well… as much as one can enjoy gloom and doom. 🙂

Within These Walls
By: Lindsey Goddard

A ghost who mourns; her earthly name
was tarnished by the word “insane”.
The curse of life: her mortal bane,
her rival… ’til she stopped the pain.

Her name is now synonymous
with how she chose the Reaper’s kiss,
and how she stopped her heart for this–
eternal ache, with no dismiss.

And now she floats within these walls,
follows me down every hall,
eyes me from the shower stall,
begging me to hear her call.

“Lobotomy,” she heard them say
on that strange and frightful day,
“is sure to wipe her tears away.”
Choked up, her father said “okay.”

An ear still pressed against the door,
she listened as the doctor swore
her grief and strife would be no-more.
His words, they chilled her to the core.

She ran until her legs gave out,
chest heaving with her final shout,
“It ends right here, there is no doubt!”
And she began to look about.

The gallows towered in the distance.
She ignored her limbs’ resistance.
Permitting not a moment’s hindrance,
she bid this world a curt good riddance.

Her tortured soul, it didn’t stay
near her gallows of dismay.
From its deathbed it did stray,
finding its way home that day.

And now she floats within these walls,
follows me down every hall,
eyes me from the shower stall,
begging me to hear her call.

Her name is now synonymous
with how she chose the Reaper’s kiss,
and how she stopped her heart for this–
eternal ache, with no dismiss.

Dark Poetry by Alistair Cross

As promised, this blog will focus on a variety of entertainment, so long as it’s plenty horrific! Today, I bring you poetry.

Alistair Cross grew up on horror novels and scary movies. By the age of 8, he began writing his own stories. Fast forward to 2012 – that’s when his first novel was published by Damnation Books, and he’s been busy cranking out dark tales and poetry for his readers ever since.

Alistair hosts a live radio show, Thorne & Cross: Haunted Nights LIVE, and you can find his website at: AlistairCross.com. The two poems we’ve chosen to share with you are dark and clever and evocatively disturbing. I hope you enjoy them as much as I did.

The Beautiful Girl

I woke up with a girl

Who was dead as could be

This a most macabre scenario

That made no sense to me

~

I couldn’t recollect her

From the night before

But there she was with cold blue flesh

In a dress made of velour

~

Her sightless eyes were watching me

Her mouth agape in fear

And down her cheek a tell-tale streak

Of a single dried up tear

~

And for weeks now I have wondered

How she came to be

This beautiful, decaying girl

Who keeps me company

***

A Book of Morbid Methods

I met her in the pages

Of an old dust-covered book

A book of misadventure

And the sad wife of a crook

~

She married into money

That was her belief

But she recently discovered

She’d been married to a thief

~

She was written to be pretty

She had diamond rings and furs

And she said it was all mine

If I’d trade my world for hers

~

She was angry at her writer

For her husband’s cons and lies

For her life of sins and secrets

And her pseudo-human guise

~

But I told her it was dull

Here on the other side

That over here, life’s dismal

And ruled by greed and pride

~

I declined her proposition

But she said, “Just look at me…

I have everything I want

I am glamorous and free…”

~

For a moment, I considered

What did I have to lose?

The world might have more meaning

If viewed from in her shoes

~

She watched me as I pondered

But she sensed my hesitation

Then a tear fell from her eye

And she said in desperation…

~

“My husband is suspicious

That I know what’s going on

He’s a man of morbid methods

I’ll be sorry before long.”

~

And this I did consider

What was I to do?

Maybe if I tried

I could rewrite a page or two

~

And so I traded places

With my newfound fiction friend

But what I didn’t realize

Was the book was at its end

~

For, just moments after stepping

Into the pages of this book

By way of strangulation

I was murdered by the crook

tandc

Visit the author:

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