Poetry Visualized

Poets and Vampires

Poets and Vampires
by MrDaMan
Virgil R. Hall II (Randy)

I find myself drinking deep
the blood of empathy.

Wounded humanity in my arms.
I raise my head to breathe and savor
the complexity, the robust chaos
of desirous crimson venality.

I promise nothing but the emptiness,
the hunger, that my creator gave me.
Never ever truly satiated� MORE
will forever bleed from your lips.

As I drain your life, your fleeting time,
and we feed upon each others love,
hatreds and shared experience�
My gift of light� in this dark.

Only when you are assuredly dead
will you conceivably live beyond the flesh.
Entombed in a leather coffin on a dusty shelf
in a mausoleum of mankind�s arrogant ignorance.

But, but, but I am not dead� not yet!
I am but a feisty poet in sensitive repose, my neck
exposed to the sun and the night, open to burn or bite.
My mind a razor sharply cutting fanciful reality.

Or a vampire sucking empathy from an open book.
Driving a steak through my own heart, pounding
hope in synchronicity to the beat of my years.
A thrum which I still feel with all my being.

Behold my pale reticence, my sunburned innocence,
the strength in the weakness of frail faith questioning
doubt. Bleeding self inflicted prose page after page,
drinking deeply the empathy of poets and vampires.

All of this bark� and bite.
Ummmm �.. yummy!

Children of the Porn

Children of the Porn
by MrDaMan
Virgil R. Hall II (Randy)

What is this semantic obscurity
clever code
the dot dash dodge of clarity
playing peekaboo
with the "Children of the Porn"
blood of innocence
Drunken in full measure passionately
flailing reason
sociopathic peers at odds with the even
celebrating madness
squares at war with their corners
sharply round
laying the beat down on wisdom
hardened love
in the name of peace� a bullet shaped
mushroom cloud
horror on a says a me seed clown�
in a box
chocked full of ideological nuggets
swinging partisan
lynched under the gooses golden arches
an involuntary suicide
by a noose woven whole cloth scrambled
flag in the face
tears absorbed in the tatters of shell shocked
red white and blue
FIRE in emotion a belly full of blistered heat
growling hungrily
burn it all down� damn it all to hell
burn it all down
and to think we thought of it at all�
worthwhile
poetic piggies plundering poo
such clever obscurity
Doomed forever to the dot dash dodge of clarity
playing peekaboo
with the "Children of the Porn".

Blood and Porn

Blood and Porn
by MrDaMan
Virgil R. Hall II (Randy)

Skirts and trousers, blood and bone,
lust and love renew in pleasurable pain.
The beast in man growls unwonted delight,
a king of thighs and crimson heaven.

And beauty decries itself in favor of muscle,
sinew and strength… the ugly, beautiful, truth.
Challenging force with wiles, smiles and flesh…
she knows blood, its reality, its cleansing necessity.

As the phallic sword rises, engorged in life’s waters,
seduced by the sun and moon, by rage and passion,
by the devils wink in the heart of an angel… he seethes.
His loins warriors are charged and ready for battle.

It is said, "We have met the enemy and it is us."
Entangled, thrusting, love… embraced by tooth and claw.
Blood in the valley of life and the bittersweet salt of breast.
Clinging skin, the milk of emotion, braced to the hilt.

Death rides a sulky maiden with blushed thighs
and moans of embattled passions drowned in empathy.
ALIVE… to the exhilaration of every throbbing nerve.
Drenched in the wet crimson love…the waters of life.

Yes by God… Blood and Porn, what nectar this is…
It tastes seductive and awakens a dark light in a peaceful soul…
What man doesn’t rise to the occasion… to risk
life and limb on the slippery slope of blood and porn.

Hero

Hero
by MrDaMan
Virgil R. Hall II (Randy)

"I am the pendulum that never settles in to a pattern
and in your hypnosis, you will come to believe
that miracles are sculpted by madmen's hands
and we all died of drowning,
in the womb." Cutter Murdoch
http://www.myspace.com/malakhthefallen

Doom or chaos… choose your weapon,
and sever Medusa’a writhing heads.
The blood at your feet will always
be as fresh as the work of your hands.

Your soul…
your spirit…
Your deeds of conscience…

The heads of monsters, the tales of dragons.
Trophies of discontent, of needful connections
to the evil that drives the bliss… your reason.

To be a hero, you have to slay your friends…
The demons that challenge your sanity…
The devils that seduce your inhibitions…

You love death!
Your best friend, this fatal attraction…
Without this love… you’re useless!

Would you seek a daisy…
you would wither and fall from the vine.
Would you rot at the feet of destiny?
Or claw at the fabric of horror?

Tear at the placenta that suffocates you!
Kick at the heart of your mother…
Stretch and reach for a way out…
Push! Hero… claw the bloody path
into the world that needs you.

The madness you need, the love you will aspire.
Attend to the goodness… the light of your being.
We will be the best of friends, and when my blood
is at your feet from the work of your hands.
You will know evil for what it is.

Come hero… I await…
We will be best friends forever.

Dexter’s Deadly Halloween Romance

Dexter’s Deadly Halloween Romance
By Reid Baer

Thank you for seeing me doctor -
you see I have this friend, no, no …
more like a family member who
I’m very concerned about ‘cause

He has this certain … mentality
when it comes to women. Oh, well
it’s difficult to explain; he’s
a man like all men, any man

is when it comes to females you
know he’s like two people at least:
one can be adoring and caring,
the other separate and distinct .

I think he has secrets in his
thoughts seeking out beautifully wounded
women to help them ostensibly -
to listen to them – or save them

from themselves but he can’t save himself
from himself where a girl and sex
are concerned! Truth be told he will
find one – like stalk one – then fixate

on her like she was … his next meal.
Yeah, like a vampire he’ll put his
sharp teeth into the nap of her
neck and drain her body dry of

necessary fluids - blood and all!
Now it gets really creepy like
in a weird psychotic way like
a serial killer he finds this

super charged sexuality
from the conquest and then afterwards
he can’t catch a glimpse of who he
is - not even in a full length mirror.

It’s a terrible cycle, doc.
You gotta help him he’s like a -
real Dexter – a Dexter izer –
good and bad like cycles in a

Maytag washing machine he’s a
condemned human being half alive.
Yeah, like a zombie on steroids
with a poisoned love potion in

a needle; I tell you he goes
too far, with this business like a
sick romantic version of a
swine flu virus, he says. Whatta fake!

And then he’s perplexed when his wife –
that’s right – his wife! asks him why he
holds his head at night as though he
has a very very bad head ache.
-

The Lady of the Wood

The Lady of the Wood
by MrDaMan
Virgil R Hall II (Randy)

Evil roots in the dark for terror,
for the sustenance that draws death
out of the circle of life’s troubled destiny.
It is here in the forest at night where the
Lady of the Wood earns her fame.

Beneath the moons fog the rich Earth
seduces fear with curiosity, with a sigh
of the pine bough in shiftless winds.
The soothing creak of a maples arms
considering the weight of desire.

With the love of mother nature
she endures a maidens distress.
Spreading supple limbs envious
of the smoothness of her bark.
Anxious to explore secret gardens.

In this moment of ecstasy it’s
difficult to tell the forest from the knees.
Humans from the bees, the buzzing from the
breeze… the loving from disease.
As she screams from hugging trees.

The roots entwine the Lady of the Wood,
as she draws her last breath from the circle
of life… it is here with the bones of a curious cat
that she greets death with a horrific smile.
She can rest grimly satisfied if only for a while.

Morality Theatre

HTML won't format now. Can you fix it? Morality Theatre by MrDaMan Virgil R. Hall II (Randy) Evil thoughts behind angelic eyes, a criminal entertainment of shocking surprise. A train wreck of laughter covered in blood, halos of goodness dipped in the mud. Dismembered brain cells lolling about, in a heaven of darkness we can’t do without. We frolic and play with severed heads and dead kittens, disembowel corpses and get shit on our mittens. We’re sweet on the taste of hate and dissension, and war on the love of our hearts condescension. Morality theatre extreme and unkind, a thrashing of fear, a fucking of mind. A tearing of soul ripped out of the spirit, bleeding on stage, you just have to get near it. Divine… These red fingers sticky with gore, warm from intestines, paranoia and more. Excited by the forbidden of psychotic lark. Eyes laughing in horror exploring the dark. Rest in peace is for the dead, there’s no rest for the living. Succor the chaos and the evil you define. For the good you discover from the dark that you shine.

The Black Key (a prose-poem)

The Black Key (music by Moëvöt, a French dark ambient collaboration of unknown origin.)

Unlucky Prey

Unlucky Prey
by MrDaMan
Virgil R. Hall II (Randy)

The unlucky tread the Earth under black clouds of bricks that fall from the sky.
Bare feet and souls wrapped in barbed wire, for traction in deadened empathy.
Following blood trails of ancestral spatter.

An unruly mob of bones rattling in despair for the sun that bleaches their skulls.
Littering the battlefields with uniform graveyards wearing medals of stone and bronze.
Creatures of desperation marching into the maw of dust.

Oh the inanity they call it humanity.
Civilized cannibals fat on the protein of brothers
and drunk upon the menstrual sisters foie gras.
Such is the insatiable appetite, the taste of just desserts the fruit of the tree of God.

Whether it be in the foxhole or the mean streets,
or in the brambles and thorns outside the garden.
Whether it be in the church, mosque or synagogue.
The unlucky prey.

Lapse of Sanity

Lapse of Sanity
by MrDaMan
Virgil R. Hall II (Randy)

Paths of darkness in the imagination,
trails of paranoia and fear.
The little voice in your head says;
"Dont look here."

Dwell upon this road with caution and care,
the circles are straight, nowhere is there.
Reason is abandoned lost in pure thought,
emotional disarray is all that youve got.

Laugh with the demons and cry with your God.
Insanity becomes normal and normalcy odd.
Tears here are wasted, a salt of no meaning,
breathe in and exhale, in silence your screaming.

The devil may care and show you the way,
from the darkness of night to the light of the day.
But here in this corner, in the cobwebs of your mind,
can you divine between God and the devil you find?

What cost is your life, your reason, your hope?
What care do you have as you flail and you grope?
As you reach for the last tendrils of lost self, of lost vanity,
Are you prey? Or do you pray its just a lapse of sanity.