Category Archives: Dark POETRY

Sibilant Bow

sibilant bow

Sibilant Bow


POETRY

soft brush
of the hardened skin
swivelled balance
poised and angeled
keep you alive
keep you alive
toes tendons heels and sole
ankles boney
knock my own
know you’re there

45 degrees or less
acute obtuse
your bended knee between my thighs
ride the cusp and climb high
and split the difference
for you and I
are just the same
just the same Continue reading

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Windsor Knot

triskaidekaphobia_4bfcf27191738_hires

WINDSOR KNOT
by Dori Hartley
DARK POETRY

*

Once for the beast, twice for the shudder of his protest and thrice for good measure – a triple knot gag, my choke hold and collar. I am the master of my house, and these walls are of lead, they are as dead as my heart, but my heart is not of this world.

I’ve known my own severity, it dries me like a note left to crisp on a fire; where the tricks of my trade made sticks slide and numbers wet, wet as a distant prompt – I set you up, I wound your gears, I bridged the gap and filled it with blood.

But the recipe called for mine alone, deny the droning cacophonous dread and listen not to the sound and pound of my beating heart, my eyes betray, look away, you may not respect me, please – look away.

Subtler still than the hint of mineral in a babbling brook, I flare for you despite the knot that should be quad-quintupled, hex on my hide, my teeth taste like hate but burning I am, alive – you have entered me in atomic solutions, prismatic refractions deep in my lungs.

It is there you grew and made me your host, the ghost of hope stood threatened, shrieking – I heard the bellows, you heard only melody. A hundred coiled revolutions of this silken tie would not keep me strangled, my face full and flush.

The poison root which fed my spine allowed me taste, and figs and bone, artichoke spikes, pomegranate, beet and wild game, your name akin to desire. My venom food for your fire.

And like all the things that put me here, I am all the things that will last forever, and you, your quantum rush is a thing I will bind to me, deeply beneath my sevenfold necktie, forgiven.

I am not of this world, nor might I ever be judged by a rule that pertains to a fool’s paradise, but fallen I am, disgraced by my love for the mortal who broke me. I will reflect myself back in the thousand shards of the mirror you shattered, no matter, the rain, like God, licks me clean.

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One Kiss

hugh dancy
POETRY

Sip ssssip from the thin crystal glass

What are we drinking tonight, master king?

Tonight we sip ssssip sip from the fount
of blood coloured wine
of lips yet to taste

I’ve hungered for you
Will I drink of your fount?

Sip ssssip, my son, precious son
And come, come close
Tell me your tale

I’ve hungered for you
I can’t tell you why
I dream of your lips
your neck ‘neath my fingers

You dream of my neck, my flesh-quickened nymph
My shuddering stag, awake in my breath

I dream of your neck, my father of pain
My fingers so deeply impressed on your pulse

Come close my stag, my creature of heat
come pull your magnetic energy field
and concentrate now
on my lips, my lips Continue reading

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The Grandmaster

The-Grandmaster-2

THE GRANDMASTER
Poetry inspired by the most incredibly stunning movie of the same name.

An infinite number of faceted splashdrops
trumped and booted
slid upon trotted
flaps of black, whipped through liquid crystal
wet strands of diamond and white sapphire
crash down padded
toe so graceful
hat so tilted
rain so constant
a life ahead
a life behind
the music of broken bones
and unwavering stillness
all in the eye
one with the vertical
two horizontal
64 hexagrams
a flutter of hands
like butterflies in a bell jar
misted, soaked through
fragile as glass
harder than burnt blackened steel
never to live for
only to live

D. Hartley 9.7.13

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Buffalo Shrimp

trailer

I ate them
in spite of the ignorant sauce
that coated their previously frozen existence
no doubt
my snob kicked in and then
backed down

I ate them
even though they made me think of you
you with your fat disguised as skinny
you with your lie disguised as truth
with your fried green suggestions

I ate them
just as you told me to do
so long ago
when I believed eating them
would kill my brain cells
would twang my accent
would yell rebellious

I ate them
and more
I dipped them
in Ranch
a New Yorker’s nightmare
an elitist’s bain
dipped them in Ranch
and not only that
I ordered the fried pickles as well.

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