Satan's Wife

Satan’s Wife/You’ve been Naughty

By Caroline E. Groves

She arrives without warning. You want to run, but your feet and legs won’t move. She stares 
at you with red eyes that seem to pierce into your soul, snaggly teeth being revealed when she 
gives you the wicked grin. Pointy ears pop out of her head, orange and red drool come spilling out 
her mouth. It’s the Kiss of Death. More fangs come out and scales of deep dark read appear on 
her skin. You finally able to run as fast as you can. Leaves and tree branches scrape you as you 
reach a briar patch. There is no other option than to run through it. Thorns poke at your skin and 
blood oozes out, seeming to be a pure black color. When you leave the briar patch, she is still 
behind you. You keep running, but you trip on a log and fall into a deep blue colored pool of water. 
The liquid makes your cuts sting as you swim and swim until you are almost out of breath. You 
can’t move anymore despite your efforts and finally... she catches you, feeding off your ink black 
blood until you run out of prayers. You close your eyes and when you open them you come face to 
face with the Kings and Queens of hell.

Your time is up... by caroline groves

Your time is up...

Death means to part

Death is when the flame has burnt out

Death is the eternal sleep

Death is a passage to a new land

Death is mourning

Death is grief

Death is the birth of a necromancer

Death is the afterlife

Death is a dark part of life

Death is when you get tired and it’s time to explore another world

Death is when your soul sees the world from a new perspective

You’re spirit doesn’t leave

Your spirit lives for eternity

Your spirit will lie awake

You compare death to many things

You compare death to a wolf, when it devours its prey

You compare death to a cat killing birds in a nearby tree

You compare death to a dear friend parting from your life

You compare death to getting your heart broken

You compare death to an evil supernatural

All myths have someone leading the lost souls to the other side, the afterlife

All myths have someone who discards the lost souls, not caring if they never make it

All myths have someone who cares about the dead and treats them like they are still alive

The necklace has broken and the pieces have been lost in the sea

Crystals turn to dust, and beautiful shells turn to sand

Your heart is broken and there is no ice cream left to fix you

All hope is lost when you can’t repair yourself

Death is something that has multiple meanings

The magic man says

Your time is up

Midair

By Austin Robert Paul Newbold

Standing in salty air

High on xanthic orange earth

Warm bright sun look at ocean blue with you

Jumping into the whistling air

Alone in midair

Crashing waves in no time

Tense back

Short breath

Cold in ocean blue

Beyond

By Austin Robert Paul Newbold

The strings come to an end harvesting souls

The life of a death god is cold indeed

Spooky ghosts lurking looking like smoke from coal

Wondering perhaps a demon can feed  

The supernatural is this where life leads

Battles of demon and angels and eyes of newt

                                            See me if playing a magical flute

The Wolf

By Austin Robert Paul Newbold

In grandmother’s clothes, hungry and sharp teeth

And blowing down houses with three pigs inside

Dark and dangerous like monsters beneath

Hearing before going down the plastic slide

Thinking about in warm shelter at home

Monster is teacher and you are student

You think of dark beasts with mouths of foam

Have fun like the alpha; be wild and fervent

You are a warrior that strikes the fear

Not abused just a teacher for our lives

I am animal but, students will leer

Staying in a pack that is not a hive

Ultimately they are our family

                                From birthday and candy to scraping knee

The Foxy Masquerade

By Austin Robert Paul Newbold
Born in a masquerade

The Fox

Everywhere

Masks of titanium

Orange fur

Molding away

Can’t hunt with an hourglass

A dog

An hourglass

A mask

Snuffing out the stars

Fox is Day

Waste an hourglass

The caves of the masquerade

The Fox looks in the mirror

Man

The Sky

Burning masks

Day and night

                                            Sleep

Or...write a poem to some object you see/use daily

http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems-and-poets/poems/detail/42948

My Shoes by Charles Simic

Shoes, secret face of my inner life:   

Two gaping toothless mouths, 

Two partly decomposed animal skins   

Smelling of mice nests. 

My brother and sister who died at birth   

Continuing their existence in you, 

Guiding my life 

Toward their incomprehensible innocence. 

What use are books to me 

When in you it is possible to read   

The Gospel of my life on earth 

And still beyond, of things to come? 

I want to proclaim the religion 

I have devised for your perfect humility   

And the strange church I am building   

With you as the altar. 

Ascetic and maternal, you endure: 

Kin to oxen, to Saints, to condemned men,   

With your mute patience, forming 

The only true likeness of myself. 

Friday, July 1

http://www.poetryfoundation.org/resources/learning/glossary-terms?category=209

(Use the above link to choose your poem)

Louder than a Bomb

If you like Slam poetry, this is a documentary for you:

http://www.louderthanabombfilm.com

Slam Poetry

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QOfkmluOtYs

My Favorite Poem

July in Washington

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BY ROBERT LOWELL

The stiff spokes of this wheel


touch the sore spots of the earth.



On the Potomac, swan-white


power launches keep breasting the sulphurous wave.



Otters slide and dive and slick back their hair,


raccoons clean their meat in the creek.



On the circles, green statues ride like South American


liberators above the breeding vegetation—



prongs and spearheads of some equatorial


backland that will inherit the globe.



The elect, the elected . . . they come here bright as dimes,


and die dishevelled and soft.



We cannot name their names, or number their dates—


circle on circle, like rings on a tree—



but we wish the river had another shore,


some further range of delectable mountains,



distant hills powdered blue as a girl’s eyelid.


It seems the least little shove would land us there,



that only the slightest repugnance of our bodies


we no longer control could drag us back.

My Favorite Poem

La Bekke Dame sans Merci

La Belle Dame sans Merci: A Ballad

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BY JOHN KEATS

O what can ail thee, knight-at-arms, 

       Alone and palely loitering? 

The sedge has withered from the lake, 

       And no birds sing. 

O what can ail thee, knight-at-arms, 

       So haggard and so woe-begone? 

The squirrel’s granary is full, 

       And the harvest’s done. 

I see a lily on thy brow, 

       With anguish moist and fever-dew, 

And on thy cheeks a fading rose 

       Fast withereth too. 

I met a lady in the meads, 

       Full beautiful—a faery’s child, 

Her hair was long, her foot was light, 

       And her eyes were wild. 

I made a garland for her head, 

       And bracelets too, and fragrant zone; 

She looked at me as she did love, 

       And made sweet moan

I set her on my pacing steed, 

       And nothing else saw all day long, 

For sidelong would she bend, and sing 

       A faery’s song. 

She found me roots of relish sweet, 

       And honey wild, and manna-dew, 

And sure in language strange she said— 

       ‘I love thee true’. 

She took me to her Elfin grot, 

       And there she wept and sighed full sore, 

And there I shut her wild wild eyes 

       With kisses four. 

And there she lullèd me asleep, 

       And there I dreamed—Ah! woe betide!— 

The latest dream I ever dreamt 

       On the cold hill side. 

I saw pale kings and princes too, 

       Pale warriors, death-pale were they all; 

They cried—‘La Belle Dame sans Merci

       Thee hath in thrall!’ 

I saw their starved lips in the gloam, 

       With horrid warning gapèd wide, 

And I awoke and found me here, 

       On the cold hill’s side. 

And this is why I sojourn here, 

       Alone and palely loitering, 

Though the sedge is withered from the lake, 

       And no birds sing.

Kubla Khan

Kubla Khan

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BY SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE

Or, a vision in a dream. A Fragment. 

In Xanadu did Kubla Khan 

A stately pleasure-dome decree: 

Where Alph, the sacred river, ran 

Through caverns measureless to man 

   Down to a sunless sea. 

So twice five miles of fertile ground 

With walls and towers were girdled round; 

And there were gardens bright with sinuous rills, 

Where blossomed many an incense-bearing tree; 

And here were forests ancient as the hills, 

Enfolding sunny spots of greenery. 

But oh! that deep romantic chasm which slanted 

Down the green hill athwart a cedarn cover! 

A savage place! as holy and enchanted 

As e’er beneath a waning moon was haunted 

By woman wailing for her demon-lover! 

And from this chasm, with ceaseless turmoil seething, 

As if this earth in fast thick pants were breathing, 

A mighty fountain momently was forced: 

Amid whose swift half-intermitted burst 

Huge fragments vaulted like rebounding hail, 

Or chaffy grain beneath the thresher’s flail: 

And mid these dancing rocks at once and ever 

It flung up momently the sacred river. 

Five miles meandering with a mazy motion 

Through wood and dale the sacred river ran, 

Then reached the caverns measureless to man, 

And sank in tumult to a lifeless ocean; 

And ’mid this tumult Kubla heard from far 

Ancestral voices prophesying war! 

   The shadow of the dome of pleasure 

   Floated midway on the waves; 

   Where was heard the mingled measure 

   From the fountain and the caves. 

It was a miracle of rare device, 

A sunny pleasure-dome with caves of ice! 

   A damsel with a dulcimer 

   In a vision once I saw: 

   It was an Abyssinian maid 

   And on her dulcimer she played, 

   Singing of Mount Abora. 

   Could I revive within me 

   Her symphony and song, 

   To such a deep delight ’twould win me, 

That with music loud and long, 

I would build that dome in air, 

That sunny dome! those caves of ice! 

And all who heard should see them there, 

And all should cry, Beware! Beware! 

His flashing eyes, his floating hair! 

Weave a circle round him thrice, 

And close your eyes with holy dread 

For he on honey-dew hath fed, 

And drunk the milk of Paradise.

Jabberwocky

Jabberwocky

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BY LEWIS CARROLL

’Twas brillig, and the slithy toves 

      Did gyre and gimble in the wabe: 

All mimsy were the borogoves, 

      And the mome raths outgrabe. 

“Beware the Jabberwock, my son! 

      The jaws that bite, the claws that catch! 

Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun 

      The frumious Bandersnatch!” 

He took his vorpal sword in hand; 

      Long time the manxome foe he sought— 

So rested he by the Tumtum tree 

      And stood awhile in thought. 

And, as in uffish thought he stood, 

      The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame, 

Came whiffling through the tulgey wood, 

      And burbled as it came! 

One, two! One, two! And through and through 

      The vorpal blade went snicker-snack! 

He left it dead, and with its head 

      He went galumphing back. 

“And hast thou slain the Jabberwock? 

      Come to my arms, my beamish boy! 

O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!” 

      He chortled in his joy. 

’Twas brillig, and the slithy toves 

      Did gyre and gimble in the wabe: 

All mimsy were the borogoves, 

      And the mome raths outgrabe.