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The chatter of a death-demon from a tree-top

The chatter of a death-demon from a tree-top

Blood - blood and torn grass -
Had marked the rise of his agony -
This lone hunter.
The grey-green woods impassive
Had watched the threshing of his limbs.

A canoe with flashing paddle,
A girl with soft searching eyes,
A call: 'John!'
. . . . . . . . . . . .
Come, arise, hunter!
Can you not hear?

The chatter of a death-demon from a tree-top.

poem by Stephen Crane
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The chatter of a death-demon from a tree-top

The chatter of a death-demon from a tree-top

Blood -- blood and torn grass --
Had marked the rise of his agony --
This lone hunter.
The grey-green woods impassive
Had watched the threshing of his limbs.

A canoe with flashing paddle,
A girl with soft searching eyes,
A call: "John!"
. . . . . . . . . . . .
Come, arise, hunter!
Can you not hear?

The chatter of a death-demon from a tree-top.

poem by Stephen Crane
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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My Dark Demon

Every time I see you,
a part of my heart
is torn and ripped,
beaten and mutilated;
dripping blood.
My heart still wants you,
but you have 
pushed me aside.
A very special part
of me has died.
I don't feel
the same,
I have changed.
I am more dark,
a demon is 
now lurking inside me;
waiting for the
perfect moment to 
come out;
hungry and wanting
revenge!
I don't know how
much longer I have
until I go over the edge.
If it comes out,  
it will be the end 
of all humanity.
The darkness inside of me
is waiting for its chance
to taste the sweet
blood of all of those
who have caused 
me to have pain.
This change won't
be for good,
no one will recognize me;
I'll be something
monstrous and evil.
My blood thirsty,
conniving demon.

poem by Jaana Coon
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Blood of an Innoccent Little Vampire, Maria

Blood of an Innoccent Little Vampire, Maria
By, Demon

Maria,
Maria come to me,
Mom will sing a song to you that she once knew,
Far,
Far that angel did cross and he gave me my dear Maria,
Oh my Maria that I love so,
My little angel,
My angel of white and black,
My dear angel that I named my Maria,
My little angel covered in blood,
Oh my Maria what have you done,
Blood covering your whole body,
So many dead bodies on the floor,
So much blood every where on you and me,
The bite marks on our bodies,
Where did they come from my dear Maria,
The blood dripping from our mouths,
Oh my Maria what have we done,
The blood tastes so good to us,
The angel that gave me my Maria,
Wasn’t an angel he was a vampire,
A white haired demon with blood red eyes,
Our fangs paired with our angelic vampire.

poem by Demon Elwin
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Death Right

You signed in blood…
The blood of the Devil
You signed your Death Right
Your Death Right to Hell.
I signed my Death Right,
Years ago.
In my own Blood, that the Devil
Gave to me at 24.
The Death Right can’t be burned,
Fore it is immune.
The Death Right can’t be cursed,
Fore it is already been done.
The Death Right can’t be torn.
Fore it is immortal.
Our Death Rights are forever
Even if you die.

poem by Jade DragonHeart
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Leaves Turning Grey

Like a carcass lays, an ancient tree,
he tried to pray, through celestial seas,
but his spirit flew just like a bee.
Everyday he gazed at crying clouds,
the wind through his branches was so loud.
He looked for listening ears
as he stood in a sea of tears.

O tree, do you still wade?
Why have you lost your will to change?
O tree, leaves turning grey,
your roots have lost their range.

But how can one ask for help,
when you're not helping yourself?
And so this tree founded on sand,
with the wind tumbled to land.
He's an arboreal fool,
in a world that pulls
his heart and blood apart.

O tree, you've lost your blood,
your dead branches lay in the mud.
O tree, leaves turning grey,
your roots in such ground won't stay.

poem by Soren Valentine
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Peace Frog

Theres blood in the streets, its up to my ankles
She came
Theres blood on the streets, its up to my knee
She came
Blood on the streets in the town of chicago
She came
Blood on the rise, its following me
Think about the break of day
She came and then she drove away
Sunlight in her hair
She came
Blood in the streets runs a river of sadness
She came
Blood in the streets its up to my thigh
She came
Yeah the river runs down the legs of the city
She came
The women are crying red rivers of weepin
She came into town and then she drove away
Sunlight in her hair
Indians scattered on dawns highway bleeding
Ghosts crowd the young childs fragile eggshell mind
Blood in the streets in the town of new haven
Blood stains the roofs and the palm trees of venice
Blood in my love in the terrible summer
Bloody red sun of phantastic l.a.
Blood streams her brain as they chop off her fingers
Blood will be born in the birth of a nation
Blood is the rose of mysterious union
Theres blood in the streets, its up to my ankles
Blood in the streets, its up to my knee
Blood in the streets in the town of chicago
Blood on the rise, its following me

song performed by by Doors
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Green Green Grass Of Home

The old home town looks the same as I step down from the train,
And there to meet me is my mama and papa.
Down the road I look and there runs mary hair of gold and lips like cherries.
Its good to touch the green, green grass of home.
Yes, theyll all come to meet me, arms reaching, smiling sweetly.
Its good to touch the green, green grass of home.
The old house is still standing tho the paint is cracked and dry,
And theres that old oak tree I used to play on.
Down the lane I walk with my sweet mary, hair of gold and lips like cherries.
Its good to touch the green, green grass of home.
Yes, theyll all come to meet me, arms reaching, smiling sweetly.
Its good to touch the green, green grass of home.
[spoken:]
Then I awake and look around me, at four grey wall surround me
And I realize that I was only dreaming.
For theres a guard and theres a sad old padre -
Arm in arm well walk at daybreak.
Again I touch the green, green grass of home.
Yes, theyll all come to see me in the shade of that old oak tree
As they lay me neath the green, green grass of home

song performed by by Tom Jones
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Blood Red Roses

Blood red
The roses she'd
Always received
Blood red

Blood red
The sole chroma
Of her world
Blood red

Blood red
Spurted out from
His thorn-like barbs
Blood red

Blood red
Her anguished life
Assiduous
Blood red

Blood red
Her favorite
Shade of roses
Blood red

poem by Alice Vedral Rivera
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I Am Dead

I am death, and the right hand spells well this left hand;
I sadden the soul of mine, innocence does correct it
When the hands will replicate the blood of ages
And the green and blue grass shall witness a shower from up above.

I am life, the harbinger of life and all of forgotten life;
Like a tree that blossoms for its head and legs to carry more energy.
And then all of the wonder has been remembered
losing a request from soldiers of the tree,
do think this polite, please.
I live with guesses and estimates giving us joy
As much as the death of people
As much as the living spectrum of vision
As much as dead men and women who learn from each other.

poem by Naveed Akram
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The Lime Tree

That lime tree on the distant rising ground
(If it was a lime tree) showed her yellow leaves
Above the renewed green of wet August grass--
First Autumn yellow that on first Autumn eves
Too soon was found.

Comfortless lime tree! Scarce an aspen leaf
Like a green butterfly flitted to the ground;
There was no sign of Autumn in the grass.
Even the long garden beds their beauty brief--
Their mignonette,

Nasturtium and sweet-william and red stocks,
And clover crouching in the border grass,
And blood-like fuschia, eve's primrose and white phlox
And honeysuckle--waved all their smell and hue
Morn and eve anew.

But that far lime tree yellowing by the oak,
Warning oak, elm and poplar and each fresh tree
Shaking in the south wind delightedly,
And clover in the closeness of the grass,
Warns also me.

And now when all the trees are standing still
Beneath the purple and white of the west sky,
And time is standing still--as stand it will--
That early yellowing lime with palsied fingers
Cannot be still.

poem by John Freeman
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In Evil Long I Took Delight

In evil long I took delight,
Unawed by shame or fear,
Till a new object struck my sight,
And stopped my wild career.

I saw One hanging on a tree,
In agony and blood,
Who fixed His languid eyes on me,
As near His cross I stood.

Sure, never to my latest breath,
Can I forget that look;
It seemed to charge me with His death,
Though not a word He spoke.

My conscience felt and owned the guilt,
And plunged me in despair,
I saw my sins His blood had spilt,
And helped to nail Him there.

A second look He gave, which said,
“I freely all forgive;
This blood is for thy ransom paid;
I die that thou mayst live.”

Thus, while His death my sin displays
In all its blackest hue,
Such is the mystery of grace,
It seals my pardon too.

With pleasing grief and mournful joy,
My spirit now is fill'd,
That I should such a life destroy,
Yet live by Him I kill'd.

poem by John Newton
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Grey Wolves Grey

The Russian march is soft and slow,
Through dust and heat, or slush and snow,
When the Russian skies hang grey and low
To the frontiers far where the Russians go;
And they march to-night and they march to-day
Like the grey wolves grey, like the grey wolves grey.
Nor song nor sound their track reveals,
Save the ceaseless “clock” of the waggon wheels;
But a rift in the mist shows a glint of sun
On the long, dark shape of a toiling gun;
And they strain by night and they drag by day
To a distant goal, like the grey wolves grey.

As the horses toil at the ends of trains,
And the ends of roads on the Blacksoil Plains.
And Ivan digs in the frozen clay,
And he rolls the logs a bed to lay
For a gun that’s five hundred miles away,
But as sure to come as the grey wolves grey.

He is marching on with a purpose grand,
For brother Slav in another land;
Whose tongue, perchance, he cannot understand.—
But he knows the cry from the far-away,
And he smells the blood like the grey wolves grey.

And Ivan’s wife in her den at home,
While hunger looms and his lean wolves come—
With her grey-black bread like the Darling mud,
And her tea-bricks bound with the bullock’s blood—
She shields her cubs by night and day
Like the crouching sluts of the grey wolves grey.

And I march with Ivan where’er he be,
With the foreign blood that is strong in me,
And the love and the hate that is fantasy,
Like the ghosts of a father’s memory.
With the blood that is strange to us to-day
As the strange wild blood of the grey wolves grey.
Grey wolves,
Grey wolves—
The strange wild blood of the grey wolves grey.

poem by Henry Lawson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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You Hung Me

It's dead, it'd dead you killed it all
you fucked me over, you watched me fall
the life you sucked right out of me
dead you hung me from tree.

My blood spills out onto the ground
it screams, it cries without a sound
there is no victory here for me
dead you hung me from a tree.

You can run but you can't hide
you'll try to say it's suicide
torn apart for all to see
dead you hung me from a tree.

I'll prove to you your world is wrong
your power has gone on way to long
watch my body swing so free
dead you hung me from a tree.

Free from you I find my peace
in a grave that's six feet deep
the cage unlocked, I found the key
dead you hung me from a tree.

poem by CJA Anderson
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The Carriage

The carriage held a death for the hasty,
We slowly drove through the forest
With a demon fixed there, some mortal
Lunacy was afoot, like the offering of a lamb.

The gods were forsaking you today in the woods,
Craving for blood and flesh;
Their lessons numbered one thousand,
Twice they objected to the truth.

The carriage was gaining a thought for speed,
Grain and granules sped past with mockery,
The velocity of a tank was felt by all who were ridden,
Feeling like a successful emotion that came.

The blood and flesh remained tonight,
In this mighty head, so innocent and dry.

poem by Naveed Akram
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Green Woods Of Truagh

In the green woods of Truagh we met without fear,
Your kiss on my lips, and your voice in my ear,
Your tender arms about me, and your eyes glad and clear–
Ochón, the Green Woods of Truagh!

In the green woods of Truagh the days go on wings,
On every brown branch a gladsome bird sings
And the fragrant amber blossom of the honey-suckle swings–
Ochón, the Green Woods of Truagh!

In the green woods of Truagh the bracken stands high,
And wells of spring-water in deep hollows lie,
And the red deer is browsing in the cool shadows nigh–
Ochón, the Green Woods of Truagh!

In the green woods of Truagh no sorrow dared stay,
The lark called me early at dawn o' the day,
And o'er my sleep at night pleasant dreams used to play–
Ochón, the Green Woods of Truagh!

In the green woods of Truagh you wait till I come–
I left home and you for the stranger's far home,
To bring a hoard of yellow gold across the grey foam–
Ochón, the Green Woods of Truagh!

In the green woods of Truagh–if God hears my prayer–
I shall reach you, O true love, my empty hands there,
For little of the yellow gold has fallen to my share–
Ochón, the Green Woods of Truagh!

In the green woods of Truagh–your heart on my own,
And your bright hair in ringlets across my cheek blown
Now where in all the wide, wide world, could greater bliss be known?
Ochón, the Green Woods of Truagh!

poem by Anna Johnston MacManus
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If You Want Blood You Got It

Its criminal, there ought to be a law
Criminal, and you know what were shootin for
Shouting at the other guy
When his back is turned
Dont know the reason why
Aint it bout time you learn
If you want blood, you got it
If you want blood, you got it
Blood on the sheets, blood on the rocks
Blood in the gutter, give my last drop
You want blood, you got it
Wha-ooh
Its animal, livin in the human zoo
Its animal, and I know what you gotta do
Its the curse of the working man
Givin more and gettin less
Doin everything he can, cleaning up the mess
If you want blood, you got it
If you want blood, you got it
Blood on the sheets, blood on the rocks
Blood in the gutter, give my last drop
You want blood, you got it
Ooooh (shove it)?
You want blood, you want blood
After you
Blood on the sheets, blood on the rocks,
Blood in the gutter, give my last drop
You want blood, you got it
If you want blood, you got it
If you want blood, you got it
If you want blood, you got it

song performed by by AC-DC
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Birds Who Sing The Same Song

Once upon the hunter's lifetime
He entered the forest with his hound
As he waited for animal senses,
He heard the same sound

The sound came from above
It was the sound of birds
Though they were very different,
They had similar words

The birds were of two colors
They were either brown or green
They sang on top of their voices
The song of a queen

First, the hunter watched them sing
He did not understand the words
He set a trap on the tree
And caught some green birds

He brought them home
Thinking he has caught something good
After preparing the meal,
He realizes their meat is not right for food

Again, he watched them sing
He did not understand the words
He set a trap on the tree
And caught brown birds

He brought them home
Thinking the browns would not taste the same
After preparing the meal,
He realizes the meat was worse in the bowl of shame

He now understood the words
And watches them as they sing
The same song, one meaning
A song to get trapped in a ring

The birds sing the same song
A song of the soul
They sing in a competition
They compete for a common goal

They look attractive on the tree
They sing the same song

Understanding their words is the key
They sing the same song

They sound very kind
They sing the same song

They have a motive in mind
They sing the same song

They sing and fly from the leaves to the stem
But the hunter desires none of them

The hunter would now find other creatures
With the best of all features
Because the birds sing the same song

poem by Mark Nyamekye Boadi
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Agony

Ever wonder how He felt?
Praying in the garden
His students asleep
Could not watch for an hour
He knew He had to die
Even if it's just for me
He would be scourged
He would sweat blood
Even if it's just for me
Agony!

There He was, fixed
Nails in hands and feet
For a moment
Abandoned by God
Agony!

They pierced Him
Blood and water gushed
Mom at His feet
Brothers vanquished
Head bowed
Breathed His last
How He felt?
Think you have it hard?
Think about Him
Agony!

He was wrapped
Buried and left
Thought it was the end?
Not so fast!
Three days later
He got up
Just like that
Now He reigns victorious

Today knees bow
Eyes close
Agony?

poem by Buxton Shippy
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Molten Grief

Give me back,
me back, my affections.
I had planted the kisses on
melting lamps.

The dark tunnel goes
to a lake for a rendezvous
with pink death on white lips
of cinders.

Such agony of wintering tree.
Not a single bird
on the branches to pump the green
blood for the wheels of time.

The speeding moon was in hurry,
to question the oppressed night.
Why the days were becoming
shorter and shorter?

poem by Satish Verma
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Death of death

Death died death
A tragic death of unusual death

Cemetery moaned, howled and wept alone
Its tears all over the ground
Death! Its sole hunter and soul provider
Graveyard's convulsion of shame

As if death was new
Death was old had to die too
Nothing last forever

There was nothing new
Clouds gathered but never rained
No rain wanted to clean the blood on death
The unusual act of death
Even birds of the feather fights each other
Death died, all were dazed for death of death

poem by Jacques Sprenkie Mateya
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