~Dark Poetry October~
And now for a total change of poetic stridency…
wanting to explore a variable to the anonymity of Fantasy…
here is what whispered my muse;
with a hidden; or perhaps an underlying quip of physiological reticence…
the wicked little bugger which we all unfortunately experience sometime,
and what might those little buggers be?.....
or better yet Who….
they are Wicked Little Elves….
a quiet mouse told me things are not always what they seem…
those dogs pretending to be cats & those cats…
well those cats just purr under moon light on a fence watching those dogs pretending to be cats…
The Wood Sculptor Artist: Lundy Cupp
Wicked Little Elves
Wicked little elves …with erect venues of destination;
Leading their peruse thoughts upon toad stools of destruction…
Crawling from wings of broken dreams;
…like the pseudo of deceptive charts for misunderstanding…
Walking in the dusting skirts of impoverished ideas;
Thinking inside the inept box of destitution…
Examination brings expellant divisions…
Those unprovoked thoughts from out of temerities hidden blue;
Macerating the challenge of stirring tenders upon forbidden toils…
Looking over their snickering shoulder at yet another broken dream;
The charting wind becomes another howling saga of cursing darkness…
…scathing their forked tongues with hooking promises;
Are those cross stitched clothes an addiction of contempt?
…like a serpents delight upon unsuspecting credulous prey…
Dredging their self in the syrup of lies…wrought in their fetid murk…
They walk with dirty cloaks throwing stones of snipers hatred;
because their eyes cannot see through the wool
over their gargled assaultive thoughts…
Dismembered hearts cause them to lust with rigid penile tensions;
Thwarting their mischief under the rugs of scrutiny’s raucous sty…
…They gauntly look up the clever slips of adversity with cruel intentions;
To poke their thorny spurred toes into the bowels of yet another perception…
…Yes…Those wicked little elves are indeed erect venues of perversive destinations…
(Written: August 31st, 8:02 p/m)
with the depths of darkness as my shroud of hidden spies:
Dark Poetry October 2009
In Anguish, In Vengeance, In Menace, In Discordance of Lust…
Victoria, many a wicked little elf has invaded my broken dream,
but, sadly..."Walking in the dusting skirts of impoverished ideas..."
I linger, lovingly, in your exquisite language. -gene.
Well Vick, now you got old Santa Fee worried. I hope these are not the same elves that migrated to the Canadian Arctic so many years ago to become my valued and treasured tool makers?
hugs
Fee
Wow, this is quite a poem, Miss Vickie, It never ceases to amaze me the depths of your talented pen...Much to like about this one!!
Peace, love, and light,
Amber "V"
Hey, I think I know some of those dudes. lol
As usual Vickie this write captures so many avenues of thought,
and show cases the wicked realm of pure underhanded evil that we fear.
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Dave.
...with erect venues of destination...great! and the rest is another unique dark romp only you can pull off. And what fabulous language!
John
great write Vickie
Love,
Christine
but, sadly..."Walking in the dusting skirts of impoverished ideas..."
I linger, lovingly, in your exquisite language. -gene.
hugs
Fee
Peace, love, and light,
Amber "V"
Then again...you are the wicked one!!!
EDvard
As usual Vickie this write captures so many avenues of thought,
and show cases the wicked realm of pure underhanded evil that we fear.