The September Featured Poet is D.B. Heath

Please feel free to email D.B. at: brianheath21@yahoo.com

A MENANCE IN CANDLELIGHT

In the quiet corridors of lonesome darkness
The candle burns like a dancing flame;
Illuminating fear with exotic perception.
As arcane fantasies linger among haunted walls
Infernal mantras are whispered behind closed doors;
An eerie and enticing eidolon intensifies desire
With the voice of a seductive siren.

In the drowsy dread of mysterious torment
I am defying lamentations and kissing shadows
Within a descended dream I cannot comprehend.
As I spiral among the halls like a labyrinthine asylum
This enchanting menace mocks my lecherous lunacy
While she roams like a gust of perfumed wind.

As candlelight exhumes a feverish image
Anticipating eyes rise with revelation.
A grim silhouette blooming like a beautiful taboo
With frail hair like black petals
Stitched on a smoldering headdress                          
Lies on the bed of promiscuous nightmares
Like a dead treasure of Frankenstein’s bouquet.
The flower of the abyss spreads her tempting charm;
Sweet roots of demented labors decorated with shiny stilettos.
A concubine of erotic horror is eager to taste my soul
In the mind-altered brothel of infernal passion.

My dead lover of guilty satisfaction
Under sheets of strange sensual terror
Has become my confession of wanted mischief.

THE NETHERWORLD ARCANA

The underworld’s rage roars with rebellion
In the inferno of myths and nightmares
Where monsters play
Hooligan hopscotch with hollow-points
As sweat drains from their capsaicin skin.
Dead soldiers stumble over burning bricks
From the falling turrets of Beelzebub’s castle,
Seraphs fly on sphinxes attacking shadows on stilts,
Sanguine scorpions crawl on Siamese skulls
And maggots roast on the blazing carcasses of mutants
In the ruins of a frivolous war.

Doomed civilians seek refuge
From the Netherworld arcana;
A permanent vacation of surreal horrors
As cambion savages and chimeras decipher
Cryptic words from a cosmic culture
That rides canoes on the clouds,
Fishing for angels and avatars of a new life
Within an arabesque horizon of bright colors.

A descended society seeks false hope
From alien literature of optimistic dreams
And magical widows whisper lies of wonder
Like wives and witches of a Sabbath honey-moon.
A contorted corpse is now the Neo-Casanova
Castrated with cob-webbed lips;
A symbol of love’s divine death in despair and decay.
As sinister salamanders with scorching saliva
Lick the faces of screaming ghosts
Fanged fairies with fluorescent wings give bloody kisses;
A display of affection or a display of fear.

In the boiling swamps boney barasinghas drink to survive
And radioactive rats ramble
Searching for a haven or some serenity
Through smoke infested alleys,
Where Dionysian demons sing
The homeless Gehenna blues
With diatonic harmonicas,
Whiskey bottles and cardboard percussion.

The queens of pentacles and evil hearts
Stand on a pedestal of ignited souls and welded bones
Quoting the pages from the Mephistophelian Revelations,
Awaiting the manifestations of the mystic grimoire,
While the insane sycophants kneel in reverence
All hope is lost in the mystery of eternal darkness
As summoned souls scatter and raid the Netherworld.

COURTESANS OF THE DARK MOON

Beyond the hailstorms through Sumerian rivers
Darkness suffocates with a shivering disease.
In the macabre poisoned atmosphere
Black roses fill the pergola
Where the symphony of horror confines existence
As a callous fiend of admirable fear dances to screams
Like a ballet of witches in Hell’s restless musical.

I have become prey to the sisters of the serpentine;
A vassal for prima donnas of the dance of the dead
As I worship the deities of this wintry shrine,
I give praise to their possession
Upon the lecherous banquet of my soul.
Their thirst for creative blood drains from my fingertips
With cravings of horrid fascinations,
Diabolical inspiration from the muses of hell;
I am the protégé of filth and intoxication.

In the demoness lair the covenant is sealed upon my flesh
Amidst the nocturnal lore of damnation;
The vandals of my body within the rapture
Are seen in the fenestella of my mind.
The harlots of haunts and fears
Rape my thoughts and desires
As they frolic in midnight tyranny.

Voluptuous vixens with arctic skin
And snow crust braids like black tourmaline
Rip the warmth from heaven and heart
With oral blades of cold seduction
As my blood slowly pours into their wicked wombs,
Giving new life to an author of darkness
With the progenies of terror.

While the mesmerizing leeches drown in the bitter feast
Banshees weep with censored vision
To never embrace the abysmal nymphs of the unlit sky;
Courtesans of the Dark Moon lurk with treacherous finesse.

D.B. Heath is a poet and writer of fiction. His work has appeared in several e-zines and print publications, such as The Horror Zine, Devolution Z, Bete Noire and Illumen. He is inspired by many writers such as Clark Ashton Smith, Philip Lamantia and Edgar Allan Poe. While creating stories and poems during his spare time, he enjoys listening to all types of music and playing sports with friends. He lives in the rural lands of Lizella, Georgia with his wife of seven years and his son Connor.