ABPA - Australian Bush Poets Association

G'day All,

Well it's been a while but I'm still writt'n stuff when I get a chance. Here is a dark poem about a nightmare dream based upon works by Poe. Not sure what I've written but I'll post it anyways. I can't seem to post this the way I want it for some reason. I'd like it all centered. Maybe someone can help out there. As always all comments are welcome as I'm always ready to learn.


CORVUS CORONOIDES GEMINI
(The Twin Winged Specters )

When our thoughts become dreams, is solace achieved,
or is it an unbridled cerebration, to which it seems not conceived?
Our simplistic thoughts, of cerebral peace, all descending, some ill-believed
Persistent dreams of mine cause wonder, many unique, nor merciful as I sleep
The lucid trance of things, which happens, intertwine, yet can never keep
Within my cortex, the minds eye labors, a haunting imagination is reaped.

When in muted imagery, a wounded drama played forever in this lonely trance
Abrupt stormy breezes summon, curtains now drift in this, ‒ a ghostly dance
Ramshackle window frames of fractured glass grace these sad walls,
hidden within the shadows ‒ are the torment of squares with nothing at all
Fireplace flames of hells gate, flicker, twist ‒ oscillate and illuminate
This the darkest of these outback nights brings my intrinsic fate.

Fitful sleep my burden, oh dear Polly
Lucid dreams of awareness lost
Forsake of me not, my literati.

(Intimidatingly the tower bells toll)

Church bells struck warnings this misty night; a prayer is said ‒ ne'er more
Gusts batter the old weathered house, sounds of them rapping hit the slab door
Oh dear mother ‒ where thou aren’t now, in horror, surely I'm done for
Looking to the ceiling, devoid my thought, petrified, my body lay in darkness
I turned inside to face the wall, it's starkness only fuels ‒ this doleful madness!
In fear filled blackness, strange sounds forced my backward stare, my anxious.

Materialized for judgment, perched twin winged specters, to my astonishment,
their heads tilt with eyes aglow of blood red, God only knows my punishment
Shield my eyes and head as they land beside my bed, their angers ‒ dominant,
an eerie silence consumes the room, observance, nor peace, non provident
Moonlight cast shadows of these wicked abominations against the far wall
I begin to tremble, the unknown swells my paranoia, their terror enthralls.

Oh Polly, I'm forever lost
Thy ordeal is very wishful
Please release me calmly.

O pounding heart would bring the dead, they knew ‒ my psyche wishes it untrue,
yet this deed is indeed so horrid; a wicked attack, guilt ridden, yes ‒ I saw this evil act!
With deliberate intent, a single push, no words spoken, a confrontational blow to first attack
Then a sharp blade of cold steel is drawn, then struck deep within the human coronary tract
A lifeless body falls to mother earth, in a “limp-full-thud,” in witness god my brain racked
Forever my cowardice I feared to speak; oh rest assured ‒ murder was a matter of fact!

And then their words cometh,

“You knew-w-w, You knew-w-w, evil comes to him just
as he who commits the act. Coward you are, as sniveling
a retch you be-e-e!”
Ar-r, guilty soul, 10,000 damnation’s bar-r too good,
fa-a-rr the likes of you-u-u!”

Flames roar in voracity, ending truer words forever spoken by these winged apparitions
Blood from the victim is surely upon my wrinkled, pathetic ‒ graven hands
I cringe in this grief filled nightmare, Oh begone ‒ depart I call, my mind commands
Demonic shadows of my specters stretched overhead, petrified eyes hurriedly scan
In dutch courage, a swallow of warm whiskey, death surely seeks this retch of a man
I knew of the vicious murder, he would see my body in a coffin and the lid slam.

Poor Polly, for you not see
I'm not lost to this great all
Cursed with those ungodly.

Whiskey bottle empty, my head spins, throat numb from its intoxicated sting
This numbness grows, I need to rid me, yet the room spins my minds in a fling,
tension swells my head in panic, this scoundrel hides from these wretched things
Adrenalin fuels my thoughts, sliding of boney limbs, my escapes now in full swing
Untoward, leaping toward the specters, running between their pecking stings
Departure fortuitous-n-swift, biting my tongue ‒ behold free me of these evil things!

In drunken glee legs carry me too near sanctity, outside this demonic theater
Yet, my twin specters circle the room, streaking angrily to abscond this cheater
Adherence to this my fool, oh tormenting of the circling, ‒ them driving me too its lair
Down the dirt road, toward the grove of gums I flee, yet not a word of prayer
I stumble past jagged metal of the abattoir shed, wishing not to meet him, soul beware
Forbid, this one runs into my ghost, the creature, my walking nightmare.

Oh Polly the more I see
Grant of me pretty dove
It feels so melancholy

For my horror, I glare down, legs and body frozen in fright ‒ n' fear filled imagery,
standing between fractured tombs and toppled markers, I'm in the old town cemetery
Epitaphs to death, this morbid place reeks of tragedy; it's love of death nor necessary
Primordial evil, it's brother courts those of an untimely death, arbitrary strikes unwarily
Morbidly, the sounds of demon wings arrive overhead, trees give‒way in complicity
Demonically, my twin specters perched ‒ talons grasping, watching, gloating cynically.

Summoned to kneel, head shielded from vengeful strike, no nothingness thy reward
Waiting in eternities silence, vision glares upon the epitaph, my words I must hoard
Thus more profound my brothers grave, before me lay a destiny; I yelled and roared‒d!
A boney pinch burdens upon my shoulder ‒ I turn to face this, thy dammed inquisitor
My heart is shocked as my mind pounds on realities back door ‒ beware this evil visitor
Ghost, the reaper, shrouded in raven black pointing in judgment, my deaths parishioner.

Polly your soothing words
A desire lifts this dreary heart
Benign non-love devouring me hearty.

Roaring forty’s bellow with tremendous ferocity, gusts of frosty breeze ‒ winds in howling
Cold shiver passes down my spine, painful these icy gusts, body shivers, my growling
A boney swipe across my neck, my specter points toward the unmarked grave calling
Fallen leafs, dead branches depart, exposed a lifelessness ‒ it shrouded in toweling
Shoved toward this grave, kneeling, the stench of putrid death reeks ‒ its astonishing
This inanimateness, with no lie, head moved to face my awkward glare, in admonishment.

Death is my life as it is, this ungodly mass speaks the victims curse; it begins to command
Is evil as evil does, does evil as evil is, is evil as evil does ‒ good can never withstand
does evil as evil is, is evil as evil does, does evil as evil is,‒ life's hand must now disband
Is evil as evil does, does evil as evil is, is evil as evil does – enter unto no man's land
Was this a trick, a slight of hand, “No!” my emptiness is now my end ‒ its here understand!
This infernal wicked beast circumcise my soul, dragged into the abyss; hells meadowland.

For my sweet Polly
Tears dripping, stain my lips
This loss, I'm so deeply sorry.

“A nothingness is a gift to this my dark consciousness”

When our thoughts become nightmares, is true solace achieved,
or is it an unbridled damnation, to which it seems very much conceived?
Our simplistic thoughts, of cerebral torture, all ascending, some true-believed
Persistent thoughts of mine cause horror, many lucid, nor merciful as I sleep
The truth of things, which did happen, is my nothingness, I will forever keep
Within my grave, the minds eye labors, a haunting imagination is reaped.

(Ending - the single bell tolls)

© By Philip Anthony

Unfortunately I found it more Coronoides perplexus.

G'day Nev,

Yeah it's not your typical and purists wouldn't like it I guess. Yet I did this for myself mainly; more for my art than anything else. I put a lot of work into it as you can see. I figure someone might get a kick out of reading it. However, thanks for commenting Nev.

PHIL.

I have read Poe's poem The Raven and I see where you are coming from.

Ezra Pound said that we should go in fear of abstractions. I meditate on that advice and I hope to be able to put it into practice.

As for American poets, I would try and persuade you to have a look at Robert Frost, I think a much more down to earth and in some ways a bush poet.

G'day Nev,

Interesting Hmm, I have read some of Frosts work and I find it wondering to a point of being off topic, even abstract in parts. So I guess you are saying I should write like Frost? Sorry Nev but you have lost me.

I now and then read a lot of work published in modern poetry magazines and I find some of that work disappointing and some of it bizarre; even very extreme. I guess rules are meant to be broken. I only wrote this again to be different and not the dull hum-drum flat norm. Sure I could have smoothed it out and possibly choose a more softer theme but I did not. Horror is not something I thought you'd smooth out. If you look there is a poem within a story here. I tried to tell this ode as best I could and drop in a sketch to help get the point across. We all write for our art and hopefully with a www posting some one will actually bother to read it.

I always thank those that do take the time to read it....I appreciate your critique.

PHIL

Like Frost, no. I think it is best that you write like LongMan

I only mention Frost because I thought it was a way to consider a contrast between Poe who seems to me to be very flowery and mannered and Frost who seems to me to be plain and direct. Someone has said that we learn poetry from poets, I was just making a suggestion for some contrast reading, take it or leave it as you wish.

G'day Nev,

Ok I understand. I don't want plagiarize anyone. Several months ago I watched a B&W movie with I believe Basil Rathbone, playing Edgar Allan Poe. For a man that wrote dark themes he seemed to have a lot of women in his life. It looked like a war years movie but can't be certain. Like all poets his life was tragic. He was found on the street incoherent and in someone else's clothes? Also I was listening to the Allan Parsons project and the song “the raven” which lit the fire.

Like I said the story has a poem in the middle of it. At first I didn't know how to approach this project but I knew it was going to be difficult. I wanted something different. I looked to other stuff I had written and the beginning was key. Had to write something that gave an impression of a trance or dream. I think I've done that. Then I looked for a nightmare….."guilt and dealing with it"... seemed appropriate. And then what were the specters, twin blackbirds seemed suitable, and the reaper.....over several months it developed and came into this present form. I wrote some of it in my workbook for an English class I was taking over here in the US. But the teacher didn't know what I had written....she asked, “did I write that?”... I replied yes and it's part of a poem I was working on. She didn't say anything, I just gave her a draft hard copy but it's been several weeks and she hasn't gotten back to me. I thought I might have gotten some extra credits for it. I would have liked her input on it before I went public, but alas that was not to be.

I wanted to do a creative writing class here to improve my skills yet the local college here wouldn't let me. Funny how Americans are. I had to start off at the bottom...and work my way up. But that's life isn't it. So with a quick digital drawing (I'm not the best artist in the world), You can see the horror when viewed from right to left; then the country church and grave yard which is the end. Look out for a spook in the window and other things around the drawing.

Hope my fellow poets here will understand what I've written....I intend to write more but time is always hard to find. Need to find a muse also....

PHIL

I heard that Edgar Allan Pope was so afraid of being buried alive that he tried to leave instructions that his coffin lid should have attached underneath it, an iron spike that would pierce his heart when the lid was put in place. Ensuring that he really was deceased at the time of his burial.
Now there's a weird theme for a gothic poem.

I can't vouch for the authenticity of the story.

G'day Nev,

There is always that line in the sand we shouldn't go over......as with everything.

Well to be honest Nev, I don't think I will continue with the horror theme. This was just a personal test to prove something to myself. Yes, poor Poe didn't have a healthy life nor a long one. What I do know is a heck of his work has been used in movies and other media. In reading some of his works I often wonder why.

PHIL.