Writings
The Metro Poems
2 poems structured around a haunted metro, of tourtured souls—of the living and the dead
Miners of The Metro
Creatures soaked in sooten skin
Crampt beneath the gravel's grin,
Coddled from the scorching sphere,
Coffined by those ghastly gears.
Pickaxes reeked, wrecking rocks,
plastered with those hellish hoss
pets-of-metro's mono-mews,
peering with a haunting hue.
Blitzing tinks, of trembling trains,
blubber-flesh fester and fades.
bashing the tracks and The Trapped,
Bypassers' frill freedom flapped
Lurking in that limestone lane
Lull-less limbs that's lights on lain.
The Murmurs of The Metro
The Metro’s music murmurs
Marauding men and mice
Marring minds of many men
Marching them to mort
Where metal mets muscles
Where minds mush into mud
Beware of the Metro's music
‘Cause it is the Mark of Mort
The ‘Fectious Flame
A F alliteration poem about A firemen protecting his town from a huge firee sprouted from a fire spirit. Can he smother this flame with a flail or his fists?
Footfall flared, fracking the flounce fairground
Freedmen flew fire-flags, fronting the firehouse.
A Fireman faced the fleshy feast
Fitted in a flamboyant fireproof-fabric,
Flashing a flail in his fist, “I’ll fighting this fiery fucker!”
His footfall forces flame-wards
A flume fog-like fumes floated and fell
Filling familial farmland.
Flaming floundering fruit,
Flayed festering fig-trees,
The Fireman entered the fray,
His flail frisked the fumes,
Fling it forthwards.
In that fiery frenzies focal,
Fitted a figure in that fire’s fit.
Flames floundered around that feminine figure,
As flames fling from her fantom fists.
Flanking, the fireman flung his flail
Flattening her fiery face, She didn’t fret,
Her flesh fletched, foaming, forming her face.
Facing the fireman, the Fanthom freed
Her fiery fangs, frying flesh
Flowing ferociously, flaying the fair air.
The flame fetched new fuel: the firemen,
Flaking the fireproof fibers
Freeing flesh to be flamed
The flail flew a few more forthwards
Leaving finite fletchings in her fire-flesh.
The Fantom fantastical flames
Fused the fail’s fleck to the floor.
The Firemen’s flesh festered,
His fists flushed upon that fiery face,
Followed by fast footfall
He flung his fist,
Flaking the Fantom’s flames
Her flames flinching, faltering,
Failing to ‘fest the firemen.
Fuming, she freed her flames
The flames & fumes filled the farm,
Flaring fifty feet high,
Flowing like a flapping flag.
The fireman’s flesh festooned with fiery fur .
As his fists flew fantom-wards,
Fracturing her fourth fang.
Ferociously, her fangs feasted,
Fracking his foreneck.
He fired his foot,
Fracturing her femur.
The fantom fell as
Her fangs’ flayed his flesh.
A fury of fists fracked her frame,
Her fiery figure fainted and fainted,
Filed down to a fragmented flicker.
Finding her fleshy frame,
Featured on her front:
Fletched upon her flaky flesh: The Fiery Flower,
The “Flame Fetish” faction crest.
The fireman frowned “Forgive me.
“It’s not your fault. This’ll fucking hurt.”
He fetched his fused flail.
Fitting It’s flaccid fleck upon that crest,
Flaying it off,
Forever un-fated by flames.
The Lost Lynchée
An solid L alliteration poem about a man surviving his hanging—through mystical means—and escapes running away from the execution hunting him down
Lo! Listen, listen!
I’ll loosen ma lips!
Of a loathsome lyric!
A lyric of a lonesome Lynchmen
And his lost Lynchee, Lawkmen:
The Lieutenant of the Light Lancers.
In the living-lanes’ lacuna
Lawkmen lynching came to light
Unleashing his last light-lyrics,
Lost In the loud litter of loosen lips.
A lone listener heard: the Lord!
The leathermen to his left, levitated
Like a lantern—lynched.
The Lynchmen’s legs lobbed to the lever and,
Lipped “The Lord listen least to
loathsome lycanthrope, Lieutenant!”
The lever leapt, the lookers lipped
Lawkmen’s lynching was the least lengthy,
Little to low levity of life
Little to low lunging legs
Little to low loosen lungs
Just unlinking ligaments,
and lunging life-liquids.
Leaving a lonesome loop,
Looming over Lawkmen’s
limp ligaments and life-lake,
As onlooker lear into his larynx.
The onlookers loud-litters lulled,
Leering at Lawkmens ligaments,
Locating, latching, linking
to other lively ligaments.
The Onlookers’ lids limpid,
Lucidly leering at the Lich!
As linking ligaments latch to Lawkmen’s larynx,
Lumination leeches through his life-lanes,
Lawkmen’s legs lead, leveling him
And lunged and leapt,
His lighten limbs levitated,
Lynchmen leapt to the lynching’s ledge,
Lipping “Lawkmen, Listen! You Lich! Your lynching isn’t lulled!
A lychee never lives! The low-lord has a lacuna for you!”
Lawkmen left lipping “Lich? No.
Just the lates Lazarus!”
A lizard’s-lifetime lost.
In the laps of light;
Lawkmen’s-leather lullied to lion’s hue,
As he levitated low and lightly over
A load of logs, littered across a lagoon.
His lugging-limbs, latched to a log,
Launching a lime lumination,
Lobotomizing a log into a lance.
Leering lightwards, he lipped
“So, I’m, located.“
“Lo Lychenthrop!” Lipped a lonesome lurker:
“You can’t lose a Lynchmen!”
A light-licked lasso lilted, Lich-wards
Latching his leg, locking his life-lanes.
Lawkmen levitated Lordwards,
Leashing The Lynchmen, like a lantern-lynched.
The Lynchmen laddered the lasso,
Latching onto Lawkmen’s leg.
Lawkmen lobbed his lance,
Unlinking Lynchmen’s legs.
lunging life-liquids, lilting in loops,
As limped legs litter the lagoon.
Lawkmen lilted his lasso,
Latching to The Lich’s larynx,
The Lynchmen unlatched from Lich’s leg,
Leading Lawkmen lagoon-wards,
Looping, lulling, and lilting.
The lagoon licked and lathered them.
The lagoon luminated lime,
Limbs lunged from the luminated liquid:
Lone limb of the Lyncher
Lone limb of the Lynchee
A lonesome larynx lipped;
Lazarus, the Lynchee.
Lo! listeners!
If ye locate that lime lagoon,
You’ll listen to a lyric, The lyric of
The Lynchmen lynched-locked
Launched to life by that lime-liquid
Lilting in that loop.
The Missionary Marauder
An M alliteration poem, where a marauder fights a mystical mage with his mace, but needs to elimiate his minions first
The Marauder of mythical monsters,
A mercenary of man,
A missionary of misery for myths and malevolent men.
Masquerading as a mortal man,
Meandering around the masses,
Massacring a myriad of men and monsters.
The missionary's mission: to mar the murderous mage of madness.
The eyes of the Marauder and the magnificent mage met,
High up in the mounds, where the mage maintains his minaret,
amidst the inner margin is a mess with a myriad of mutated mangled monsters bits,
Mended together making a mortal monstrosity.
The Marauder marches ever closer to the mage’s minaret,
the mage manding malignant mob of mercenaries,
the Marauder is marked for murder.
A myriad of mercenaries mobilized,
They melee the Marauder in masses.
the Marauader raises his martyr mace,
in a single swing, maiming, marring, mangling , and mutilating a multitude of mercenaries.
masking everything in muddled blood, muscles, and meat.
In mere moments the mercenaries were massacred, reduced to the meaty mush of former men who mourned, married, and experienced malice and merry
Now as their meaty mush melts in the mound’s mead.
A measly mercenary is molten in place, Mystified as a man mercilessly massacred a myriad of militaristic mercenaries in mere moments.
The Marauder meets eyes with the measly mercenary,
The mercenary tries to maneuver,
The Marauder already mounts his mace in the misty air menacingly,
Before maliciously murdering the man,
The mace mutilates everything as it migrates from the mind to the mouth,
As the mouthpiece wavers with the mistral winds.
The Mage’s meticulous eye, molds the muck and marl around the Marauder,
In a maze-like morass with murderous machinations,
Where a model mortal-man has no chance at survival.
The Marauder mains his mace and maims the maze’s walls leaving a massive gapping mouth,
The marauder marches through,
meeting the mage’s monstrosity.
The monster was a meat amalgamation with a mania of mutated monsters marred and mended back together,
Multiple hands melted into one single meat machine,
The Monster’s mass measured about a massive mast.
The monster mauled towards the Marauder, missing him,
as the it’s mutated fist mares the mount getting it mired.
The Marauder using his mace,
Mutilating the Monster’s wrist making it mere meat.
The monster lets out a monstrous mutated miserable moan,
its moan’s mimic all the monsters, as if all the moans merge into a monstrous one.
In its moment of misery,
the Marauder maims the Monster’s ankle,
as the malformed ankle gives-way,
the monster meets its master in the minaret,
milling everything underneath the monster.
the Mage malingers like a mirage,
murmurs a few words to the Monster as its wounds mend.
the Marauder swings his mace at the Mage,
as the Mage's merry mug mutilates,
the bloody brainy muck merges with the mace.
the mortified Monster mustering the materialistic body of its master,
moving her into the middle of the mort minaret.
manumit for its mitigated master,
the monster monopolized on it’s madness,
unleashing a mania of mauling, towards the Marauder.
the madness of maltreated muscles matting the Marauder in place.
Standing is the mist is him,
The Marauder merely maneuver out of the monster's madness,
without a mark on him like a mirage in a mortal model.
The Marauder mounts the monster's mane, Morning his mace,
He maims the majority monster's mass.
Right before the Murauder murders the monster,
the Murauder is mawed as the monster makes a meal out of him.
the Marauder matching the strength of the monster's mandible,
maintaining himself from not becoming a meal.
the Marauder swings his mace mutilating the monster's maxilla,
making an exit along with a memento and monument.
the Marauder mounds its mace for the mortal blow,
marring the monster's marrow.
the mission is completed: murdering the mercenary militia, mutated monster, and mage.
the mettled missionary marauder maintained mankind’s amity for another million years.
the Soldier-of-sorrows
A S alliteration poem, about women killing by a supernatural serpent, she fights back but fails. She’s sent to hell and makes a deal with satan to claim vengeance. She goes off ton enact it
A silver-toned serpent slithered across the seven seas,
scouring through the season of snow.
In search of a sin-filled souls,
to satisfy its insatiable stomach.
Spotting a single straggler,
strolling along the sea-side.
The serpent shrouded by shadows,
swooped in snatching the stupendous soul,
the stand-alone survivor.
Speedily subduing her in a single second,
Its sabertooth fangs stabbed her in the stomach,
splitting her into two sectors,
swallowing her in the sights of none.
She is now subsiding in Satan's sector,
spiritual flames spouting simultaneously
searing skin from skeletons.
she's sent to the spire of suffering,
selling her soul to the sire of the sadists.
To slay the silver-serpent, single-handedly.
Supporting her success, Satan spares the Saber of Sorrows.
Sending her back as a specter,
She slays every single soul she sees.
With every soul slain, the saber gets substantially stronger.
She stormed across the solidified sea,
searching for six seasons till she sees it on the seashore.
The serpent's silhouette stands straight with its staggering stature, surveying its surrounding.
Satan's slave secures her saber and sets her sight on the serpent.
The setting sun sends the shrouds land in shadows,
setting the stage suitable for a surprise strike.
she strikes in silence, shrouded shadows, slashing the serpent's spine as its sticky blood spurts out.
She splits the skin further straight down the spine as its skeleton’s shown.
The suffering serpent startled sending it to the sea,
staining it in red for several seasons to come.
The spiteful specter stabs her saber into its spine.
The serpent splits the sea as it swims with the speed of sound,
She staggers at the speed of the serpent, slipping downwards, splitting the serpent as she slid.
Then she sticks the sharp saber into its spine's support.
Satan's specter stands strong, sticking to the serpent as its steadily speeds up every single second for the span of several suns.
The serpent soliciting a sully success,
It spun and seized its spine, where the She-specter stood.
She unsheathed the saber for the serpent's spine,
slanting the sword toward the serpent's skull.
The serpent's skull slamming into the saber's sharp edge,
severing the serpent down its spine,
slaying the serpent, single-handedly.
Satan's soldier of sorrow serves the serpent's role, striking down sinful souls, sending them to Satan's sector.