A Haiku Soirée

I attended a Vampire’s Day Soirée, and certain darlings (painted by Gina, Shelle and Stacy, respectively) followed me home; the Muse had to haiku them wildly. Here are her just-birthed poem bits (which I’ve linked to the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads, Tuesday Platform):

lunatics
bloomed wild with the moon
and fanged sheep
Mavis, in “The Beast Within”, by Gina Morley

.

darkened skies
in her eyes; her mouth,
a blood pit
Love (detail), by Shelle Kennedy

.

a soft wing
cradles her bloodless—
wild dreaming
Dark Pleasures (detail), by MagicLoveCrow

By the way, while we are on the subject of poem bits… Have you voted on Expanding Wee Bits of Dark Fiction and Poetry, 8? If not, you have until the end of today to choose which bit you wish me to develop into longer poetry or flash fiction. Follow the link to cast your votes, my Luvs. 😉

Under Her Breast

The brilliant, sexy (and extremely modest) witchy woman hosting the Sunday Mini-Challenge: Carpe Jugulum, over at the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads, invited everyone to craft a new poem that speaks of their thoughts/feelings on the following Terry Pratchett quote: “Don’t trust the cannibal just ’cos he’s usin’ a knife and fork!” And because I always listen to my delightful self *giggles-infused-cackles*, I accepted the challenge. 😉 Here is my Carpe Jugulum inspired poem. I will also link this piece to Holly’s Vampire’s Day Soirée.

“Under Her Breast”

Every heart fell
for the silver in his tongue,
for a mouth that licked minds
dazed
before sinking teeth into flesh;

every heart
but the one under her breast.

She had tasted
the fakery that oozed
out of the shine in his eyes,
watched him sign contracts
with the blood of shackled sheep,
while sitting on the backs
of the choice-robbed
and the enthralled.

She had wondered
if any of them would ever see
the muck that stuck to his bones,
the worms that rotted the hollows
that should’ve housed a soul;

will they sense the incubus
under the wealth-made halo,
or has he sucked all the marrow
out of their future and wits?

.
The Crimson Messenger, by Kristof Corvinus“The Crimson Messenger”, by Kristof Corvinus