POEMS - Music - http://maxpages.com/aeazine/ISSUE_8

She-Wolf
Written by Lucifera Elena

City streets can’t sustain
The animal in me.
The night still beckons.
My blood runs wild.
I rush through cemeteries
Where trees still remain.
I hear little creatures
Screeching in pain.
My human features
Are no longer the same.
I scream in agony
As transformation begins.
The pleasure
The thrill
The gentle teasing of death.
I feel stronger and wiser
Than ever before.
A growing hunger takes over my soul.
I see a hunter looking at me
It’s his turn to be hunted
And the thrill begins to increase.
I kill my prey
And blood flows from my fangs
Watch the river of life come to an end.
After a while I relax
By a dirty river.
Too bad humanity
Is such a gold-digger.
I sadly wait
As the morning comes
And I beg the earth
Not to make me human again.

Crush the Weak!
Written by Lucifera Elena

Crush the weak!
Demolish those in my path!
Dark Lord,
For you,
I’ll tear their world in half.
You haunt me
I praise you
Seven deadly sins
Now my strength.
as they cry
I conjure the winds.
They’ll pay
as I win.
I am of the legion!
I am of the strong!
I share my ecstasies
with the most
Unholy ones!

SATRYASIS ESCAPADE
Written by Henry Nuesslein

IT IS A PLEASANT BALMY EVENING IN THE WOODS.
FACING THE FOREST FLOOR IS THE LASCIVIOUS VAMPIRE.
THE ATMOSPHERE IS KEEN WITH THE SCENT OF A
LIBERTINE DEMIMONE WHIFFING THROUGH THE TREES.
HER CARNAL LUSCIOUSNESS IS INVIGORAGTING TO THE
RUTTISH DESIRES OF THE MASTER.
WITH HIS CAPRICE RIGID AND AROUSED.
HIS NOCTURNAL NEEDS ARE STILL UNSATISFIED.
AGAIN THE MASTER SECRETES HIS ALLURING EMANATION
ON THE UNDERGROWTH AND BIDES HIS TIME.
THE VAMPIRE NOW AWAITS CONJUGATION AND CLIMAX.
WILL THERE BE A COMING TOGETHER IN THE FOREST TONIGHT??

THE CEREMONY
Written by Henry Nuesslein

A MURKY HAZE COVERS THE BURIAL GROUNDS OF THE WOODED CEMETERY. THE FULL MOON IS RISING TO ITS ZENITH. MURMURS OF THE UNDEAD FILL THE NIGHT WITH AN HARMONY OF ANTICIPATION. THIS EVENING A DAMSEL WILL PRESENT HERSELF FOR ENTENTE INTO THE COVEN. MANY ARE THE DENIZENS OF THE FRAVE YARD AND WILL WITNESS HER RITUAL THE NOTURNAL BANKS ARE READY TO WELCOME HER DECISION WITH CELEBRATION. THE ATMOSPHERE IS AWAFT WITH THE SWEET SMELL OF INCENSE AND THE CARNAL SECRETIONS OF THE UNINHIBITED. THIS WILL BE AN UNRELENTING EVENT SENSUAL HEDONISTIC DEBAUCHERY.

NOW AS THE HERALD PROCLAIMS THE APPROACH OF THE COVEN MASTER. THE DIABOLIC THRONG DOWNCAST THEIR EYES IN RESPECT. THE EUNUCHS LOWER THE SEDAN CHAIR TO THE SOIL OF NECROPOLIS AS BARE CHESTED INGENUES TOSS BLACK ROSE PETALS IN THE AIR. AS THE HARTINET IS ESCORTED TO HIS THRONE THE MASQUERADE HALL BEGINS.

ENTERTAINMENT IS PROVIDED BY A TROUPE OF ACROBATS & JUGGLERS. FOR MERRIMENT THERE ARE HARLEQUINS, JESTERS & JOKERS. WANDERING THRU THE CROWD IS A TROPUBADOUT SINGING BAWDY DITTYS THAT ENCOURAGE LIBERTINE INDULGENCE. FROM A WAGON WITH BARRELS OF WINE & KEGS OF BEER THE HORDE GETS LIGHT HEADED AND FROM THE BANQUET TABLE THEY PARTAKE OF FRESHLY SLUGHTERED SIDES OF RAW WARM MEAT. THE MASTER IS TRULY AN OENOPHILE, CULINARY GOURMET & BACCHANALIAN BONVIVANT FOR HIS GUESTS NEEDS THE MASTER HAS THE DEMEANOR OF A CONGENIAL HOST WITH HIS DEBONAIR HOSPITALITY.

FROM A NEARBY CABANA WALKS THE MAID IN A WHITE ROBE WITH A DECOLLETE FRONT ACCENTUATING HER NECKLINE, CLEAVAGE, FIRM BREASTS AND TAUT PAPILLA. ON THE APRON TO THE THRONE SHE KNEELS AND SHOWS HER RESPECT TO THE MASTER.

WITH HER EYES CLOSED SHE RISES AT THE MASTERS COMMAND AND UNTIES THE SASH TO THE ROBE. FROM HER SHOULDERS IT DROPS TO THE GROUND. THERE SHE STANDS IN THE NUDE WAITING FOR INVITATION INTO THE PHALANX TO BEGIN.

SHE HAS BEEN PREPARED IN FULL TO HONOR THE MASTER. HER LEFT BREAST BEARS THE # 666 AND THE RIGHT IS A PENTAGRAM. THE VAGINA HAS BEEN SHAVED BALD AND HER CLITORIS IS PROTRUDING FROM IT’S HOOD AS THE PATERFAMILIAS INTONES A SONNET OF DIABOLIC INCANTATIONS IN HER EAR. SHE TILTS HER HEAD AND EXPOSES HER JUGULAR. THE FANGS OF THE OLIGARCH ARE FULLY EXTENDED AND THE BITE IS SWIFT AND HARD. THE MUSE IS IN TITLILATION AS THE VENOM SURGES THROUGH HER VEINS. SHE IS NOW ATHIRST FOR THE ELIXIR. HER LIPS ARE IN SEARCH OF THE MAGIC WAND. ON HER KNEES SHE PUTS HER HEAD UNDER THE MATERS CLOAK AND IMBIBES THE ELIXIR. THE DISCHARGE IS COPIOUS FOR THE WENCHS NEEDS.

TO THE GAZEBO IS ESCORTED THE MAID. THE MASTER WILL NOW SUCK HER LACTATING MAMMARY GLANDS DRY AND DRAIN HER ORIFICE OF IT’S SWET NECTAR. IN THE REMOTE ENVIRONS ARE THE HOWLS, BAYS AND CATERWAULS OF THE CRITTERS.

Gone Silent
Written by Jessie Gough

Beneath the darkness grave
Cold chills travel through the veil of pale gray
Surround the soul of ever after bliss
The beckoning of this life
For which I miss.
Timeless frame
Thoughts betrayed
Countless efforts made in vain.
Leave this shell of battered ruins
Scars tell the soul intrusion
Let the cry be heard of happiness scorned
Souls that bleed that are ripped and torn

Descend into the mist of day and night
One without the other
Pleads from all over left to right
Echo of hallow ears I hear nothing
Only the taste of all the fear
For I dread these onset of tears.
Forgiveness nor forgotten of the past of mine
No longer a future of senseless rhythm.
Here I stand of the edge of time
Seeking the way out of mind.

Screams that cannot betray the part of me so human
Null and void I am now
Only a cold corpse six feet underground
Can the ones hear my laughter forever silenced in memory
Can they picture me smile like I used to

No longer matters if I did or did not
For I am here lying like the rest
Dreams and thoughts of hope now shattered.

The Gallery
Written by William T. DeKnight IV

A lingering essence
decapitated with a breath
that longs for agony
the long cold life
the continuum of blood

Stripped away without remorse
loving the embrace of death
the reason of visible darkness
relinquished by a fated vengeance
suffocating the spring’s first bud

Knowing the truth of sacrilege
a depth of corpse-like eternity
flesh peeled back from frame
damned and enthralled
with all screams hope dies

Honor creates the realities of mind
a stencil of shape and color
unending and forever pure
smiles of torment become shadows
no matter how long the gods have
cried

bite me
Written by Peter Layton

summers local and the mosquitoes come
in a loose tipped cloud
from the near wetlands
I’ll drink outside
drink in the heat
get spiked where they bite me
again barely scratch the surface
bleed
just like as if you’re still here

as a bite radius
Written by Peter Layton

I was reading about Kafka
it was all about how to go crazy
as if I needed any help
I sit in a window seeing
the tongues or blades of the city
sad at night
only windows
and brightly lit up service stations
as if the only thing you really need to see is
lift up gas
for your car
the radio hurts me too
hours of songs programming
and a female disc jockey who sounds
as if she’d be so happy here
whining with me
complaining
our coats off, hung up on chairs, we’re
wired sitting later on the bed

heave
Written by Peter Layton

wake up to waterposts of rain
the sky appearing to’ve been punched hard through the night
cars oil pudding
there’s a nastiness daring me out the front door
the people are not just drained they
wish to join in this
start up a wet engine
beat myself against these metal beams
all having flesh the same as discarded tires

Katherine Aulle
Written by Peter Layton

quirky you
stopped there
slumped over my white dripped dry page
warming almost as if
they’re invisible flamed
like the way alcohol burns
take it in
branch after branch
old as liquid amber
things entombed
your smiles

stand up comedy
Written by Peter Layton

I write this
with charcoal hewn
out of your bones
the smoking pit
naked while I chalk alchemy sayings onto my
chest not neatly
nothing
look at the night after
looking right into the fire
we challenge each other to tell about the highs and dips of our lives
is this a lie or what I dream I do
or only what I say
tongued out matter then is
no no the pierced thing I place
on was a blank page
left squirming hurts
pin gashed through their middle
what maybe you’re burning to tell
to someone is the truth
we wait in our cells

stills
Written by Peter Layton

another dry tinsel winter
pretend it’s the high mountains or New England
fir trees covered
by a slumped could of plastic snow
and credit cards
over exaggerated to limits
there’s a mass haze of virulent fog
cloying us here I
dream I tram across wide alpine cliffsides to you
you pinioned in red and vital splashed gold
I’m hungry, not quenched, want
Everything that’s so violently wrapped.

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