Wednesday, 28 November 2018

Nov 27th Portaits with Christel

Went out for a short shoot with Christel Rosewood to do some portait shots before the rain started. 

Thursday, 11 October 2018

Crowns - Poem

Furthest from the din
of human voices
Lies the forgotten valley
of the choiceless

Past it, and beyond to
walls of mist
A silent, ancient city
does exist

Time warren memories of
bygone races
Are carved across the
city's faces

Audacious memorials built
so long ago
In a place those still living
never know

Empty streets and overgrown
Saplings reaching from lush

Denizens eternally watching
vegetal, muted
Till their will comes to be

And on this day we men
will know fear
Just as trees grow tall
each past year

Hear: those once rulers
still grow
Planted in their garden
On row by row

They grow stronger with
every day
And it's only to the earth
that they pray

Can gods spring out of
earthen womb?
Or are they seeds that
come to bloom?

Like flowers growing on
your tomb
To end mankind's smog
and gloom.

Thriving flowered forms
come to teem
Through forgotten tunnels,
like a stream

They come to liberate with
no mirth.
The last hope for our still
dying earth.

To soak their roots in our
Life's blood
To cleanse the earth, in a
Crimson flood.

Their looming advent soon
close at hand
To return to the earth
it's crown land

Their ancestral home will
then recall
In the time proceeding
our downfall

Before our world overgrows
any trace
Of our best forgotten, lost
human race

Another great migration will
Come to pass
Returning to their familiar
land en masse

To dig their mammoth roots
to home soil
To return their minds from the
violent toil

Surrendering wholly to Terra's
endemic growth
To swear again to nature's one
solemn oath

"Tread light through mountains
and trees
Like swaying branches in the
fall breeze

For those twisted roots along a
walking Path
May soon give way to eldritch,
boreal wrath"

With these words the forest race
finds new rest
Till a new species comes to bring
Earth's detest

Skullhoarder Photo and Poem

In the light of her
black candles
Caressing bodies
in shambles

Discarding bones and
human meat
While burning incense
smells so sweet

A naked skull is
her trophy
And she holds it
so closely

Staining blood against
her bare skin
Relishing in her
mortal sin

Until it joins her
gray parade
Of those hallowed by
her Switchblade

A shrine of skulls hid
in her room
Marks this plain suburb
as a tomb

A pyramid of
those waylaid
Whether by blade
or nightshade

Full of spirits that
know no rest
So in her mind they

In her dreams, they call
out to her
“Let us feel,” Says the

So her form they
do possess
To feed desires they
can’t repress

Carnal whims of Eros
and Thanatos
Creeping in pre-dawn’s
long shadows

To feel a fleeting
human touch
To find another
skull to clutch

To take into her
dreary home
To practice black arts
with no tome

Tuesday, 9 October 2018

The Temple Photo and Poem

The forest is her only
Where she laid with
the devil

And came back every
other night
Hoping to again hold
his sight

But he never came to
see her
Tho winds carry his
So she carries out his
secret will
And under moonlight blood
does spill

Friday, 14 September 2018

Riding Horns

Clandestine figures gather
In sigiled robes of arcane lore
Under a bone white moon
With eldritch grimoires of yore

Clad in a cloak of lavender
She sits atop the horned beast
Caressing and idly clasping
Antlers as the beast doth feast

The parish watch in silence
Eyes gleaming as stalker moons
Upon this unhallowed glade
Occultists, mad men and goons

Man and beast do interbred
In shadows of that mountain face
Watched by the necromancer
Wrapped in pitch-black sheer lace

She presides over this union
Of Minotaur and glass eyed doe
and farmers daughter lured
By incantations from long ago