The Challenge

I love writing drum-beat poetry. It's written for one reader in mind: me, so if anybody else doesn't like it, then I'm not going to lose any sleep over it. Perhaps I can convince you that drum-beat poetry does have a place somewhere in the world of modern literature. My home page gets updated every so often with new poems, so feel free to check that out. Further, my Articles page contains an ongoing list of poems and stories you may find interesting. Oh, and remember: I'm from England and have lived in Australia since 1998, so some words may not rhyme to you!

Fright

I pricked back my ears so hard they hurt,

My eyes open wide, so wide they’d burst

And my heart thudded hard within my chest

Ready to beat itself out of my breast.

My skin pricked as if stroked by a feather,

Hair on my neck standing up in terror.

Lightning cracked outside of the house

Then disappeared; silent as a mouse,

And rain then pattered upon my roof

Sounding evil and all things uncouth;

A whistling wind, calling my name,

My fright now rising, driving me insane.

It was two in the morning, the room was all black

And I hit the table with my hand at the back.

I stood up from my chair and walked to the wall

Slowly but surely so I didn’t fall.

The electric was out and I tested the phone

It didn’t work, and I felt all alone.

Again came a bolt of lightning outside

That lit up the room for a second divide,

Then I noticed wet prints on the floor:

How long they were there, I couldn’t be sure:

But it fed my fear that had only grown

When I realised I wasn’t completely alone.

I tried the front door and pushed at the handle

And finding it locked, I sought out a candle

From the very back of the kitchen drawer:

I found no matches – I forgot to buy more.

But I couldn’t control my apprehension;

This fear I felt, and all of the tension.

Then from upstairs, I heard a creak –

I was so scared, I could hardly speak,

And I fumbled around and found the stairs,

But before I ascended, I said some prayers.

One by one, I climbed to the top

My fear then spoke and told me to stop.

Just when I thought I would die of fright,

The electric worked and back came the light

And I heard the radio playing downstairs,

So thanked the Lord for answering my prayers.

The creaking before, well, I saw with relief

A little brown rat baring its teeth.

So I returned to my seat and sat down again,

Retrieved my crossword and my old pen.

Then I felt hands slip around my throat,

My eyes jumped wildly and I saw a coat

That flapped with the struggle, drenched from the rain

And after that, I never breathed again.

Rats

My blood runs warm over rubber mats

As I lie here dying, being eaten by rats

After tumbling down a flight of stairs

In the cellar, and landing on a stack of chairs.

As I hit the floor, I heard a crack

And I could not move from a broken back.

I've screamed and shouted but nobody hears

And now I'm living in nightmares and tears.

I feel them scrabbling over my skin,

Biting my throat, my neck, my chin

With the warm sticky blood soaking me

I pray that death will set me free.

These little vermin, they scratch and bite

And have taken one eye and part of my sight.

And if I don't die from the wounds and pain,

Then slowly but surely, I'll go insane.

I feel them eating my fingers and toes

And near my ribs they're making holes.

I feel their heads pushing through skin

To find my flesh, my boding achin'.

Their slurps of pleasure as they eat

Emits a smell: sickly but sweet,

As my innards dance to their grizzly digging

I can only lie here and feel everything.

My thigh feels tender and pitifully sore

And I can see a body sit and gnaw

At the blood, the flesh: it's all too real

My only release: death, from this pain I feel.

One comes up and my mouth goes dry

It snarls at me, I start to cry.

And it sits upon my shaking dry lips

Biting and pulling until it rips.

I felt it tear and then it bled,

My mouth snapped open, I bit off its head.

They made such an awful sound,

Those furry bodies that scurried around

And they came by the dozen, smelling blood

But they didn't attack like they should:

Instead they roamed and walked around,

Then tiny feet stopped. Silence abound.

And from the corner of my remaining eye

I saw something I wanted to deny.

It was  ten times bigger than all the others

And moved slowly amongst its brothers.

It's fur was white with eyes bleeding red,

Incisors that shone with a pure dread.

It hobbled over, climbed on my chest

Ripped open my shirt, clawed at my vest,

And teeth digging deep into my side,

I howled in pain and openly I cried.

It tore off my flesh in meaty thick strips

And blood bubbled up between my lips.

It fed on my stomach, allowing others to join

Who ate my legs, my arms and groin.

Dozens jumped, masses heaving:

Biting, eating, ripping, cleaving,

Then the white monster turned around

And shrieked at me this high pitched sound.

And baring its teeth, it clawed at my chest

Tearing away pieces of my breast.

Into my neck sank those large teeth

The whole monstrosity beyond belief.

I felt it chew with a greedy sound,

Then there was blackness all around.

I woke up in a hospital bed,

Thanking the Lord I wasn't yet dead,

Then I looked down, I wanted to scream:

Wishing all this was an imaginative dream.

Where my limbs once were, there was only space

And I couldn't see the nose upon my face.

I emitted a rasp trying to speak

And I felt flesh moving upon my cheek.

Maybe they should have left me instead,

As ten years on, I'll be happier dead.

When the Death Bell Tolls

In north-western England

A dilapidated church stands,

Enriched with experience and time

And all of Pagan demands.

It has seen trials and witch-hunts,

Hags drowned in its well,

Devil incarnates slaughtered:

Tied around its bell.

Sacrificial virgins

Have bled upon its wood,

Rebuking the word of God,

People drinking their blood.

All that was conjured

Formed heat that burned the coals

For Satan only waits

Until the Death Bell tolls.

Into their own beliefs

People here have wed.

Some, they eat a heart

Others drink the blood instead.

Improper orders echo

From a callous young priest

Who liked to tie up his victims

Before a sexual feast.

And disposing of the bodies

Discarded in one grave,

His murderous addiction

Was an addiction to crave.

Lying there together,

Three and twenty souls

Can only anticipate vengeance

After the Death Bell tolls.

Surely not a secret,

The curse of Ely Tom

Who worked his black magic

That even now lives on.

It affects new mothers alone

Whose child is born not male

So roused the Angel of Blood

To kill, maim, impale.

Women became like cattle

Brought from coast to coast

And treated worse than pigs:

Not all, but surely most.

Screaming through their labour,

Praying for their souls,

They could only vow revenge

When the Death Bell tolls.

The dead now roll in graves

I even hear their bones

And on the most silent of night

I hear their woeful groans.

No cage is built to hold them,

To the bell they are bound.

They keep within the soil

Until the bell makes a sound.

They will rise from this earth

To fulfil their macabre crimes

Which will soon become apparent

When their anger feels the chimes.

Then it rings aloud!

Vengeance calls the souls!

Mayhem just woke up –

Hear the Death Bell's tolls!

For more stories, poems and articles, check out my Articles page!