The Darkenbog, by George Yesthal

The internet is a helluva invention. If you could travel time back to the 1940’s and tell someone that you had a device in your pocket that could answer any question with a push of a few buttons, check into flights without being there, and see picture of distant lands in an instant it would blow their minds. (Nevermind the fact that you just traveled time.) A few hundred years earlier you would probably be fixed to a fire and burned at the stake for witchery.

On a particular sleepless night in May, while navigating through the Horror Writers’ Twitter , Instagram account, and finally landing on our Facebook  site, I received an instant message at 1:30 AM that one of the HW coconspirators had posted a poem on the page.  Always looking for new talent I dove right into the tale and was mesmerized by the diction, the cadence, and the overall story that unfolded. I immediately wrote the author back to which my surprise he returned the message within seconds. Apparently I was not the only person who suffered a case of insomnia that night. After several messages back and forth  the late night internet wordsmith and I had become rather acquainted and I invited him to share his work with the HW family and droogs alike. Through the internet I had found a an undiscovered jewel!

George Yesthal is a retired tattoo artist, author, and poet. His subject vary from horror, sci-fi, viking mythology, and even political satire. A renaisance man in every sense of the word. Inspired by Poe, Lovejoy, King, and even Roald Dahl, Yesthal weaves tales of a modern sense but with the rhetoric of a Romantic Movement bard.

Without further ado, with his full permission, I will reproduce George Yesthal’s  first posting that he shared with me here for your reading pleasure. I hope that you will read, and re-read it again and again and grow to love it more with each read as much as I have. 

-Renfield Rasputin

 

The Darkenbog10463-bigthumbnail

If dusk mayhap shall find you

On the road ‘ere it gets dark,

And owls hoot more often

Than warbles the meadow lark

And up ahead, before you creeps

A cloying and deepening fog

You know you must be brave to pass

The haunted Darkenbog.

 

You’ve heard the old ones whisper

The chilling tales of yore

Of haints and bogies, goblins too…

Of trolls, evil souls and more.

The witch that turns slow children

Into bugs and slug-eating frogs

She too awaits to kidnap you

In the deep and dank Darkenbog.

 

 

The bridge ahead you’ve often crossed

With impunity, sun shining bright.

But now far from town, the sun has gone down

And alone, you shiver with fright.

You’ve been warned what can happen to dawdlers

And so you don’t walk, you don’t jog.

No, you sprint for that bridge for youknow that you may

Fall prey to the cold Darkenbog.

 

 

Your heart’s filled with fear for you’re sure that you hear

Something wheezing but still keeping pace.

Something hidden from view, still you know it sees you

And you know that you’re losing the race.

The bridge drawing near, you’re just about htere

You can now hear a splash as it slogs

Up onto the path and you feel your foot grabbed

You’re hauled screaming into Darkenbog.

 

 

You awaken to hear something really quite near

But you sit very still just the same.

From a ways down the path you can hear children laugh

And you hear someone calling your name.

As you open your mouth your tongue lashes out

And snares a slug sharing your log

You want to go home but you know beyond doubt.

Your home’s now the cold Darkenbog

-George Yesthal

 

Please enjoy more of the many works of George Yesthal,  see his site http://www.redbubble.com/people/yesman

Dark Musing…In the Darkness

…in the darkness
I have a friend in the darkness
Though I know not his name
Through whispers and urgings
He loves to play a game
Telling me things 
I know not to be true
Enacted acts and deeds
I believe to be the same
Again tonight
the shadows dance
Spoken words
tug at my ears
They invade
my barely awakened thoughts
Dark rumors
about loved ones
I hold close and dear
My mind it struggles
with suggestive words
pounded constantly
deep into my head
I look beside me
at the conniving
whore who deceitfully
shares my bed
As I slice and
cut and sever
My limbs feel
not my own
My hands deft
in activities
I know now
never to be
those I’ve known
Seems my friend
he has awakened
and taken ahold of me
and it is through
my bloodshot eyes
Atrocity and carnage
From my hands he sees
Laughter bounces from the walls
then deep inside my skull
Momentarily released
I regain control
Shaking with emotion
Marriage bed awash in gore
My wife motionless
Slumped, massacred unrecognizable
A bloodied mess upon the floor
Shuddering
I cannot think
My mind awhirl in fear
Without further thought
I plunge knife
into me so very deep
and with purpose strong
My wife dead
My zest for life
Like her,
no more lives on.
Cult
spirits
image darkshadowghosttours.com
 Cult

Something Inside – Dark Musing

Something Inside

 

With an exasperated sigh

She reaches for the sky

Tools lay scattered

Piled high at her feet

 

In a day that seemed long

She had plucked

from humanities throng

A person she deemed

worthy of the word

Perfection

 

The sight of her walk

Her manners

Her talk

A stunning beauty

that all took time to admire

 

Fair of complexion

A body that begged

for further inspection

Curvacious in all the right places

Ogled by numerous turned faces

Sights that would play alongside lust

in many of tonight’s colorful dream

 

A whisper in her ear

Could you help me my dear”

A moment’s attention was all that was needed

With use of chloroformed rag

her exquisite body suddenly sagged

Appearing like a faint

into the arms of a loved one

 

In the rear of the vehicle she lay

Drug effects holding her stay

A goddess motionless

in tight rope and restraint

 

Strapped to the emotionless table

not at all willing and able

to be part of an impromptu

and thorough investigation

Into the strange origins

of show stopping beauty

 

Be it strange that some

born with three thumbs,

cleft pallet,

or a birthmark in the shape of a country

Whilst others are blessed

Nothing but picturesque

Fit for naught but thoughts

filled with lust and the darkest of envy

 

Slicing flesh carefully

Sharp knife used deftly

Peeled back

the extremity of skin

Exposed rib cracked

With a heavy tool

thick and black

Displaying crimson organs

coiled tightly without string

 

Bone encasement is lifted

Through intestines

Vinyl clad hands sifted

Exploring for hidden wonders

Believed buried someplace within

 

No twinkle

No light

No aura in sight

Another beauty splayed open

in exhausting quest of the specific thing

An ageless anomaly that makes Gods sing,

and mortals fall to their knees in prayer

 

 

The aorta is severed

The heart is tethered

and put aside

for later culinary use

Next the bone saw

covered in cord

unwound it will feast

upon tender cranium

 

Luxurious locks

without love

are cut

and shorn off

Discarded like trash

as if out of season

 

Powerful whirr of steel blade

leaves a clear trail in its wake

and sends bone shrapnel in every direction

 

The skullcap lifts to display lurid dish

the beauties brains have now become

Nothing in here

That much is clear

Another cavity cleared in the search

 

A smile tilts the lips

Leading to laughter in fits

A wicked embalmer or

Mortician

She most defiantly is not

Though she is on a mission

With the main puzzle piece missing

One that’s very vital to the plot

Some would call her insane

She firmly believed finding the lost piece

would mean that she was not

 

Cult

A Clearing in the Forrest (Twin Dark Musing around the same theme)

 As an editor, I make all attempts to release the best work possible. More often than not, that means consulting with the writer/artist to “tweek” their work without altering their original vision. Cult and I have decided to release his newest musing in the original form, (Thorns) as well as the overly edited, (Vengeance) to satisfy the artist as well as the editor’s vision. Please feel free to write us and tell us what you think and which is your preference of poems.

 I would also like to thank Cult for showing me that for art to work it should not be “boxed in” where it has to fit a structured scheme of predictability, rhyme, and cadence.

Enjoy,

– Renfield Rasputin

 

A Clearing in the Forrest  (Thorns Deep in the Flesh)

 

 The forest whispers menace

 As my footsteps fall within

 Careful my approach so as to not awaken

 brittle loudly accusing fallen limb

 I spy the assembly through a break in the trees

 Smoke lazy as it works its way through ancient tree canopy

 toward sky turning pitch witnessing the gathering beneath

 I creep closer toward flickering flames

Watching crimson robed figures sway

 To a beat held tight by spoken rhythm

 Cadence ancient and foreign in tongue

 Barked with purpose, ageless lust and reverence

A ceremonial dagger glints off moonlight in the cloudless night

 To be swiftly plunged deep into the innocent’s form

 A shrill scream and the ceremony has begun

 A ragged hole where heart once was

The stone dias drips liquid dark with purpose

 Quiet I watch

 Silent in internal agony

 My first born’s life

 Ripped and torn

 Just as he was taken from me

 

 Robes fall unabashed to dirt marked for this occasion

 Chalice filled with smoky fluid

 smeared on hungry lustful flesh

 Performed without grace

Bestial the acts that follow

 Unloving caress

 Pounding loin

 Orifices brutally abused

 Momentarily losing their true meanings

 Amidst hyena growls of passion

 Throats turn hoarse from climactic vocalization

 The lone chant stops

  Chilling the breeze that turns gaze upward

 Behemoth gnarled limbs bow

 Flames unsteady now and unsure of direction

 As unannounced I step forth from foliage dense

 Concealed shadow allows my presence to be known

 As eyes in still quivering post climax torso all turn toward me

 Puzzlement the reaction

 Quizzical the stare

 And only one in attendance knows me by name

 Recognition unhinges jaw and

 vivid memory

 Of recently commited

 horrendous

 barbaric

 ungodly atrocity

 

 Left dead in the gutter

 I was

 For everyone to see

My breath

 My thought

 My life

 My meaning

 Of no longer any use

The fetus ripe ripped from ragged bloody wound

 Was taken far away from me

Dripping and blue twas child

 untangled from within

 A life I would never know outside

 of my own rapidly cooling skin

 

 My eyes alight with wickedness

 Face and mouth widening as fangs sprout

 tearing gum and splitting skin

 An internal true form enraged

 The shell my body has become

 no longer any use to me

 For the power that lies within

 (It always has)

Bursts forth from long hibernation

 Long overdue to be set free

 For there shall be hell to pay

 On those who dare commit trespass

 On the form enveloping

 What now…

Possesses every ounce of me

Cult

 

A Clearing in the Forrest  #2 ( Vengeance Approaches Softly)

The forest whispers menace

 As my footsteps fall softly within

 Careful and steady my approach 

 No step to snap brittle accusing fallen limb

 I spy the assembly

 through a break in the trees

 Smoke working its way lazily

 through ancient tree canopy

 The sky turning pitch

 witnesses the gathering beneath

 I creep closer

 toward the tight radius of flames

 Crimson robed figures sway

 lost in nefarious chant calling a name

 A beat held tight by cadence

 ancient and foreign in tongue

 Barked with purpose and patience

 A virtue shown by everyone

 

 The ceremonial dagger glints off moonlight

 in the cloudless cool night

 Swiftly plunged deeply

 Sharp tip lost from sight

 A shrill scream

 The ceremony has started

 A ragged hole

 Blood pumping organ departed

 The stone dais drips

 Liquid dark with purpose

Quiet I watch

 Silent in internal agony

 My first born’s life

 Ripped and torn

 Just as he was taken from me

Robes fall unabashed

 to dirt marked for just this occasion

 Bestial and graceless

 the acts that follow

 Throats turn hoarse

 in climax barren of sorrow

 

 Smoky spilt fluid smeared

 Claret on hungry flesh

 in brutal copulation

 devoid of caress

Amidst hyena growl

 The lone chant stops

 Last throes of passion

 As I slide from the copse

 

 Chilling the breeze that

 blows through the clearing

 many lost in wonder

 thinking prophecy nearing

Puzzlement the reaction

 Only one in attendance knows me by name

 Left in the gutter for dead

 surprise, it’s me…one the same

Recognition unhinges jaw

 vivid memory

 Of recently committed

 horrendous

 barbaric

 ungodly atrocity

 

 A loving spouse

 that played quite the rouse

 Eyes wide in shock

 Momentarily confused

Unborn fetus safe warm inside

 was ripped from me

 Borne to sacrificial altar

 Surrounded by glee

 

 Dripping and blue twas child

 untangled from within

 A life I would never know outside

 of my own rapidly cooling skin

Muscles tense

 As my torso splits in two

 Wicked fangs sprout

 No longer is it me that you knew

 My eyes alight with wickedness

 My true form now enraged

 Long dormant hibernation over

 now tearing free from bone cage

The shell my body has become

 no longer any use you see

 Shed the skin covering

 Everything everyone knows as me

 

The power lies within

 (It always has)

 That much is true

 For many lifetimes I’ve spent

 Searching for one such as you

Darkness in mind

 Blackness of soul

 I now tear you limb from limb

 Removing the easiest way I know how

 every ounce of your blasphemous sin

Naked acolytes they scatter

 Witness to the bloody matter

 The fury has awakened in me

 Strewn appendage gore and cloth tatters

 Your body lay scattered

 A true bestial vengeance

 enacted by thee

 

 Cult

 

Friend of Mine

Friend of Mine

 

 

I can remember when first I laid eyes on you

It was across the crowded room our eyes met

I’ll admit it took a moment for me to catch my breath

Friend of mine

 

It only took you months to steal my heart

If truth be told

I was smitten from the start

Friend of mine

 

Hours and days, spent in relaxed company

Your beautiful eyes focused solely on me

Hand in mine a feeling so true

Friend of mine

 

Keeping rhythm, pace and time

Our bodies shudder, our limbs entwined

Bliss builds way deep inside

Your orgasm explodes following mine

Heartbeat still racing

Relaxation the moment divine

Friend of mine

 

Weeks later and I knew

From silence and baleful stares across table and food

Replaced I knew

My position now taken by someone new

As emotionless I stand my ground

With my teeth clenched , and a dam of tears held back I proclaim

That with your life you should move on

Friend of mine

 

Time passes

Amongst loneliness and defeating sorrow my realization is true

That something had been ripped

Torn mercilessly in two

My shadow a meager sliver of me that I once knew

Friend of mine

 

 

After watching and waiting a schedule develops

In a calculated moment I find you alone

I advance toward you in shadow and emotion of stone

Your eyes alight upon me as your mouth lets out a groan

As I swing the weapon your last conscious moment alone

Friend of mine

Your skull I crack

Bloody hammer heavy in swinging hand

Baring my soul for you…to never understand

My life, my love, my everything

But to you I didn’t mean a thing

Friend of mine

 

Now I have you by my side

Your body devoid of reason and rhyme

This spine of yours once supporting something truly divine

In my twisting grasp you are now truly mine

Your once impressive pleasuring organ now ground under heel in the dirt

No part of you has any use any more

I ripped your spleen, and carelessly tossed it to the floor

With my hands I tore your heart in two

A feeling I very recently knew

Your intestines, your blood, a floor cloaked in grue

Around me a radius that was once all of you

This scene of carnage in which I stand

I am momentarily sated

and yet…

I still hunger for more

 

 

Cult