The Ire of Spiritual Fire

Sara L. Russell, 20/10/04 1:50am


Yea, we shall seek them in
their dwelling places
and verily shall we light fires under their feet.
For here be witches, their warlocks,
the faithless and fallen,
who maketh fair speech unto their cats;
who art the very mouthpieces and ears
of Satan, whose beginnings were wiccanings
rather than Christenings.
We shall burn them in the holy fire
of Righteousness,
and inter their ashes in un-hallowed ground,
For rightly do the pure in heart hate them,
these sons and daughters of the Fallen One.


  Yes, we shall seek them in
  their places of commerce,
  fly planes of fire into their towers.
  For here are warlords, their bankers,
  their clerks and accountants,
  the infidel rabble,
  who babble their speeches to minions;
  who are the very cogs and wheels
  of Capitalism, whose ancient crusades
  were parades of mere machismo.
  We shall burn them in the eternal fires
  of Holy War,
  Scatter their ashes to the four winds,
  For rightly do we labour against them,
  These men and women of The Great Satan.


Yes, we shall find them with
our Own Seeking*,
and a Great Fire shall rage in our Inferno.
For here are Terrorists, Murderers,
Hoods and Barbarians,
Who speak only Verbally* in the Propaganda
of their State-Controlled Channels;
which are the very speaking Mouthpieces
of Evil and Terror, whose broadcasters
protect the Terrorists.
We shall purge them in the Holy Fire
of Justice,
For rightly do we nuke the Hell out of Iraq,
and those Sons and Daughters of Bitches.


(*phrases in the style of Bush-isms)

The Music of Belial

Check this out on Chirbit

THE MUSIC OF BELIAL
-------------------------------------
c. Sara L Russell
*
Wild-eyed at the piano,
he wants to spin her a line,
but the Muse has flown out the window
and he's running out of wine.
The candles are burning lower,
sweat runs down his face,
the tempo's going slower,
time is giving up the chase.
*
If the music could only embody
her graceful, lovely shape,
but the arpeggios sound shoddy
and the chords begin to scrape
- how can all this chaos
bring a tear to her blue eyes?
He's not Wolfgang Amadeus
and only the barn owl cries.
*
Suddenly, his fingers
are playing on their own,
playing out an air that lingers
and chills him to the bone,
spindly notes that run like spiders
at the high end of the scale,
like dark fears we hold inside us
like a lashing scorpion's tail...
*
He grows weak, the notes go deeper
as the melody grows strong,
familiar now, to this light sleeper,
it's a fugue, a nightmare song,
a precursor of disaster
to invert the sweetest dream -
his heart is beating faster,
but he cannot rise or scream
*
and the fugue is plunging Hell-bound
to the deepest, darkest dirge,
the dark fireplace holds him spellbound,
something's waiting to emerge
out from the deadly darkness
where the flames have died away,
into the room's cold starknes
and still his fingers play
*
and the evil music's winning
there's a thumping on the door,
the candelabra's spinning,
the fireplace, a gaping maw,
spews out soot and ashes
like a mist with teeth and eyes,
the music pounds and crashes
and the mist begins to rise...
*
...Now the music is receding
as he wakes up in his bed
but his fingertips are bleeding
and the fugue is in his head
and the wardrobe door is swinging
slowly open, on its own,
his tortured ears are ringing,
he is frightened and alone
*
and the black mist is encroaching
on the borders of his soul,
a distorted face is approaching,
it's mouth a shrivelled hole,
it's a fear to put a name to
as the face gives a mirthless smile:
"I have come to claim you
through the Music of Belial!"

The Obsessive - Horror Poetry Video in 2 Parts

The obsessive
Part one - The Victim

Wish on a star and will I reach your space?
Or just keep running when you chase?
Reach for me was desperate begging hands,
and a soul only your doctor understands.

Wish on the moon, and will I come to you?
Am I fair game, being someone you never knew?
Reach for me with tearful begging eyes,
Hard lust, in a tragic soft disguise.

Pray to gods that angels fear to name
Draw the pentacle and light the flame
And will I jump and shiver on your thread,
Loved, though it were sweeter to be dead?

Sticky love, closing like a fist
Sickly breath, like winter's cloying mist,
Must we sometimes hurt the ones we love
By loving too much, not just enough?

I'm drowning in your swamp of being kind
And your darkest fantasies that leave me blind
And red roses that chill me to the bone
And furtive stares, that turn my flesh to stone.

Part 2 - The Stalker

i know that you would love me
if chance brought us to meet
of all the fruits around me
forbidden tastes most sweet
by all that's pure and lovely
in all of time and space
i know that you would love me
if we came face to face

i know that you will love me
i know you so well
i've heard you talking of me
of all there is to tell
the angel voice above me
said you would be mine
i know that you WILL love me
our love will be divine

i know that you will love me
i can wait another year
i know that you will love me
when i get out of here!
The fragile and the lovely
must heed the hand of force
EVEN IN DEATH YOU'LL LOVE ME
for all my love... is yours.

Vampyre (new version) by pinkyandrexa (Sara L Russell)

Regia Cati

(Latin: The Palace of the Cat)

I am the cat
who owns this place
and the very smile upon your face
and everything I see is mine
you may kneel where I recline.


And everything
you think is yours
bears the mark of mighty claws
and though you love your favourite chair
vacate it once and I'll be there.


Politicians
Come and go
Such easy fools to overthrow
I laugh, watching them on TV
they'll never learn to live like me.


Sitting smiling
by the fire
the fluffy friend you all admire
you're all under my command
just exactly as I planned.

Song of The Sirens

Sara L Russell 29/9/11 00:01am

Come cease thy journey, come to us
Odysseus, Odysseus,
Come silently away;
We'll kiss thee all and everywhere, beneath the ocean's spray.

Oh we are warm and finely made
We yearn for thee, be not afraid
Come close to us this night,
We'll make thee tremble with desire, like beating wings in flight

I dreamed I lightly kissed thy hair
Odysseus, tis true I swear,
Then kisses to thy chest;
Which swiftly ventured lower, at thy shivering behest.

Discard thy garments, yield to us
Odysseus, Odysseus,
Come to our warm caress;
We'll make thee sing the notes coherent words cannot express.



image from: http://insearchofmermaids.com

Sonnet of The Boy Band Factory

Sonnet Of The Boy Band Factory
Sara L. Russell aka PinkyAndrexa

It's midnight at the Boy Band Factory
Five individuals shuffle into view
They're interviewed, then scrubbed clean as can be
To be the preconditioned chosen few.

First their hair is shorn of rocker's locks
Then legs and arms summarily unscrewed
Replaced with dancing limbs from a dark box
To conjour a more funky attitude.

Then each boy's brain is carefully replaced
With a brand new one in a smaller size
New voice boxes are wired and interlaced
To interact with mouths, in their new guise.

It's one a.m., and now the boys rehearse
To nail art to the cross of crass commerce.