Moon Bound & Whitechapel

Moon Bound
A slave, chained and bound by the moon
Bringing forth an evil that’d make the Devil swoon
My bones shattered, skin teared and muscles shredded
Transformed into the beast every soul dreaded
Sitting in Whitechapel,
Contently cleaning my scalpel.
A busy night’s work,
Has brought forth a gentle smirk.
A kidney, fresh cut and fried
And my funny little games to keep me satisfied.

‘Moon Bound’ and ‘Whitechapel’ are two short poems that make up my attempt at doing some poetry for the Halloween season. ‘Moon Bound’ is about a werewolf going through the painful transformation process. ‘Whitechapel’ is from the perspective of Jack the Ripper having arrived home after committing another murder in Whitechapel. “my funny little games’ was taken from the ‘Dear Boss’ letter that claimed to be written by Jack the Ripper.

© 2018
Photo via Pixabay CC0


Lonely Hunt

Alone in the forest, breath frozen in my chest
Treading the dark wood, a night without rest
Stopped in my tracks, eye to eye with my prey
Both knowing that only one shall walk away


‘Lonely Hunt’ is a short poem from the perspective of a hunter, I tried to create a sense of unease and danger in the poem. I didn’t want it to be certain that the hunter will be the one to make it out alive.
© 2018
Photo via Pixabay CC0


The Faithful

Drew sword against my brethren, at Heavens behest
Told we were righteous for defending the blessed
Protecting paradise, an act most holy
Cutting their wings seemed most lowly
Defending the divine offered little repose
As my brethren were cast aside and without mercy deposed
Lucifer betrayed us, and them most of all
Telling false prophecies, beguiling them to fall
Into my soul, the horrors deeply bore
Harrowed by the revelation it should happen once more


‘The Faithful’ is a poem from the perspective of one of the angels that remained faithful to Heaven throughout Lucifer’s rebellion. I thought it would be interesting to show the inner conflict the angel feels about fighting the war and how even a just cause has its horrors.

© 2018
Photo via Pixabay CC0


Going to State

“Going to State!” he would proudly boast
A life of luxury and speeding down the coast
Impulsive, wild and enjoying the gifts of youth
Left scattered on asphalt was a girl named Ruth

An uncouth mind, restrained and locked
Decades of grey calmed and ceased all talk
Alone with the bars, he soon called his friends
Given his freedom, but it felt like the end


‘Going to State’ is about a reckless young athlete who inadvertently causes the death of a  girl named Ruth, and how he went to prison and became institutionalized. The whole poem basically serves as a cautionary tale.

© 2018
Photo via Pixabay CC0



Came forth from the second seal
Tasting for blood with brandished steel
Saw earth’s sinners and fell like a thunderbolt
Inspiring prayers to see no more and be pillars of salt
Conquered by the red horse and wars called civil
Fighting on two fronts, destined to cripple

The gift of eternal peace we have been deprived
In these times, law falls silent and the red horse thrives
The scourge of the earth, with an endless drive


‘Red’ is the second entry in my poetry series on the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse and is about War. In this poem I have made reference to quotes about war made by Cicero, Sun Tzu and Caesar.

© 2018
Photo via Pixabay CC0


Southern Invaders


The Great Northern Lords, whose people we thought fit for plunder.
In our fine fur cloaks, sailed far north to split their mountains asunder.
We thought their loyalty would thaw with the snow,
But winter got colder and their loyalty did grow.

Valiantly they laid down their lives for the land of ice and stone,
While our men lay weeping, frozen to the bone.
Hastened across the violent red snow that stretched from sea to sea,
Across the makeshift graves that number more than the trees.
Clambering for our marred ships to take us to safety,
In our haste, men fell to the ice and discovered their frailty.

Upon our shores we thought ourselves safe,
Though in time they will make my daughter a waif.
They set their sails and followed us to the lands of Summer,
To make us realise our fatal blunder.
In their great bear cloaks they set out to ravage and reave,
With a vengeful fury that only the dead would believe.

Sat in my hold as they make the ground quiver,
Knocking on my gates with their vengeance to deliver.
As vermilion rivers split the ashen earth,
Northerners slaughter my men with gay mirth,
Few fallen foes, and my fumbling finest, feed the maggots and soil,
As I stare at the door, waiting for an end to this fruitless toil.
What a sorrowful choice we lords of summer did make,
From our bloodied makeshift graves, we shall never wake.


‘Southern Invaders’ is a medieval fantasy poem set in a fantasy world I’m attempting to build for a planned novel. The poem is supposed to be from the perspective of a southern Lord detailing the disastrous results of his invasion of the Northern territories.

© 2018

Photo via Pixabay CC0