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Still Night

In the still night,
In the deepest, darkest night,
Where there is no night....
Monsters lurk.

In the still night, where
Not even a streetlight cast shadows,
Where there is no moonlight...
Monsters lurk.

In the still night,
in the darkest night,
Under the sheltering trees...
Monsters lurk...

For where there is no light,
In the deepest, darkest night
Where there's not even candlelight,
Monsters lurk!

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poem by Scarlett Treat
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The Watch At Midnight

Dead stars, beneath the midnight's granite cope
and round your dungeon-gulf that blindly grope
and fall not, since no lower than any place
needs when the wing is dash'd and foil'd the face:
is this your shadow on the watcher's thought
imposed, or rather hath his anguish taught
the dumb and suffering dark to send you out,
reptile, the doubles of his lurking doubt,
in coasts of night that well might be supposed
the exiled hall of chaos late-deposed,
to haunt across this hour's desuetude,
immense, that whelms in monumental mood
the broad waste of his spirit, stonily
strewn with the wreck of his eternity?

The plumes of night, unfurl'd
and eyed with fire, are whirl'd
slowly above this watch, funereal:
the vast is wide, and yet
no way lies open; set

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poem by Christopher John Brennan
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Childe Harold's Pilgrimage: A Romaunt. Canto II.

I.
Come, blue-eyed maid of heaven!-but thou, alas!
Didst never yet one mortal song inspire-
Goddess of Wisdom! here thy temple was,
And is, despite of war and wasting fire,
And years, that bade thy worship to expire:
But worse than steel, and flame, and ages slow,
Is the dread sceptre and dominion dire
Of men who never felt the sacred glow
That thoughts of thee and thine on polish'd breasts bestow.

II.
Ancient of days! august Athena! where,
Where are thy men of might? thy grand in soul?
Gone-glimmering through the dream of things that were:
First in the race that led to Glory's goal,
They won, and pass'd away-is this the whole?
A school-boy's tale, the wonder of an hour!
The warrior's weapon and the sophist's stole
Are sought in vain, and o'er each mouldering tower,

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poem by Byron
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Canto the Second

I.

Come, blue-eyed maid of heaven! - but thou, alas,
Didst never yet one mortal song inspire -
Goddess of Wisdom! here thy temple was,
And is, despite of war and wasting fire,
And years, that bade thy worship to expire:
But worse than steel, and flame, and ages slow,
Is the drear sceptre and dominion dire
Of men who never felt the sacred glow
That thoughts of thee and thine on polished breasts bestow.

II.

Ancient of days! august Athena! where,
Where are thy men of might, thy grand in soul?
Gone - glimmering through the dream of things that were:
First in the race that led to Glory’s goal,
They won, and passed away - is this the whole?
A schoolboy’s tale, the wonder of an hour!

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poem by Byron from Childe Harold's Pilgrimage (1818)
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Book I - Part 06 - Confutation Of Other Philosophers

And on such grounds it is that those who held
The stuff of things is fire, and out of fire
Alone the cosmic sum is formed, are seen
Mightily from true reason to have lapsed.
Of whom, chief leader to do battle, comes
That Heraclitus, famous for dark speech
Among the silly, not the serious Greeks
Who search for truth. For dolts are ever prone
That to bewonder and adore which hides
Beneath distorted words, holding that true
Which sweetly tickles in their stupid ears,
Or which is rouged in finely finished phrase.
For how, I ask, can things so varied be,
If formed of fire, single and pure? No whit
'Twould help for fire to be condensed or thinned,
If all the parts of fire did still preserve
But fire's own nature, seen before in gross.
The heat were keener with the parts compressed,
Milder, again when severed or dispersed-
And more than this thou canst conceive of naught

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poem by Lucretius
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Rose Mary

Of her two fights with the Beryl-stone
Lost the first, but the second won.

PART I

“MARY mine that art Mary's Rose
Come in to me from the garden-close.
The sun sinks fast with the rising dew,
And we marked not how the faint moon grew;
But the hidden stars are calling you.
“Tall Rose Mary, come to my side,
And read the stars if you'd be a bride.
In hours whose need was not your own,
While you were a young maid yet ungrown
You've read the stars in the Beryl-stone.
“Daughter, once more I bid you read;
But now let it be for your own need:
Because to-morrow, at break of day,
To Holy Cross he rides on his way,
Your knight Sir James of Heronhaye.

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poem by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
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Oh So Scared

I really hate the dark
I run fast past the park
Creepy monsters lurk under the bed
I gave him a special name 'Fred'

Scary things lurk out in the dark
Even that little Chihuahua's bark
The winds' whistle chills me to the bone
I am almost afraid to answer the phone

When scary stories are told I run and hide
And hate the thought of a dark cloud surrounded tide
The boogie monster is a childs worst nightmare
Carlos McBooger adds a little more flare

To this day I am still afraid of the dark
And hate the sound of that little bitty bark.

poem by Kilee Burton
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Shadows

The darkness holds many shadows
that tread softly in the night
and every stranger must beware
of those that lurk in shadows
with no good will to explore.
They stalk the innocent
whose hearts are warm and pure
extending what seems a friendly lure.
So stranger as you walk in peace
beware of where you tread
as those who would do you harm
lurk deep in the shadows
and crevices of your mind.
The demons that lay bare
your mortal thread
steal around in the shadows
where you tread.
Beware of the night dear stranger
and the shadows you walk through.
The darkness holds many dangers

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poem by David Harris
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Preternatural Nature

Tenebrous wolves on superstitions prey,
occult owls of mounting metaphysical panic:
internal hoot and howl
Creeping physical symptoms
causing the hollow lunatic coffin crawl
of nervous woodland critters

arid transport...
windless gust...

...landing
...at well's bottom …

...hit with the gusto of
dark matter density...

Beings of shadow...
...usher me in...

==animal gravity==

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poem by Gregory Allen Uhan
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Termarter Sorce

It wasn't kid stakes. I 'ad no crook lurk
To act deceivin', or to treat 'er mean.
I'm old enough to know them games don't work
Not with Doreen.
Besides, deceit ain't in me bag uv tricks.
I got a few; but there is some that sticks.

Sticks in me gizzard. Some blokes sees no wrong
In workin' points, an' thinks it bonzer sport
To trifle with a wife's belief, so long
As they ain't cort.
But, when yeh play the game on dead straight lines,
It 'urts to be accused uv base designs.

It starts this mornin'. I wake with a tooth
That's squirmin' like a basketful uv snakes.
Per'aps I groan a bit, to tell the truth;
An' then she wakes,
An' arsts me wot I'm makin' faces for.
I glare at 'er, an' nurse me achin' jor.

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poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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