An Offering
By
Spencer Keene
Iron bodies of bulbous cloud
cripple limbs of moonlight,
shuttle through smoke-drenched
skies like grey terrors while
wreaths of flame lick black
curtains with pocked tongues.
Below: a woody altar belches
bone-fragrant mists that billow
from fleshy tethers, crusts
of shrivelled tendon and
gored organ piling ‘neath
the char-scarred scaffold.
Above: heated heavens howl
down litanies of apostasy,
crown the gathered gowns
in holy laurels of evergreen
as the night eats its fill--
the gnash of starred molars
masticates the sacrificial
scene to a bloodred pulp.
Down in the Marsh
Your scream turns to a
gurgled howl as you
break the surface,
swallowed by the
black bog’s inky jaw
like a fleshed crumb.
I watch a halo of silver
bubbles emerge from
the weed-ridden depths,
firing the night with the
heat of your warbled cry;
a drowning nightingale.
As you settle into the
velvety sheets of your
bed of silt I whisper to
the waters an eager plea:
show mother no mercy;
she showed none to me.
Unbegotten
The gravel path blackens in the steady rainfall
as the stone ramparts hulk into the night sky
like mastodons
The iron door reeks of oil and the spiced aroma
of sin
Echoing bell tolls split the silence and I am admitted
A crimson runner reaches down a shadowed hall
to a tight spiral of stairs that elevates me to a tower
whose slim window swallows the landscape in
barren mouthfuls
A patter of footfalls reaches me and carries with it
a beast
Quaking under its iced gaze I beg for a sweet release
that never comes
The pain sweeps me in bright lightning flashes
at first
Before the silver scythe slithers from folds of cloak
And I am unbegotten
Spencer Keene is a writer and lawyer from Vancouver, BC. His poetry and short fiction have appeared in a variety of print and digital publications, including SAD Magazine, Sea to Sky Review, Candlelit Chronicles, and Iron Faerie Publishing's Hallowed anthology. You can find more of Spencer's work at www.spencerkeene.ca.
By
Spencer Keene
Iron bodies of bulbous cloud
cripple limbs of moonlight,
shuttle through smoke-drenched
skies like grey terrors while
wreaths of flame lick black
curtains with pocked tongues.
Below: a woody altar belches
bone-fragrant mists that billow
from fleshy tethers, crusts
of shrivelled tendon and
gored organ piling ‘neath
the char-scarred scaffold.
Above: heated heavens howl
down litanies of apostasy,
crown the gathered gowns
in holy laurels of evergreen
as the night eats its fill--
the gnash of starred molars
masticates the sacrificial
scene to a bloodred pulp.
Down in the Marsh
Your scream turns to a
gurgled howl as you
break the surface,
swallowed by the
black bog’s inky jaw
like a fleshed crumb.
I watch a halo of silver
bubbles emerge from
the weed-ridden depths,
firing the night with the
heat of your warbled cry;
a drowning nightingale.
As you settle into the
velvety sheets of your
bed of silt I whisper to
the waters an eager plea:
show mother no mercy;
she showed none to me.
Unbegotten
The gravel path blackens in the steady rainfall
as the stone ramparts hulk into the night sky
like mastodons
The iron door reeks of oil and the spiced aroma
of sin
Echoing bell tolls split the silence and I am admitted
A crimson runner reaches down a shadowed hall
to a tight spiral of stairs that elevates me to a tower
whose slim window swallows the landscape in
barren mouthfuls
A patter of footfalls reaches me and carries with it
a beast
Quaking under its iced gaze I beg for a sweet release
that never comes
The pain sweeps me in bright lightning flashes
at first
Before the silver scythe slithers from folds of cloak
And I am unbegotten
Spencer Keene is a writer and lawyer from Vancouver, BC. His poetry and short fiction have appeared in a variety of print and digital publications, including SAD Magazine, Sea to Sky Review, Candlelit Chronicles, and Iron Faerie Publishing's Hallowed anthology. You can find more of Spencer's work at www.spencerkeene.ca.
