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'Go slow through the drawers, gunslinger, while you travel with the boy, the man in black travels
with your soul in his pocket.'
Anne Rice:The Claiming of Sleeping Beauty
The Beauty story probes the unspoken implications of this lush, suggestive tale by exploring
its undeniable connection to sexual desire. Here the Prince reawakens Beauty, not with a kiss, but with sexual initiation.
His reward for ending the hundred years of enchantment is Beauty's complete and total enslavement to him…
Clive Barker:The Thief of always
It is a place of miracles, a blissful round of treats and seasons, where every childhood whim
may be satisfied...
Favorite authors:
Stephen King Official Website
Anne Rice
Edgar Allan Poe
Clive Barker
Author Links:
The Poe Archive
My Favorite Poems:
Death Baby by Anne Sexton
Death baby,
you lie in my arms like a cherub,
as heavy as bread dough.
Your milky wings are as still as plastic.
Hair
soft as music.
Hair the color of a harp.
And eyes made of glass,
as brittle as crystal.
Each time I rock you
I
think you will break.
I rock. I rock.
Glass eye, ice eye,
primordial eye,
lava eye,
pin eye,
break eye,
how
you stare back!
Like the gaze if small children
you know all about me.
You have worn my underwear.
You have
read my newspaper.
You have seen my father whip me.
You have seen my stroke my father's whip.
I rock. I rock.
We
plunge back and forth
comforting each other.
We are stone.
We are carved, a pietà
that swings.
Outside, the
world is a chilly army.
Outside, the sea is brought to its knees.
Outside, Pakistan is swallowed in a mouthful.
I
rock. I rock.
You are my stone child
with still eyes like marbles.
There is a death baby
for each of us.
We
own him.
His smell is our smell.
Beware. Beware.
There is a tenderness.
There is a love
for this dumb traveler
waiting
in his pink covers.
Someday,
heavy with cancer or disaster
I will look up at Max
and say: It is time.
Hand
me the death baby
and there will be
that final rocking.
Dreams by Anne Sexton
DREAMS
I was an ice baby.
I turned to sky blue.
My tears became two glass beads.
My
mouth stiffened into a dumb howl.
They say it was a dream
but I remember that hardening.
My sister at six
dreamt
nightly of my death:
"The baby turned to ice.
Someone put her in the refrigerator
and she turned as hard as a Popsicle."
I
remember the stink of the liverwurst.
How I was put on a platter and laid
between the mayonnaise and the bacon.
The
rhythm of the refrigerator
had been disturbed.
The milk bottle hissed like a snake.
The tomatoes vomited up their
stomachs.
The caviar turned to lave.
The pimentos kissed like cupids.
I moved like a lobster,
slower and slower.
The
air was tiny.
The air would not do.
*
I was at the dogs' party.
I was their bone.
I had been laid out in their
kennel
like a fresh turkey.
This was my sister's dream
but I remember that quartering;
I remember the sickbed
smell
of the sawdust floor, the pink eyes,
the pink tongues and the teeth, those nails.
I had been carried out like
Moses
and hidden by the paws
of ten Boston bull terriers,
ten angry bulls
jumping like enormous roaches.
At
first I was lapped,
rough as sandpaper.
I became very clean.
Then my arm was missing.
I was coming apart.
They
loved me until
I was gone.
Alone by Edgar Allan Poe
From childhood's hour I have not been
As others were---I have not seen
As others saw---I
could not bring
My passions from a common spring.
From the same source I have not taken
My sorrow; I could not awaken
My
heart to joy at the same tone;
And all I lov'd, I loved alone.
Then---in my childhood---in the dawn
Of a most stormy
life---was drawn
From ev'ry depth of good and ill
The mystery which binds me still:
From the torrent, or the fountain,
From
the red cliff of the mountain,
From the sun that 'round me roll'd
In its autumn tint of gold---
From the lightning
in the sky
As it pass'd me flying by---
From the thunder and the storm,
And the cloud that took the form
(When
the rest of Heaven was blue)
Of a demon in my view.
My Favorite Poets:
Anne Sexton
Poetry Links:
World Within
Dark Poetry
Horror Masters
Crypt
Dark Poets Society
Poetry Contest
Deep Dark Gothic Poetry
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