The Club

This is written based on Denise’s Six Sentence Story prompt word – Club.

Lion Bark was a world famous golfer who won many titles which were a few shied away from the young men he slept with during his long career.

One of his winning clubs was gifted by his favourite Korean lover, which he took with him around the world wherever he played in tournaments. That club reminded him of his lover’s parting words, “I’ve given my blood, sweat and tears to this club, wherever you go, take it with you in remembrance of me.”

Over the years he tried to reconnect with his Korean lover without success. His response had always been that he was under the surveillance by his government officials for crimes he did not commit.

Little did Lion Bark know, he is the reason that his Korean lover was not in jail, because of the murder weapon he kept with him.

A Murderer’s Mind (A Dark Collection)

This is one of the dark poetry which I wrote as a writing exercise. Dark poetry is not my usual genre. I had fun writing it.

She was as slim as a cigarette.
He longed to be the filter between her divine lips.
Each smoke circle she oozed out blurred his vision and dizzied his mind.
He remembered what his Mama said to him ‘they came to steal your soul son.’
He pressed his hand firmly on her sexy mouth to muffle the screams till her eyes were wide open.
Eventually she was extinguished like a cigarette butt before being tossed to the dumpster.

Chester Gallery (A Dark Collection)

This is one of the dark poetry which I wrote as a writing exercise. Dark poetry is not my usual genre. I had fun writing it.

The night made its way into the depth of darkness. 

In the dim light of a kerosene lamp, he plaited the corse strands into resilient strings with his nimble fingers. 
He  fervently stretched the anaemically pale canvas onto the frame. 
Shades of red mixed in an aesthetic colour palette, he restored each painting with precision brush strokes.

When the twilight arrived, he hung all the art works back on and marveld at his resurrection. 

Curator Chester Gallery was arrested on 13th September 1888 for the serial murders of art students in the gallery where he worked.

Play Kit (A Dark Collection)

This is one of the dark poetry which I wrote as a writing exercise. Dark poetry is not my usual genre. I had fun writing it.

she put her lace-up
thigh high boots on
as the final touch
before leaving for
the special call

she swiped in
walked straight to
the plush velvet bed

she layed out meticulously
gas mask
ball gag
cuffs
ball lock
flogger set
strap-on

and kept
the digital scale
in her play kit
underneath the bed

he was a special one
to her
she almost loved him
in her
faint conscience

she completed the
2 hour assignment
he was exhausted
and satisfied

instead of
feeling disgusted
as usual
this time
she felt
a sense of beauty
glancing over
his vulnerable
shriveled body
a dear little lamb
unawared of its fate

it was time
for her pleasure
and gratification
she took her time

Chopin op 25 no.1 on repeat
crimson spots and sprays
raw primal smell
metalic light salty
the latex gloves
stopped her kinaesthesia
she masterfully
dissected the lamb

she pulled out the scale
weighted
the heart
then liver
then kidneys
she bloomed
an orgasmic
smile

Trapped (A Dark Collection)

This is one of the dark poetry which I wrote as a writing exercise. Dark poetry is not my usual genre. I had fun writing it.

he barely goes to the well
he knows spring ain’t flowing

there were times
hard times, soul searching times
he sat by the well
sobbing
telling her about the hard yakka
he poured into the farm
yet yielded no return
except rats

he gave thanks to her
for the insurance money
which kept it going
and kept him sane
not by her own will though
then
he cursed her for
the nightmares
she inflicted upon him

“I love you sweetheart.
You had been good to me.
The farm is my everything.
I sacrificed you.
Now I am bearing the pain and loss.
Would you let go of my torment,
depart from me my darling wife?”

Why Aren’t The Roses Growing (A Dark Collection)

This is one of the dark poetry which I wrote as a writing exercise. Dark poetry is not my usual genre. I had fun writing it.

his neighbour always had a smile
hanging above her taut full lips
wearing yoga pants and platform shoes

she also had a cat always hungry
the feral creature preyed on his birds
with deprived and snarling face

he checked the cage everyday
OCD on its bars and lock
leaving no chance for the predator

to his dismay
he returned home to find an empty cage
with no sign of his two budgies
only
the feline was grooming uncaringly

he is looking out the window to the garden
wondering why his roses are’t growing
blood and bones are meant to be
excellent feed for roses

he was careful with the burial
to ensure gradual decomposition
and slow release

he cannot understand
why aren’t the roses growing
perhaps cats do indeed
have nine lives

Unusual (A Dark Collection)

This is one of the dark poetry which I wrote as a writing exercise. Dark poetry is not my usual genre. I had fun writing it.

a murder mystery
occured at three o’clock
nobody’s around at noon
only a mutt roaming the morgue

here laying horizontal
a koi once was coy

would it be the furry feline
who is licking its lilac coat
or the hunt alone heron
who is parading the pasture

the crime scene creates suspicion
blue-green algae blankets afloat
the floppy leaved floating lilies
consealing goldfish’s corpses

tainted water toxic pond
poisonous plant
inflicted the innocents
unusual mystery unravelled

Rust (A Dark Collection)

This is one of the dark poetry which I wrote as a writing exercise. Dark poetry is not my usual genre. I had fun writing it.

the sky is weeping
for the loss of
a loving mother
a supportive daughter
a caring friend
at the blooming age of 33

the wind is raging
against her murderer
a chameleon charmed his way
into her innocent heart
a fungi corrupted her being
eventually caused her to
lose her defence

she is lying in repose
a beauty covered in rust
like a tainted rose

The Crime Hierarchy (A Dark Collection)

This is one of the dark poetry which I wrote as a writing exercise. Dark poetry is not my usual genre. I had fun writing it.

the rambunctious head of the household
submissive yet overbearing advocate
dependents running wild
in the confine of farming life

leather face old man that hunts with a rifle
she runs over little lambs for feast
children grew up witnessing these normalities

one of the children
was convicted of second degree murder
the noise of the struggle
screaming, screeching, pleading
he had to bring them to silence

when you apply the transitive logic
it all makes sense

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