Category Archives: Crimson Darkside

Notice of Deactivated Books.

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All my online books have been deactivated, except for the Crimson Darkside Moon poetry book.  The cartoons books are still posted to the online cartoon journal, but the books for sale are not online for sale.  It costs a great deal of attention and fees to keep these things self-published and in print, and the latest sales were not worth the fees.  In addition, some people were miss-understanding and miss-interpreting the content extremely wildly.  They were getting the meaning of the jokes very wrong, and taking the pun jokes about Halloween WAY too seriously.  After this they were posting mean criticism comments online.  This is the dark-side of the ease of modern Internet publishing, it is easy to publish.  Yet it is easy for all the wrong people to read and comment on your work, and I am not in a place where I can deal with that drama right now.

My author links are still available online at Amazon here:

 

http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B00K5ZUEU6


New Reverbnation links.

If you use Reverbnation, go ahead and add my stuff.  Spoken word MP3s to be added soon.  http://www.reverbnation.com/PoeDaughter7


The book Poems from the Crimson Darkside by Andrea Menzies is now live and available for purchase on Amazon.

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The book Poems from the Crimson Darkside by Andrea Menzies is now live and available for purchase on Amazon.  This lasts title is 136 pages, and 9 discount dollars.  Previews for the book are available under the section “Poems from the Crimson Darkside” at the http://fhseven.com blog.  Cartoon Strip “Black Camera and Ruby Stone” will be on break for a couple of weeks as the final edits for the poetry book and the author page for the poetry book are under final edits.

 

http://www.amazon.com/Poems-Crimson-Darkside-Andrea-Menzies/dp/1499166737/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1399418080&sr=1-1  – link to book

 

http://www.fh7publishing.com/ – Other books and art prints available from Andrea Menzies


Poems from the Crimson Darkside Book Chapter 3 Section 3

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Poems from the Crimson Darkside  Book Chapter 3 Section 3 by Author Andrea E. Menzies

 

This is the last Section of my “Crimson Darkside” book.  It shows previews from my “Notes on Inspiration” section, and poems from pages 52 to 92.

 

Chapter 3 Section 3 (Posted 04/22/2014)

 

It has been useful and fun to delve into my past poetic Byronic identities.  However it is a past I cannot dwell upon.  From poetry groups at New Orleans PJs Coffee to poetry groups at Austin’s own Kick Butt Coffee poetry is only thriving in very small groups.  The famous blockbuster author of a certain Tom Cruise vampire movie from the 90s has a husband who was a Berkeley poetry professor.  He helped her with her early editing.  The life blood of much of fiction literature is poetry.  Yet few people are readers in modern day, and even fewer are poetry readers.  After this last set of poems, I am going to return to comic reviews and video game reviews to have content Internet surfers can relate to reading.

Writing a blog for an hour does no good if no one is reading any entry.  You have to have key words that show up on search engines like Google.  An in depth discussion of alliteration in iambic tetrameter for Byron’s early work will get 3 webpage hits and put most people to sleep.  A discussion of cat cheeszbergerz as comic memes and video game cinematic advertisements will make you popular on Technorati while gaining you Facebook and Twitter comments and hashtags.

It is a sad reality, but also a very true reality.  People want recommendations on a fun joke or a fun phone app game, and not an in depth history lesson on art.  Even very entertaining elements of art are excluded.  It does not all have to be dark with the ennui of the pop art bend to discussions.  Even popular art can have high-brow aspects.  Many political discussions can be tied into extremes of more popular art to give them greater depth.

The last section of these latest samples of poetry will contain samples of my comic and cartoon reviews.  People interested in poetry art analysis can see other perspectives in Internet creativity crossover.  This is another type of book I write, and I hope to get some cross-project readership with promotional previews.

One of the few great problems in creativity is the lack of an urge to create.  Schools all over the nation are closing classes for art, and cutting budgets of creative after school projects to nothing.  Perhaps the problem is starting in music venues that pay bands a percentage of the bar tab of the customers. Bands are often writing songs encouraging people to drink.   The horrors of bad drinking incidents are being blamed on all art everywhere. This is creating a stereotype of art as destructive.

What this is generating is the “no costume kids” and what they mean to society.  What are the no costume kids?  They are a generation afraid to create constructive art.  I noticed them my first year of college in New Orleans.  I was at a friend’s apartment for Halloween, and they had a bucket of candy by the door.  They lived in a discount student area near a “bad” area of town.

The doorbell rang at 11 at night, and I went to the door to hand out candy. I could not figure out what this kid’s costume was, and questioned him.

I asked the kid. “What’s your costume, I can’t tell.”

I will never forget the kid’s bitter and angry sounding answer.

“I’m too poor to have a costume.”

I gave him candy, and he ran off.  The kid was alone with no parents at 11 at night.  In a dangerous urban area where people rarely walked alone even as adults.

Then he left, and he believed all night long that they were “too poor” to have a costume.  He was a dark skinned minority kid, and in thrift store clothes with holes in the pants.  Who was going to need the creative ability to make something out of nothing  more than this child?  How was it programed out of his brain?

What kind of society does the creation of this kind of a mentality to a child?  I read National Geographic as a kid for a hobby.  This publication is filled with pictures of people all over the world who weave sticks, crush berries, and mix mud into costumes for festivals for free.

“I am the spirit of the trees and wind!” They say as they place the head dress on their head.  The child that has no twigs and straw to make a head dress tells themselves on some level that God and the spirits are dead.

Couldn’t you take free napkins from Mc Donald’s and tie them into a circle, and put it on your head as an Angel’s halo?  Can’t you use extra pens from the bank, a blank paper plate, and used dental floss and make yourself a mask? Couldn’t you borrow lipstick from your neighbor’s mom’s bathroom, and paint a triangle on your nose and whiskers on your cheeks for a cat?  There are things out there to express yourself with a low cost format.

The American child was carefully convinced that art, creativity, and individuality only exist for those ultra-rich who can buy it.  Perhaps the only people they have seen do art were doing gang tags on a 7 Eleven wall.  An older brother or sister who did well at school, but fell in with the wrong crowd one night in a bad part of town.  These urban artists ran too slow and got sent to jail for their painted tagging. Ever increasing lengthy jail sentence the side effect of society discouraging creativity at every turn.

The children mistook the message of “Don’t glorify gangs and deface private property.” For another meaning. “You will have your life destroyed for showing off your art.”  A rich person could buy a 7 Eleven, and rename it “Coffee Shop Art Gallery” and show off their art all day long.  This person would enjoy not being bothered by police at all. Not every person has that option if they want their creativity to be viewed.  Schools increasingly defund afterschool art programs.  No better use of creativity was given by a government so willing to punish a negative use of art.

The un-costumed child sounded angry even as he was being given candy, and no doubt the seeds of an angry criminal were planted where a nice artist child might have been.  The child was not alone, and hundreds more costume free children rang the door bell at 11 at night.  Many arrived even later in the evening.  What they represented scared me.  No one cared for or recognized their ideas and art.

This is an inspiration and motivation for my online blog and online books.  Almost everything is better compared to thinking you can never dream or create.  In reviewing art you let art live on in a new level.  It is in a new place with new key words, and will likely get more webpage hits.

I want to help the world be filled with people who can live beyond having artless lives.  I want people to be cared for and recognized for both underground and commercial art.  I fear a world filled with ever increasing numbers of angry costume free kids.

 

Chapter 3  Poems Set 3

 

 

 

 

Spider and Bat

 

 

 

The spider eats the fly near

And that is quite a feat here.

For the fly has night’s dark gleams

and moves faster than it seems.

 

Yet the spider makes meals too

as it walks the darkness true.

The bat eats them quite now fast

has in many years now past.

 

Battle hard the spider and bat

on dark oak night branch they sat.

 

Crescent is the darkened moon

death catches the spider soon.

 

The bat wins the night this way *

until dawn must have its sway.

 

 

 

*Authors Note: Creatures of the night often battle for dominance in the hierarchy of life and

death. It seems so important, until the light of day make it all fade away. 14 lines, yet shortened

from true Sonnet meter.

 

 

The Raven Desk

 

Why is a raven like a writing desk?

The truth is easy to see so clearly.

They both make NOTES on their use full here days

In their own quite different sort of ways.

 

A raven is a dark night bird so true

Sings notes in darkened night it flies through.

Sings notes of song power and might now

a raven’s notes for death’s warning how.

 

A writing desk writes notes down every day

It takes note of every life message we say.

It takes down a note of Autumn’s warning now

Avoid the raven will show us her how.

 

A note of life and a note of death’s door*

Two notes to strike at the world unsaid core.

 

*Author’s Note: I once heard the question, “Why is a raven like a writing desk?” when watching the movie Alice in Wonderland. Then it was never answered! It should really be subtitled for modern readers watching. This aggravated me for a while. Then I went on a flight to London, and took a tour of the tower of London. The guide said. “The old world prophecy says that if Ravens leave the tower of London, that England will fall.” A popular hint that no government can stand without the constant death of its subjects. So they keep tame ravens there on perches for the tourists. Then I realized they both make notes! Ravens are birds who sing notes. People write notes to each other on writing desks. (Should I be afraid that the surreal thoughts of dark poets make so much sense to me? I am happy to know the answer never the less.) Ravens swarmed the Tower of London when there was a beheading execution, and leaders of London often wrote the NOTES of execution. Ah, a protest of who was being killed by the government… Underneath it is a political cartoon to the end.

 

 

Social Media Monsters

 

Another social Media page

Rises for the masses rage.

And claim that they care now your friends

But there the knowledge of you ends.

 

A glimmer of a face so cute

A photo of a shiny boot

They think they can judge your worth

And know your every thought from birth.

 

You think you know them back so well

Fall under social media’s spell.

No knowledge of what a brain knows

From a page that social media shows.

 

An intro and a few photos glow

Does not a person’s true worth show.

 

Author’s Note:  The rise of profile pages on social media is a rather monstrous phenomenon.  Sure it can be great fun some days when you are incredibly board.  Yet it lures many people into trusting information they have not seen in real life.

People press the word “friend”, and think they have really gained a person’s good will.  Dating sites are even worse, they make people judge each other based on a few blurry cell phone pictures and an introduction of a few sentences.  They feel they can make long term judgments on a person’s worth based on twenty photos and a few a paragraph of introduction.

Internet monster trolls feel they can post rude comments and hateful ideas based on this one tiny profile.  They see your smiling face on an ancient profile picture, and are sure you are not depressed so that you can take any amount of Internet criticism they can generate.  Haters seem capable of infinite creativity in vicious commentary.

The person you may see on profile photos looking happy may be dealing with far more death and pain than you can imagine from their very brief and edited posts.  You have to be careful that there are worlds you can’t see from that information.  I wrote this poem in a year that I had to learn too many lessons about social media monsters.

 

 

 

Head In Hands

 

 

Awestruck for the soul suck supply

It stuns you never asking why.

Hits you with a hot head in hands

Another dream it soon demands.

 

Life it seems must soon be your pain

Your future it must now take aim.

A Buddha’s demand it will drain

A noble truth it will soon name.

 

Life is – is – is – is the pain now

Lessening of pain you will seek how.

Every door never makes it gone

Another pain it will make it spawn.

 

Now we face the soul suck supply

And to the hot head in hands fly.

 

 

Authors note:  In World Religions class years ago I learned the Buddhist concept that all life is pain.  What we perceive to be pleasure is really just a lessening of pain.   There have been many times in my life where I have felt a really awe striking level of migraine headache pain.  Luckily this eventually got better treatment.

This  quote about pain echoed in my head  as I felt a particularly interestingly evil day of pain.  Is there really such a thing as joy?  Or do we really just have less- bad days sometimes?

 

Mastering Maximum Motivation

 

Mastering Maximum Motivation

Finds your soul in deepest escalation.

Fixing family food makes you feel rude,

Sticking life in sterio type of mood.

 

Savoring Sea Salt Souls of dreaming new.

To find a new motivation for true.

Wake up the dream must awaken here,

And conquer moving to pass a new fear.

 

It seems the world calls moving a new sin,

And sitting with a screen the only win.

In moving the brain can find place new go

With a new light find new thought know.

 

Mastering Maximum Motivation,

Finds your soul in deepest escalation.

 

Author’s Note:  This is in sonnet format, 14 lines of 10 syllables.  It is a move towards the archetype of poetic correction.  I was going to write a book on motivation, and this was going to be a title poem.  Yet everyone is looking for the new motivation that drives them forward like a shock.  There is no “secret key” to perfect motivation.  We all have to search for something new to drive us daily.  There are no simplistic answers for the question of Motivation, and to construct that as a book title would be a joke.

 

This ends the Crimson Darkside first preview.

 

 


Poems from the Crimson Darkside Book Chapter 2 Section 2

Blog Introduction 2:

 

Poems from the Crimson Darkside Book Chapter 2 Section 2

 

These poems are from a few years ago.  Chapter 2 Section 2 of the Crimson Darkside book is older poems from 2011 and 2012 that I have recently re-edited.   I was getting really weird dream like images, and keeping a dream journal by my bed.    The dreams were super vivid, and had an almost three dimensional quality.  Some of them I painted, but many I turned into poems.

In addition I often write short stories.  Many of the characters sing songs or say poems to illustrate their point.  Another book which does this is The Hobbit, where the Dwarf characters sing as they wash dishes.  Instead of putting them into the stories for this issue, I just kept the poems and songs by themselves.

I was writing comics, but my scanner broke for a while.  I was doing reviews, but that did not work.  No matter how polite you try to be to people a review has a bit of criticism.  It mentions both the ups and downs of artists.

You may think comedians can take a joke.  However it turns out they often can’t.  Oh, I will do more review books alright.  They will all be of totally unknown artists with dead comics.  The Internet has become a bit of a comedy graveyard.  Artists make ten good comics or strip cartoons with vivid art and in depth dialogue, and give up.  No ending what so ever is on the page.  Nor do they publish it in book or comic format.

Then they never take the cartoons down.  Why do they feel the need to do this?  Is it some strong instinct, like birds flying south for the winter?  Or are they people sick with a broken leg, or an exploding gall bladder?  When they get better they have no free time for comics?

I am highly fascinated by this phenomenon.  Not just the urge to create art, but the sucking void where art wants to be.  When you walk down a beautiful ancient street from London, Madrid, Paris, or Berlin you cannot toss a rock without hitting a beautiful statue, mural, or work of art on the street.  When you walk down the street in America you see corporate logos and grey concrete.  Where is this void coming from?

I like to try new ideas with online books, and I have not fully posted more of my “poem ideas” so this latest posting will be the poems.  I have still not found that “Golden Ticket” idea that people really love to see as writing.  Yet the writing books say to keep at it.  When you find your ideas they will come.

This is the middle section of the book.  I stop pulling punches and let the really dark and poems in here.  Some of my poems are jolly holiday poems where the thoughts I am thinking are: “Let’s go party!”  However, it is a real truth of the soul that not all thoughts are happy.  These thoughts are real.  They are part of our emotional journey.  We must all learn to balance the good with the bad.

Note “Darkside” was kept as one word to make the book distinctive on search engines.  There are many book titles out there, and it is very difficult to create a title not over-used.

* The following are the pages from the book Poems from the Crimson Darkside starting at page 28 to 51.

 

Chapter 2  Poems Set 2

 

 

 

 

 

Darkest Hour Before the Shine of Dawn

 

 

In the cold and darkest night

Awakening seems far from sight.

With a new dawn ends a fight.

Ease the heart with full delight.

 

Darkest before dawn they say

A Bible phrase to pave the way.

When the now is filled with pain’s spite,

You must not give up and cease fight.

 

Such a bitter pain to almost see

The moment of the healed and free.

Yet know we can not feel healed now

Journey’s end we can see how.

 

Frozen is the heart of night*

Clawing for the freedom bright.

 

Authors Note: This poem is about feeling unhealed due to will full cruelty of others. It is about the longing for freedom from pain, which seems bright like a dawn.  The phrase “Darkest Before Dawn”  comes from the phrase “It is always darkest just before the Day dawneth.”  From the English theologian and historian Thomas Fuller in the 1700s.  It is often meaning that there is hope, even in the worst of circumstances.

 

Dogs of War

 

 

 

 

Rain flag we see you there

Scream that I should not care.

Apathy they train you for

Death day for the dogs of war.

 

Crash, bam, soul damn

Another war cry from Uncle Sam.

Seems like the war cry never ends

Be ready to die,

Bring all your friends.

 

Death a Dream should never be

So obvious they can not see.

Loved ones die with cruelty

Never leaders wish us free.

 

Seems the war cry never ends

Be ready to die,

Bring all your friends.

 

No money for the school or poor

You have to pay for Dogs of War.

Taxes pay for weaponry

 

Never will they let us free.

No taxes for a doctor fee

Survival’s worth Dogs can not see.

No one ever dares to say*

It never should be War Dogs way.

 

 

 

*Authors Note: My father Neil was career military, and died in the parking lot of a VA hospital while denied treatment. My brutal fall injury on a military base caused daily pain, and was denied all medical benefits. I was extremely bitter for a while.  I did not hate part of my military experience. I hated all of it.  It did not “break me down to build me back up again.”  It started horrible and stayed horrible… THE…. ENTIRE… TIME…  Many of my injuries were acts of God.  Many of my health problems were blamed on smoking, yet no smoking is allowed in training and smoking does not cause broken bones which were part of my symptoms. The incredible lack of healthcare and social services to help with recovery after the fact made a bad situation incredibly worse.  It was devastating to all concerned.

Many poets have endeavored to capture the anger that the military and war can cause in a person’s life.  The only work of literature I have seen that even vaguely describes the anger I was feeling at the military was the T. S. Eliot poem “The Hollow Men” (1925) in the phrase:  “Eyes I dare not meet in dreams (7 syllables ) In death’s dream kingdom.” And “Not with a bang but a whimper.” (8 syllables) Were all I could find that vaguely captured the rage.  It was my hope to catch some shadow of the anger here clear in “The Hollow Men”  Torn apart by the horrors of World War I  Eliot was not a fan of the ravages of conflict. Few people accepted his anti-Jingoism patriotic viewpoint ( Jingoism being defined as maintaining a huge standing Army and aggressive foreign policy) in his own age.  H is work is now considered classic literature.

 

 

Black Circle Plant

 

 

 

 

 

Black simple circle

Pan for green leaf growing now

Rocks trickle to base.

 

 

Author’s Note: After too much study of Western European poem technique, I needed to try another style as a break.  This Haiku poem is for bamboo plants, in a circle pan base.  The pan is black.

 

Fear of Wisdom

 

 

 

Fear of Wisdom a common theme

Some may often say.

For the wise that have a dream

Common people make them pay.

 

John the Baptist was wise of thought

Of genius he did speak.

And for this sin was killed for thought

By meager and of weak.

 

Galileo was star wise

Saw right sun and moon in skies.

They tried to kill him for their hate

A dungeon cold to be his fate.

 

A Mesmer had a dream

To hypnotize away pains scream.

They laid him low for his sight

They fought him with all their might.

Huey Long was smart for days

His vast memory gained praise.

They shot him for his fight

They killed with all their might.

 

Kennedy was killed some say

They found way to make him pay.

The lesson is clear to see

A genius never safe to be.

They will kill the ones quite quick

Who speak out for weak, poor, and sick.

 

As small child genius gains pets and praise

Older people must change their ways.

People fear what they can not understand

People fear what they can not command.

 

For bold ideas make you hard to fight

And rich men quickly fear your might.

Dead your fate is soon to be

So men of power should feel free.

 

Every story seems to say

Have a dream and you will pay.

 

*Author’s Note: The other day I was watching the movie “Idiocracy.” In the introduction, it hints

that evolution used to favor the best and most noble traits of humanity. Yet now the best and

brightest people are afraid to bring a child into the world, and the lowest IQ people feel no

hesitation at all. While it is true that it used to be only the most successful people who could

afford to breed, the sentiment is not completely true. Many people with big ideas have always

been witch hunted by society. Only the people who escaped social notice were really safe

creating an urge to mediocrity in most ages of society.

 

 

 

With Gleaming Eyes

 

 

They worship it with gleaming eyes

Like Inquisitions claim God love

Never empty out the flaming skies

The Flags of War they pet and praise.

 

They will torture fast and witch hunt you

If you worship not camouflage.

If Army green does sicken you

They will try to blame you for it.

 

Do back flips to praise War Gods fame

If you don’t they will just brand your name.

And will simply call YOU the one insane

Will never admit to their crime.

 

The bullies have a great gimmick true

In the worship of Red White and Blue.

They can’t wait to torture you

Like Inquisitions claim God Love.

 

When I see colors Army Green

My eyes blaze with Searing Hate Song.

The violence and death made machine *

With BLIND faith people run to praise.

 

*Authors Note: My feelings towards this poem are heavily mirrored in the earlier poem “Dogs of War”  It seems to me that people have lost the urge to give even constructive criticism to their government in learned helplessness to authority.

 

Cyber Purple Sky

 

Cyber Purple Sky is in Haze

In the Electric Night Land Dream.

David Bowie’s robot still lives

He had been paid to judge.

 

It names the feelings that you feel

When you step out on the town.

And know the euphoria feels so real

When you wear your dancing gown.

 

The contest made here this night

When you stole a simple dress.

They will kill you soon unless

You can win the space-cart race.

 

Your pub against the neighbors

Rabid fans soon line the track.

The road is a vast rollercoaster

A track at fifty stories high.

 

You teleport to night life space

To get there with your team.

You knew the track was there

They never did until magic day.

 

They were shocked to find your power

Strength and secrete identity.

Of powerful hidden strengths

You gaze at track loops soaring.

 

High in the sky of purple

Seven moons sit in crescents.

Blots shoot from raised high hands

To door of your ship to win.

 

To open the charged door to save you

Race forward to save your life.

 

You fly to the maze to teleport*

And win another rat race.

 

Author’s Note: This dream image is about the feeling of euphoria before you go out for a night

on the town to hang out with friends. In this story, a woman steals a dancing gown dress from a

science fiction convention. She is caught, and the overlords give her one chance at freedom:

She must win the race with the cyber cars that run on roller coaster tracks. The race is on a

planet with a purple sky and seven moons. Bowie’s cyborg must judge it for the win.

I wrote too many dark poems in a row and needed to put down something more light hearted.

 

 

Problems

 

 

 

A problem whispered to a friend

In hushed voices and downcast eyes

A problem stammered as a secret end

Is the source of soul true demise.

 

To keep problems in dark secret

And hide from light of known way

Is to make a source of regret

And to make a dark sadist’s day.

 

Yet the problem that you say to all

And say in clear steady voice.

Then to all the people give your call

And expose your soul with clear choice

Is a victory to people all.

 

The problem you sing in songs

In proud moments that you chose.

Can ease the deepest hurt wrongs

It’s only called “Singing the Blues”

 

And earns you quick gold records many

Stadium gigs by the score.

Of friendships you can pick any

The fans rant to call for more.

 

So the trick is just to know you

And to keep pain out of the cold.

Own your problems so true*

And face dead on problems old.

 

Authors Note: This poem is about the irony of modern therapy. In modern day people treasure

and dwell upon things that annoy them, like picking at a scab wound. The old world method of

solving problems of the precise same type and nature was to sing songs about them like “singing

the blues” as you learned to laugh at them. Both methods do have their merits for problem

solving. However it is ironic that people more and more often have to be warned when to stop

dwelling, and when to let go.

 

Raven King of Night

 

Raven darkened king of night

Gleam of eye and then take flight.

Night sky sparkles in the air

Of the terrors you’ll not care.

 

Care not for you are the king

Autumn’s notes we hear you sing.

Razor feathers cut the night

Bloody talons mark your flight.

 

Villain or a hero now?

Of your deed we don’t know how.

Singing notes in darkest night

Bloody talons mark your flight.

 

Why and how I care not for,*

Land you on night’s open door.

 

*Authors Note: Ravens are like vultures, they tend to gather at execution grounds. They are therefore considered omens and messengers  of dark execution from very ancient times. This raven is making it hard to tell if he or she kills for good causes or for evil.

 

Wings Fall

 

 

 

Winged one who falls to earth

Taking choir classes in school.

She learns that songs can give you wings

Can grow wings when friends hear dreams.

 

Starts to fall of a mountain cliff

Of social pain they do not name.

She can only grow wings when they say

Classical music she sings.

 

Words they break the timeless spell

The wings turn to dust after use.

She saves two friends with her power great

A boy and then a girl child.

 

No one else seems to see this

A power with life to save now.

But hidden strengths are strengths too

Another day will sing a bragging song.

 

Her words she keeps in a prison

Till a coin flip calls them free.

And someday her song will crush worlds *

When words they are full let free.

 

 

 

*Author’s Note: This poem is about social forces that try to isolate people, and keep them from

saying their ideas. If someone is afraid to hear your voice, you should watch out for them and

keep them at bay.

 

 

 

 


Poems from the Crimson Darkside Book Chapter 1 Section 1

Notes on Inspiration:

 

Blog Introduction 1: 

 

 

Poems from the Crimson Darkside Book Chapter 1 Section 1

I have been doing too many social blogs.  It is time to really write a work for publishing. I performed poetry readings at the coffee shops of my first colleges.  I have fully explored many coffee shop poetry groups.  I have taken and passed college and University level poetry courses.  I know how to dissect the assonance, alliteration, rhythm, and meter of both English and Italian sonnets.  I drew from Norton and many other books format for my most recent batch of poems.

My favorite source for great poems is “The Norton Anthology of English Literature Eight Edition Volume D – The Romantic Period” (Stillinger/Lynch et al. copyright 2011).  This is a book containing history, samples, and analysis of many great authors including Mary Wollstonecraft, George Gordon (Lord Byron), and Percy Bysshe Shelley.

People forget the word “Gothic” is not just a term made up by fashion designers in the 90s to sell clothes.  Victorian Romantic Gothic Poetry and its title variants are real course titles offered at Harvard, Yale, Oxford, and every other accredited Western European tradition based college and University programs.  It is used to describe an era of poetry just previous to the year 1900.

What is so special about the time around the year 1900?  This is an age where people began to know the emotional freedom of modern liberated life containing factory goods, paved roads, electricity, motor boats, and trains.  Unfortunately they were still trapped medieval morality in social attitudes.  For example being homosexual publicly could earn you a prison sentence of many years hard labor in death trap prisons.  Only the very wealthy could buy secret time in their private lives.  It was an age where colonization brought countries together, in a culture clash of many customs.  Fear and social mistrust ripped them apart, even as new ways of living and loving were united together in sharp contrast.

Young aristocrats destined for wealth inherited huge sums of money from “Immortal Benefactors” who had earned so much money it was hoped the inheritance would live on forever.  As children they were told that these patriarchs had earned the money by teaching literacy overseas as missionaries to uncivilized and unchristian heathens.

Their servants told them the forefathers had “found” gold and diamonds laying around the streets because they were loved by God.  After these children inherited huge sums of money from the missionary forefathers at the age of maturity they found to their horror journals left in vaults documenting that injustice and pain often lead to the amassing of great wealth.  No literacy training and Christian teaching was done in eternal night-dark underground mines.  Cruel mines where workers were beaten and worse were the real places gold was found. Their “Immortal Benefactors” were often in fact blood thirsty monsters.

They needed the money too badly to give it up, and yet the angry awareness of a dark history ate at their subconscious minds.  A new level of enjoyment of power was mixed with a new level of horror toward social empowerment haunted an era.

This duality created an urge towards legendary fiction and poetry.   Books like Frankenstein by Shelley in 1818,  Dracula by Stoker 1897, and The Vampyre by Polidori 1819 were once not famous they had to earn their fame in the era of Romantic Poetry.

With this archetype in place many people feeling frustration and angst are drawn to the imagery of the Gothic and Romantic poets.  The dark aristocrats with hunger being the creatures that can give amazing empowerment and destruction with wild abandon is an archetype that has gained a life of its own.   It is something that lives on to modern day as a point of fear.   It is the secret heart of a great deal of traditional literature.

With this series of poems I am using a mixture of the Romantic era styles like Byron’s “She Walks in Beauty Like the Night” (1815), and the more modern style of T.S. Eliot’s “The Hollow Men” (1925) in syllable structure.  The title line “She Walks in Beauty Like the Night” (8 syllables) and most of T.S. Eliot’s “The Hollow Men” (1925) stick to a 7/8 syllable structure.  “The Hollow Men” line “Eyes I dare not meet in dreams (7) In death’s dream kingdom” and “Not with a bang but a whimper” (8 syllables) and his common AA BB rhyme scheme tend to form a strong impact with imagery.   In a few I try for the more immortal sonnet form of the 10 syllable structure with double alliteration seen in  Shelley’s poem Ozymandias “The lone and level sands stretch far away.” (Quoted heavily by the band Sisters of Mercy.) However, let’s face it, this is a hard technique to master.  I am trying to put aspects of this in my writing format.

I don’t claim to have written perfect poems.  I at least wrote poems and dared to express myself.  “Common Sense” is a pamphlet written by Thomas Paine containing a few inspired words, and it changed history.  A bit of self expression can be a powerful thing in the right context.  A poem can make you see things with your heart.  Here are the latest drafts of the journey that my heart saw.

 

*This is the free preview for the first set of Poems from the New Book “Poems From The Crimson Darkside”

Chapter 1  Poems Set 1

 

 

Pumpkin Darkened Night

 

Pumpkin darkened in the night,

Take a candle give it light.

Crisp air of a new fall day,

It is Halloween I say.

 

Spirits break into the night

With the living they don’t fight.

Grand pumpkin is now a friend,

With his candle darkness end.

 

Love the feeling bounce with glee.

October frost is set now free.

Autumn people wicked you see,

In the bark of old oak tree.

 

Pumpkin darkened in the night*

Take a candle give it light.

 

 

Author’s note: This simple poem captures a more direct happy emotion.  This is about how great it feels when autumn and Halloween becomes the new part of the year.

 

Rich Man Walks

 

 

 

Rich man in day sun walks

With the Strut of the American Dream

Silk of the rich suit gleams

In the searing bright day sun.

 

Homeless man wrapped in band-aides

And bloodied gauze for hands.

At the foot of rich man’s stride

He crosses lowly at the path.

 

Rich man tosses money to the cup

Gives him just a shiny dime.

And a few wisps of pocket lint*

 

A good deed for the day…

Trickle down little coin…

Trickle down little coin…

Trickle down little coin…

Such a shiny little coin.

 

*Authors Note: This is an obvious protest of trickle down economics. In direct response to the lack of healthcare normal in the “American Capitalist system.” This poem captures the direct emotional response to inadequate urges for charity as they are mistakenly deemed adequate.

 

 

Faun in the Maze

 

 

 

The Faun man sits on stone squares

In a vast Labrinth Maze.

Hoofs are his feet

He is three foot tall.

 

You pass him on your journey

And he fixes you with a gaze.

On a stack of thirty stones

Covered with moon moss so long.

 

He begins to speak pointing to the dark

“The darkness you now see has always

Been waiting for you

You thought it was an acting game

 

To play in the darkness wild

Covering up for the real pain

Since you were a child.”

No, no, no you hate his words!

Then away you run.

I can not leave the games!*

I must walk the game maze forever.

 

 

Author’s Note: This more surreal and dark free verse poem is a dream image. It is about the games we play, and how they are more real then they seem.

 

*This will be the first of three blog entries containing the latest poems.  These poems and more are aviable in the new book “Poems from the Crimson Darkside” by author Andrea Menzies


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