This week: Horror Poetry Edited by: W.D.Wilcox  
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Worms Crawl In
Don’t ever laugh when a hearse goes by, or you may be the next to die. They wrap you up in a big white sheet, from your head down to your feet. The worms crawl in, the worms crawl out. The worms play pinochle on your snout. They neat your eyes, they eat your nose. They eat the jelly between your toes. They put you in a big black box, and cover it up with dirt and rocks. All goes well for about a week, and then your coffin begins to leak. The worms crawl in, the worms crawl out. The worms play pinochle on your snout. They neat your eyes, they eat your nose. They eat the jelly between your toes. A big green worm with rolling eyes, crawls in your stomach and out your eyes. Your stomach turns a slimy green, and puss comes out like whipping cream. You spread it on a slice of bread, and that what you eat when you are dead.
Annabel Lee
It was many and many a year ago, In a kingdom by the sea, That a maiden there lived whom you may know By the name of Annabel Lee; And this maiden she lived with no other thought Than to love and be loved by me.
I was a child and she was a child, In this kingdom by the sea, But we loved with a love that was more than love— I and my Annabel Lee— With a love that the wingèd seraphs of Heaven Coveted her and me.
And this was the reason that, long ago, In this kingdom by the sea, A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling My beautiful Annabel Lee; So that her highborn kinsmen came And bore her away from me, To shut her up in a sepulcher In this kingdom by the sea.
The angels, not half so happy in Heaven, Went envying her and me— Yes!—that was the reason (as all men know, In this kingdom by the sea) That the wind came out of the cloud by night, Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee.
But our love it was stronger by far than the love Of those who were older than we— Of many far wiser than we— And neither the angels in Heaven above Nor the demons down under the sea Can ever dissever my soul from the soul Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
For the moon never beams, without bringing me dreams Of the beautiful Annabel Lee; And the stars never rise, but I feel the bright eyes Of the beautiful Annabel Lee; And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side Of my darling—my darling—my life and my bride, In her sepulcher there by the sea— In her tomb by the sounding sea.
-Edgar Allen Poe
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Dark Poetry
When you think of dark poetry you think of Edgar Allen Poe's 'The Raven' of course, but there are so many other authors out there who wrote some pretty scary stuff. Like this guy for example:
“Do you remember the sight we saw, my soul,
that soft summer morning
round a turning in the path,
the disgusting carcass on a bed scattered with stones,
its legs in the air like a woman in need
burning its wedding poisons
like a fountain with its rhythmic sobs,
I could hear it clearly flowing with a long murmuring sound,
but I touch my body in vain to find the wound.
I am the vampire of my own heart,
one of the great outcasts condemned to eternal laughter
who can no longer smile.
Am I dead?
I must be dead.”
― Charles Baudelaire
Charles Pierre Baudelaire was a French poet, essayist, translator and art critic. His poems are described as exhibiting mastery of rhyme and rhythm, containing an exoticism inherited from the Romantics, and are based on observations of real life. Wikipedia
Born: April 9, 1821, Paris, France
Died: August 31, 1867 (age 46 years), Paris, France
Influenced by: Victor Hugo, Gustave Flaubert, Edgar Allan Poe · See more
Born in Paris in 1821, debaucher, wastrel, and drug user, Charles Baudelaire died in 1867 of syphilis and failed in almost everything he tried to do, except to shock people. He was good at that. When Les Fleur du Mal (Flowers of Evil) was first published, in 1857, it was not met with universal praise that Baudelaire had hoped for and may even have expected; instead, Baudelaire and his publisher were prosecuted for obscenity and blasphemy and were convicted of a public offense and fined. Six of the poems were banned, a ban that was not lifted until 1949, and Baudelaire’s name, for nearly a century after his death, was synonymous with depravity and vice in the mind of a French public that has always been more conservative in its moral judgments than the image of “Gay Paree” would suggest.
W.D.Wilcox
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Scary Poetry
| |  | Sam Hain (ASR)
Dark Dreamscapes Poetry Contest Entry Oct 1st - 8th, 2020
#2233885 by Lovina  |
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DEAD LETTERS
Lazy Writer est 4/24/2008
I don't usually read horror but I enjoyed reading this newsletter.
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Horror/Scary: April 09, 2025 Issue [#13065]
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