| Bride Bled White - Halloween for Bloodfetish
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Isabelle5
| The hills grow still; strange darkness settles down | 1 |
upon the village and its church of white, | 2 |
where grown men sit and pray (in pews of oak) | 3 |
that they'll not hear the finish of this night. | 4 |
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An ancient terror stepping silently, | 5 |
as though to place a foot could cause a slide | 6 |
of misfortune upon the backs of souls | 7 |
huddled in that church where sinners hide. | 8 |
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A cloak around the town the mystic weaves, | 9 |
her boney fingers spinning fast as light, | 10 |
when from the tower comes the sound of bells | 11 |
where hence a bride does step this very night. | 12 |
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From shadows deep, her bridal veil does glow | 13 |
against the shoulder of the man she wed, | 14 |
the ancient terror clad in tuck and bow; | 15 |
he quickly leads her to the wedding bed. | 16 |
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In joy, she sweeps all modestly aside, | 17 |
as though enchanted by her solemn vow; | 18 |
“Till death,” he whispers, (grin juicy and wide), | 19 |
he bends his knee to her in courtly bow. | 20 |
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He holds her in his cold and timeless hands, | 21 |
tips back her head to kiss her rosy lips. | 22 |
The glint of gold upon their wedding bands | 23 |
reflects her throat caressed by fingertips. | 24 |
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Her screams bleed red upon the oaken pew | 25 |
where sinners hide from ancient terrors sight. | 26 |
This virgin bride – their prudent payment due - | 27 |
who in the dawn lies still, the purest white. | 28 |
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18 Oct 05 |
Rated 10 (7) by 1 users.
Active (1):
Inactive (2): 2, 9, 10
(define the words in this poem)
(248 more poems by this author)
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Comments:
Blood? Boo!
— unknown
not bad...thank you for the read.
i will comment after blood, as per your request on the message board.
— unknown
I'm not writing well lately, I feel. I have to write about 1,000 words before I keep anything posted. Thanks for reading.
— unknown
Maybe it's too early for Celtic poems and Halloween?
— unknown
it's never too early for celtic poems and in my world every day is halloween.
— unknown
maybe we're amazed.
— Meep
Amazed can be good or horrendously bad. I'll hold my breath for your answer, Meep. I know you're pretty honest.
— unknown
Oh, thank you for the 9!
— unknown
Let me start with the tone of this work: perfect. You captured the mood and setting in a way that few people do. I can compare this favorably to works by Poe and Keats (La Belle Dame sans Merci), with no problem, no worries that the comparison is unfair or uncalled for. The tone is brilliant. The gentle plodding, the building of suspense through rhyme and line breaks lovely to read. You captured it. Bravo!
Now to the nits -- I have a few.
The first line: stones cried out as darkness settled -- This makes it sound as if the weight of night is enough to change the nature of silent stones. As a first line, it doesn't work, but only because you haven't yet set the mood. My guess is that darkness is synonmous with the vampire -- that while they are separate, they are of the same mold. This line could work later in the poem, perhaps with him skulking.
I know. At this point you're saying, "How can he have a problem with the first line and still think so much of the poem?" Well, it's simple. From there on, you build terror and fear -- except for "daintily." Us vampires and wanna-be vampires are rarely dainty. We're a lot of things but dainty? Okay -- there was the Warhol film ... but I don't think Andy speaks for the rest of us.
Daintily aside, you hit the stride from then on. Beat and rhyme sweep us along, almost unwillingly -- You build tension here in the same Poe did in The Telltale Heart. Strong line breaks, such as souls/huddled, hide/A cloak, and glow/against add to this work. Each moment to the next.
And so it goes, and my eyes get wider, till S6l1. The "boneless" hand. A hand with no bones is like a glove with no fingers to fill it out.
It would be a limp and icky thing. We have bone-like hands, clawed hands, nasty grave-grubbing hands, bloody hands, white hands. But not boneless. Limp or still, a casual caress -- but the bones are there: it's all that links us to humanity.
And so to the end, so much has brought me here, I enjoy his taste of the bride. A lovely end to a visceral poem.
Thank you. This is a good Halloween made better by this work.
— Bloodfetish
How's that? Changed all you noted.
— unknown
I forgot to say thank you so much! The master of the craft, I bow to your understanding.
— unknown
You have rushed, my dear, to an edit: let me do the same, and dabble a bit to bring this into present. This work is still a wonder. But why look to the past, when we can have now. Permit me this:
The hills still: darkness settles
upon the village and its church of white,
where grown men sit and pray in pews of oak,
their children nestled, coverlets tucked tight.
An ancient terror steps silently,
as though to place a foot could cause a slide
of misfortune upon the backs of souls
huddled in that church where sinners hide.
A cloak around the town the mystic weaves,
boney fingers spinning fast as light,
when from the tower the sound of bells
where hence a bride had stepped that night.
From shadows deep, her bridal veil glows
against the shoulder of the man she wed,
the ancient terror clad in tuck and bow;
he quickly leads her to the wedding bed.
In joy, she sweeps modestly aside,
as though enchanted by her solemn vow;
“Till death,” he murmurs, lips, pallid and wide,
kneeling at her feet in courtly bow.
He takes her by his cold and timeless hand,
tips her head to kiss her blood red lips,
the glint of gold upon his wedding band
as he touches her throat with fingertips.
Her screaming bleeds upon the oaken pew
where sinners hide from ancient terror's sight.
The virgin bride – their prudent payment due -
and in the morning, still the purest white.
— Bloodfetish
Ok, that was fun! Lots of revising with your suggestions.
— unknown
I believe this is one of the most successful atmospheric works I've read: kudos!
— Bloodfetish
I could not have done it without you. Perhaps someday I'll come forth - you already know but no one else suspects!
— unknown
Okay, now I need non-vampire comments, if you please. I don't usually write with such a hard poetic beat, like a funeral bell clanging slowly in the back but this time, it was necessary to the story, the drama, the time of year.
It isn't everyone's taste, I know, but it's a form that's fun to try so perhaps it can inspire others, since it is Halloween season.
— unknown
Final revision and I think it's quite done.
— unknown
Oh, come on, it isn't that scary! Think Edgar Allan and be brave!
— unknown
o, come on, unknown ... sign your name and be brave.
— Bloodfetish
Maybe when the Moon is full, Luna calling me...i just want honest comments, darn it!
— unknown
Luna called. hahaha
Blood, where else do you dwell besides PC? You could teach (you DO teach!)
— Isabelle5
the only nits i had were pointed out by blood...specifically the meter; count feet.
unknown #2 (non-vampire commenter)
— unknown
Nice.
— Hear
i dwell in the vapors, Isa. You can always reach out and touch me: I read me e-mail.
— Bloodfetish
My gosh, another poem should come out of your comment, Blood.
"I dwell in the vapors." I love that!
— Isabelle5
You must read this today on Halloween! And be glad you are not the sacrificial virgin!
— unknown
Must be awful to be the virgin victim!
— unknown
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