Credits
Matthew.J.Hewitt
spoken of in the press as the new king of dark poetry,
born in 1968 this young poets critical acclaim are as
follows:
The
great poet Bruce Boston says "Hewitts work has
potential and emotion". Simon Clark, famous British
horror writer, tipped as the new Stephen King, says
of the poem The fire of insanity,This
is a piece of real power, rich in imagery, sure to be
published,and of the poempan, clark
saysincredible vivid imageryand of the poemit
came from the swampan intensely visual piece in
a style that you seem to be claiming for your own.And
of the poem Evilthis is a darkly powerfull
piece.Andy Cox editor of T.T.A.press says,Hewitts
poetry is brilliant, the best I have ever read.
Michael
Arnzen bram stoker award nominee, professor of literature
says of panthis is a good job of fomenting
madness, and the insane chaos of pain, the collective
voice is chilling, and creepy,and ofThe
fire of insanityyouve definitely got
a talent for mood, and atmosphere, this is a dark and
dangerous piece,and of the poemit came from
the swampchock full of creepy images, dark and
disturbing, you have an innate talent. Also L.Michael
Lohr editor says of it came from the swamp,
this reminds me of Lovecraft, very visual and intense.
Famous
author Steven Climer says of The fire of insanitythis
is a very visual passage, filled with deep despair and
emotion,
Peter
Crowther member of H.W.A.says ofThe tolling bellsvery
moody and evocative,
John.B.Ford,
Editor, great Horror writer, says of The fire
of Insanity, it is a very powerful pieceand of
pan very gothic, and disturbing imagery,and
of The future, its sentiment and imagery
are chilling,Hewitt has lots of talent, and his
writing is visionary.Hewitts writing has also
been compared to author Lord Dunsany by Australian magazine
Redsine.
One
of Hewitts pieces is to appear alongside a Simon
Clark piece calledthe derelict of death,due
to be published shortly, which will be available from
good book dealers in Great Britain and in America.,
Hewitt has been published all over the world in unpaid,
and paid markets, and he has recently been appointed
as fiction editor for Terrortales online, the extremely
popular online horror magazine, Hewitts career truly
does move from strength, to strength.
"The
Golden Mist"
Shimmering
phantoms gather in the golden mist, and amongst ancient
trees, whose dark gnarled branches grope wickedly upward
towards the heavens high,
Shimmering,
and glimmering, phantoms dance, and cavort, in the sunlit
golden mists, relishing and adoring death, at last happy,
to be far, far away, from fearful life.
For
phantoms like children carry none of the heavy burden
of worry, which stains, and defaces, the beauty of life,
but the dark beauty of death will never fade, for the
black rose of death, will always be in full bloom, due
to the rich sustenance of the blood of the dying.
"Pan"
Here
I lie amongst a smouldering, fire eaten, bubbling, stinking,
pile of evil spirits, here our minds fuse, and in unison
we scream at Satan, for more, and more pain, for we
relish and adore pain, pain is our sustenance, pain
is our god, Satan obliges, and a wave of thundering,
crushing pain rushes at us, it washes us into ecstasy
far greater than any ecstasy any living being may ever
experience, and at the highest point of this searing,
exquisite pain, we meet the great god pan, and join
him in a celebration down amongst the catacombs of the
bowels of Hades, where hordes of heavens angles are
shackled and bound , they sob, and beg for forgiveness
for all their good deeds that they have committed, but
pan and Satan know no forgiveness, and so here they
will stay, trapped in this fetid pit of evil ,they will
drown, in the licking ,strangling flames of hades,while
us evil spirits, relish, and enjoy, those very same
licking flames.
"The
Fire of Insanity"
The
holy ghost has led me to a lonely demise, I have been
thrown into a pale blue oblivion, amidst a bone crushing,
mind breaking, tsunami of paranoia, left to die on a
deserted island, eternally cursed by the fire ball which
burns above me, it laughs, mocks, and pokes fun at me,
I turn inwards on myself, self destructing, shrivelling,
and shivering, at the stigmata ridden feet, of the holy
ghost. I am my own slayer, a slayer of my dragon like
soul, whose fire is now nothing but mere embers, gently
glowing on the arid golden beach of life ,for I am a
murdering wretch , a murdering lost wretch ,in a paradise
long forgotten.
"Tolling
Bells"
I
can hear the tolling bells of the dark tower of Babel,
under blood streaked skies I can hear the bells, a mournful
sound the bells of Babel, they are wailing for me, they
are wailing for you, the spirits they toll the bells,
and we are drawn to them in a dreamy trance, for the
spirits they want to posses us, and lead us to the land
of the rotting, fetid
Death
inhabited home of our fathers, who patiently wait, for
our weeping and whining arrival, because to the bells
of Babel we are drawn, like a bee to a sweetly scented
flower, or as a lover to a lover is drawn, or like a
bat to the darkness, irresistibly we are drawn.
"Prepare
For Damnation"
Drowning
in the darkness, smothered by the dark cloak of night,
small furtive animals coarse haired, warm bodied, brush
against my trembling jelly like legs,
My
heart thumps and squirms within my heaving chest, and
icy water trickles around my bowels, pure fear pumps
sweat out of every pore of my body, I begin to howl
and whoop and wail at the heavens, for I seek forgiveness,anyone
can be forgiven at anytime, if truly, truly sorry,
buzzes through my head Im sorry, Im
sorry, God please help me, forgive me for my sins, oh
please spare me this pain, I beg of you, but God
is deaf to my pleas, instead I fear he licks his lips,
and smiles with glee at my pain, as this thought matures
and blossoms in my head, bearing the fruit of more fear
,I feel the first short sharp piercing pains in my legs,
as razor sharp devilish like teeth, begin to strip chunks
of flesh from my bones, begin to tear at my flesh within
the darkness and my nerves shriek,crying out in agony
, light headed now, praying for the sweet escape of
oblivion,the coppery scent of blood fills my nostrils,
and a rising torrent of sickness erupts from my shrieking
throat, I grope for the escape of death,I search for
the light at the end of the tunnel, but all I can see,all
I can find, is more and more bright red blinding pain.
The
devil prepares a fresh bed of fire for the newcomer,
and God washes his sanctimonious hands, cleansing himself
of the thoughts of my evil dark soul which is now hurling
and whirling into the fires of damnation.
"An
Unfinished Portrait"
I
look down from my castle high in the sky,
And
I can see many spirits like puffy clouds float by,
A
young mother, a stillborn baby, and an ancient woman.
They
float by, they all look so happy now as I look down
upon them from my castle high in the sky.
They
knock on my windows and doors as they drift by,
They
want me to join them, to join them in their ghost dance
In
the sky.
Maybe
tomorrow, I shout at them,
Be
gone, please just be gone, leave me be I shout.
For
yet I feel I have a lot more of lifes long road
to endure,
Before
I join them in their ghostly dance,
And one day I know this for sure, and then, no more,
No
more.
"It
Came From The Swamp"
Out
of the swamp and into the milky moonlight it slithered,
the thing with two heads squealed and howled at the
stars, as if seeking some sort of forgiveness for revealing
its hideous countenance, now free of the swamp, juda
one of the devils sons bathes in the moonlight, regaining
strength after the long torturous trip from the baking
oven of its fathers home in hell. Juda begins to split,
to tear, the separation has begun, from one creature
of the night into two, the ripping noise of flesh, and
ligaments popping under such an enormous internal strain
is heard, for juda is now entering the struggle to become
two, and then at last he may sample the exquisite blood
of the good.
As
morning reveals its fresh pretty face the two judas
lie side by side, at the edge of the stinking, bubbling
swamp, they dream, and their dreams are filled with
tyranny, and many a painful death of the innocent, they
dream of theirs, and their fathers heroes, evil dictators,
and mass murderers, to name a few, for these all are
the people juda worships, these are the people guided
by judas father, these are the puppets, controlled
by Beelzebub, the one and only great prince of darkness.My
father I will emulate thee, I will walk in thy footsteps,
I will slay the innocent, and send countless numbers
of them tumbling, humbled and subdued, where they will
crawl on their bellies, akin to thy marvellous serpents
who serve thee so reverently, and their they will dampen
and bathe your feet in rivers of their tears, for this
is how it has to be, and this is how it most certainly
will be.
"Forgiveness"
I
will tear open your coffin, and I will feed off your
rotting, stinking corpse, I will feed on your brain,
for I seek your great mind, your intellect, your problem
solving brain will nourish me, and lead me to great
victories, within this vicious blood curdling world.
Under the damned skies which are infernally laced with
fire, I will stare into your empty eyes, and I will
beg, and plead with you, for forgiveness, I will blubber
into your decaying face, but then I must split your
skull for the hidden treasure of knowledge within the
darkness of your damp grave, and within the darkness
of your deaths head I must find.
My
son, you will feel no pain, for your spirit has fled
this wicked world, your smiling face I will always picture
in my mind, but my son I am sorry, for I seek more of
you, but I promise I will consume you swiftly, and see
you, and leave you for the final time, and then, but
only then, may the earth finally claim my dearly beloved
only son forever.
And
I, only I, will then conquer all.
"Dark
Castle"
Once
upon a time there did exist an ancient dark castle which
was filled to the brim with a brooding horde of satanic
evil spirits, spirits who did not seek the fires of
hell or the cool bliss of heaven but adored more than
anything to gorge themselves on the gothic rich fearful
vibes that emanated from the very walls of the dark
castle itself, they became gluttons for those vibes
and grew fat on fear. Then one dark night when the spider
webbed ancient grandfather clock would strike tiredly
the midnight hour in the deathly silence of the cold
and lonely castle, spirits would begin to dance with
fellow spirits spinning twirling and glowing ethereally,
they would whisper and then yell at the heavens above
them, mocking and goading, until eventually they would
drift into a sullen boredom, and begin to talk of how
they could enable victory over heaven to befall their
imperious father in hell.
They
would discuss the destruction of all do gooders, and
the most important part would be the rewriting of all
the holy bible that would then show the sacred writings
in a totally different light, which would then intern
enable them to recruit more and more innocent stupid
humans into there wicked fold and begin to preach that
Satan was the only one to save the world and not god,
that riches would belong in abundance to all, that life
would become a bed of ruby red roses on which they would
all lie with their leader and great father and protector
Satan.
And
then later with an army of new followers they would
be able to stroll through the gates of heaven and into
a certain and glorious victory for hell.
"Blackbird"
A
blackbird with eyes of glowing fire sings a song laced
with death,
Creates
an image, an image lined with blood, sticky and grimy
with blood. Darkness is strong in its sole, hatred is
burning like a huge fire in its belly, oh blackbird,
beast of the darkening skies, harbinger of death, free
us, free us all, show us the way, the way to the devils
door, to be greeted by his crooked smile, and shake
his withered hand of blistering fire, and at last feel
oh so secure, so secure.
"Sacrifice"
My
spirit,
Exhausted
and tired of searing pain
Begins
to tense within its withered human shell, my beautiful
spirit prepares for the short but emotional trip from
life to the heavenly light, where my father and my mother
surely await me with open arms.
At
last, at last I can feel myself slowly being pealed
from my withered dying body, my eyes are closed forever
against the light of life and fear begins to bubble
away within me laced with joy full thoughts of an imminent
family reunion.
I
have breathed my last, I will feel no more of the mental
anguish that is caused by life, and now I will head
for the blinding light that lies before me at the end
of what appears to be a short dark tunnel. My spirit
is shivering with joy, for what I was taught and told
all through my life is evidently and miraculously true,
for there is a tunnel as death closes in, and there
is a light at the end of it, and behold, behold, for
their floating before me entwined together are the glowing
apparitions of my deceased parents.my mother, oh my
mother I have missed you so, and my father who I have
missed painfully for ten whole years you have never
left my thoughts, and now here you are just waiting
patiently for me, eagerly I drift towards their glowing
presences ,but wait, this is not right,this can not
be true ,for my father seams to be filled with an infernal
rage and quickly he begins to gouge and dig at my presence
with what looks and feels like a sharp gleaming dagger
of ice, he tares through my spirit from top to bottom
with one swift blow,and without effort he lifts my ragged
spirit high,a sacrifice he cries,
a sacrifice for my god,my son has come back to me as
if a sacrificial lamb, and he now is yours oh lord,
yours,and an enormous relentless wave of grief
begins to drown me,and finally all I hear is the loud
hysterical evil laughter of my mother, over ,and over
as I am drowned relentlessly within a tsunami of grief,
and buried beneath an eternal thundering,crushing mountain
of pain.
"The
Great White Worm"
A
large puffy worm, as pure white as freshly fallen snow,
lives deep down beneath the many graves of Gomara, where
it feasts upon the rotting corpses of the dead, deep
down, cloaked by darkness, the ancient worm will never
grow hungry, slipping, and sliding, gliding powerfully,
it searches for the delicacy of the lost desperate soul
that is howling somewhere far below, in amongst the
shadowy catacombs of the graveyard Gomara, now dead,
but still suffering deeply, the soul of a small lonely
child, weeps, and howls for the return of life, or for
the soft, warm love, of a parent, but unfortunately,
neither of these will be found, for the bloated, blubbery,
great white worm has this souls scent engraved deeply
within its brilliant mind. The taste of a fresh soul
to the white soul-hunting worm you see is unsurpassable.
Hours
later, now beneath the old broken down church, lying
in the bowels of Gomara, the great white worm is full,
and contented, coiled at the feet of its dark master,
the worm dreams, and the dark one feeds off these dreams,
which are laced with fear, pain, and loneliness, fine
sustenance, for the dark god of Gomara, fine indeed.
"Within
The Darkness"
A
Pale light bleeds down upon me from glowing stars, but
my thoughts remain coated with a darkness that only
death can bring.
Slowly
I touch your grave with shivering fingers, I stroke
the gravel under which you lie for all eternity, and
my tears drip, drip from blood shot eyes like holy water
they drip down seeking the chilled brow of my beloved.
And Deep down the darkness hugs you like a lonely child
to its cold breast, holds you tight in its icy grip,
and whispers incessantly of dark ancient tales which
originate long before the filthy touch of humankind,
the darkness then begins to become agitated, and of
a substance thicker than darkness, as if possessed by
an evil riving spirit, it begins to spit out blasphemous
words which are riddled with dark magic and madness,
it shrieks louder and louder into your rotting worm
ridden head, into the decaying passages which once led
to your brilliant brain ,where now only lies more darkness
and where the only life forms are bloated crawling grubs.
Rise,
damn you, rise, I resurrect you, I resurrect you, I
adore you, the dark one adores you, come back, come
back, return damn you, the great dark one has laid a
great banquet for you, and mounds of gold for you to
roll and wallow in, so please return.
But
all these words are to no avail for nothing will stir
within you, no heart will ever throb within the mound
of your chest, and no light of life will ever pump through
your veins, and I pray if you do shed any tears from
your gaping empty eye sockets that they will be tears
for your beloved, who now cries on your grave, far,
far above you. Unable forever to touch you, unable forever
to hold you, unable forever to hear your breathing in
the depth of a dark silent night, for I fear you have
now found a new lover far away on the other side, and
to me now you are lost forever.
"Mother"
Torn
from the main trunk of my body I lift my dripping bloody
head up toward the heavens, I swing, and swing my torn
off head round and round by my long auburn hair, and
my bloody bits spray into the sunlight that floods through
a gaping hole within the angry looking sky.
And
now To a small brook I carry my severed head, I bend
down and begin to fill my now empty skull with the clean
sparkling water, A gory looking goblet my head, dripping
drool, now filled to the brim with the pure water of
the whispering brook, once again I lift my head high
but this time as an offering to the great gods far above,
who in return chant my name and with this my spirit
leaps for joy within my dying corpse.
At
peace, at peace now for the gods have drank from my
gory chalice, I slump down by the whispering brook and
I listen somewhere deep inside myself to the soft humming
lullaby of my long lost mother, back now in my crib,
once again newborn, I dream, and dream of my sweet loving
mother, I dream of the pain inflicted upon me by my
sweet loving mother, I dream of the darkness of her
glowering face that hung above me so often, reeking
of stale smelling booze, for this is my real sweet loving
mother, for she truly was the nightmarish beast with
dripping dagger in hand that stalked me through many
a hideous dream,but now strangely in my last moments
I yearn and yearn for her to hold me, as my life gushes
from me in scarlet waves that still pump out of my twitching
now useless body.
"Scarlet
Garden"
The
devil coated in a glorious flowing robe of flame gently
plucks scarlet luscious flowers from empty, decaying,
gashed open corpses, and he begins to hurl the bloody
coloured flowers into the air, and like red rain the
silky petals flutter about him and they whisper as they
softly float down towards the licking flames which are
waiting eagerly to devour them in sizzling gulps. They
whisper of the wonder of death, and of the beauty of
the devil, they whisper the names of many gods, and
as they near the flames they begin to moan louder and
louder ecstatic now as they feel the heat, and the fire
does rage and rage and spit and lash out at the opalescent
coloured skies which lie serenely above them.
"Just
A Dream? Or Maybe Reality?"
Shrouded
by darkness I am drowning in the decadence of a familiar
dream, floating over fields of decaying frozen corpses,
glassy eyed, dead hands grope towards the angry looking
skies, as if trying to capture their fleeing souls,
or beckon to me for help, pleading with me not to let
them die. Empty human shells they rest in silence, today
no birds will sing in the skies, an unreal morbid silence
reigns, until Suddenly a jagged sharp flash pierces
the belly of the gloomy looking clouds, and a blood
red rain begins to pour down onto the dead, and quickly
they become islands resting amidst bloody seas. I begin
to cry, for my heart it aches within me, to see all
these innocents dead, tears of blood fall from my eyes,
and mingle with the blood that is falling in rivers
from the gloomy looking skies. Quickly I float away
from this carnage, for I can not bare a sight such as
this any longer, up, and up through gloomy blankets
of clouds I fly, but I am cloaked in a dark suit of
grief, that hangs around me, still, up and up, I travel,
until I enter a total umbra darkness, which lies far
above the sickening scenes that are now far far below,
but even here there is no escape from the darkness of
death, for glowing, wailing souls soar past me in every
direction, searching for loved ones who they will never
find,searching for any god, searching for any glimmer
,or morsel of hope, but their seems to be nothing ,
I wish I could help them, but to them I remain totally
unseen, they are in one world ,and I in another, is
this the future I observe through the cloudy window
of my dreams, or just a mere ,sick ,depressing fantasy
,created by a warped, over stressed brain, the answer
to this I suppose I will never attain, or may be one
day my dreams may unfold in front of me in reality,of
this only old father time will tell.
"Judah"
Judah
feeds within the dark pit of death, spirits flee from
their ruptured twisted and torn bodies they flutter
like beautiful exotic luminous birds out and up toward
glowering skies, terrified spirits they dare not stare
into the bloody red eyes of Judah the soul smasher.
The beast now is full of joy as he thrashes around in
his stinking pit of the dead for at last he can feed
on fresh human meat and add spirit after spirit to his
fine growing gallery collection.
After
much bloody sustenance Judah sleeps, and he dreams of
dragging kicking and screaming spirits toward row after
row of gleaming icy crucifixes, onto which he impales
each spirit riving in agony. After this laborious but
enjoyable task Judah sits and stares weeping with joy
at the site of row upon row of spirits on crucifixes
silhouetted against opaque coloured skies that linger
deep within Judahs mind, and through sobs Judah
sings, he sings hallowed praise and thanks to the sky
god, and to the god of fire for the fresh spirits he
has had the ultimate joy of receiving from them.
Fire!!!
fire within the pit and Judah is burning, bubbling within
the flames, but he loves the pain he relaxes and lets
himself be engulfed within the inferno that rages in
the pit.
For
there will never be victory over Judah, there will never
be the blackbird of death to carry Judahs spirit
away for Judah is already dead, he is the ravenous merciless
leader of the living dead, and once again already he
is hungry for human flesh, so beware, beware of Judah,
for tonight he may be stalking you.
©2002
M.J.Hewitt
|