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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 poem”pan”, clark says”incredible vivid imagery”and of the poem”it came from the swamp”an intensely visual piece in a style that you seem to be claiming for your own.”And of the poem “Evil””this is a darkly powerfull piece.”Andy Cox editor of says,”Hewitts poetry is brilliant, the best I have ever read.”

Michael Arnzen bram stoker award nominee, professor of literature says of “pan”this is a good job of fomenting madness, and the insane chaos of pain, the collective voice is chilling, and creepy,”and of”The fire of insanity””you’ve definitely got a talent for mood, and atmosphere, this is a dark and dangerous piece,”and of the poem”it came from the swamp”chock 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 insanity”this is a very visual passage, filled with deep despair and emotion,”

Peter Crowther member of H.W.A.says of”The tolling bells””very moody and evocative”,

John.B.Ford, Editor, great Horror writer, says of “The fire of Insanity, it is a very powerful piece”and 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 Hewitt’s pieces is to appear alongside a Simon Clark piece called”the 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.


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 “I’m sorry, I’m 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 life’s 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 juda’s 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 juda’s 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.”


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.


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.


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 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.


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 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 Judah’s 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 Judah’s 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


Available Poems:
Mother *New*
Scarlet Garden *New*
Just A Dream? Or Maybe Reality? *New*
Judah *New*
The Golden Mist
The Fire of Insanity
Tolling Bells
Prepare For Damnation
An Unfinished Portrait
It Came From The Swamp
Dark Castle
The Great White Worm
Within The Darkness


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