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Steven Dark

Updated: Thu, 7 Jan 2016 01:34 pm


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Steven Dark writer, actor, poet, hermeticist and generally unemployable idealistic scribbler of dark Gothic sensibility and Steam punk inspired Neo-Victorian pretensions. A purveyor of cheap mystery and darkly erotic tales of paranoia, passion, possession, obsession and supernatural terror, currently 'Writer in Residence' at Dark Towers. "They won't let me out but I'm sane, I am, really I am!"


drunk & naked in a graveyard dead flowers past their summer bloom entwine the cemetary gate, clinging grim like a dying man's hands that pray, yet prayed too late drunk & naked in a graveyard cold skin pale cordite grey cheek against the friendly stone hurling like a gargoyle spewing rain on the wettest Autumn day let me die, Oh, let me die, I pray, I pray, I pray, show me to the hollow ground where all will finally lay Wytchewoode --------------------------------------------------- once in every while it was so nice to talk to you last night, I need to hear your smile, so tender, sweet and light, not so very often but once in every while. once I said 'I'm your man' you replied how you wished I were, it was before our love began that long and perfect summer. once my arms did you enfold in close and warm caress yet thief Time takes what we cannot hold, however dear and precious. not so very often, I need to hear your smile, so tender, sweet and light, not so very often, just once in every while. Wytchewoode --------------------------------------------------- the Dust, the Dust I remember the men, their faces blackened with filthy coal layers of carbon dust on skin, slowly lining their lungs thick. I think of them in the twilight, two miles underground hewing with axe and pick, shirtless bodies glistening with sweat like morning dew I see them coming home, tired of the black eyes like pissholes in the snow unaccustomed to the light and then, and then their golden voices sing in Male Voice Choirs in the softest way, that only they, the men of the Dust know how and only they know how, oh how the Dust will end their days coughing, spluttering, heaving chest, gasping for one last struggling final breath and then, and then the silence of their corroded lungs followed by the womens' quiet tears for another ton of that damned black coal one more husband, son and father is laid to rest. Wytchewoode ---------------------------------------------------

All poems are copyright of the originating author. Permission must be obtained before using or performing others' poems.

Audio entries by Steven Dark

Drunk & naked in a graveyard (23/11/2009)

the Dust, the Dust (18/11/2009)

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Steven Dark

Thu 28th Apr 2016 20:15

@ Dominic James .... of course, my pleasure, with appropriate credit of course :)

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Dominic James

Tue 29th Jul 2014 11:34

"Drunk and naked in a graveyard." ! Can I use that?

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Bernadette Herbertson

Mon 23rd Aug 2010 22:14

thank you for your comment on my ..alphabet lover.. glad you enjoyed wishes bernadette

<Deleted User> (6895)

Wed 18th Aug 2010 23:26

Many many thanks Wytchewoode,for comments on 'Verdant assemblage' they really do give encouragement-which is one of the main purposes after all methinks-best regards-Stef

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jane wilcock

Fri 23rd Apr 2010 22:21

Hi Wytchewoode, thankyou for reading my election poem! I have now had time to look at your site and listen to the audio. I have read your poetry before but not commented. However I have enjoyed its fine quality such that I dont particularly want to single one out. Vry enjoyable. I agree with you about labels too. Best, jane

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Steven Dark

Sat 10th Apr 2010 16:54

@Stef. Many thanks for the comments Stef, they are greatly appreciated. Erm.. I never considered my work inspirational but I'll take the compliment :). Thanks.
And Ann, I'm planning to add more audio - as time allows. The quality on the one here is not good. And thanks, also :)

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Ann Foxglove

Sat 10th Apr 2010 16:30

Wow, what a great voice you have. You should do more audios. Deffo!

<Deleted User> (6895)

Sat 10th Apr 2010 16:20

Hi again Wytch-ta for 'baited' comment-will have a butchers at Katys poem.must be a bastard in the grip of any kind of stimulant without doubt-as you suggest we must remember lots of those poor souls are not always in that situ because of their own actions.If we can,t afford pity at least,then what is this world coming to? all power and undying thanks to those people who help and give unconditional support to these sufferers.It cannot be an easy task at all.Thank you-Stefan.

<Deleted User> (6895)

Sat 10th Apr 2010 09:36

thank you for comments on 'outsider'and thank you for all your very inspirational regards.Stef.

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