The July Featured Poet is Michael Randolph

Please feel free to email Michael at:

author@michael-randolph.com

MIDNIGHT SWIN

Grey light entered my vision,
as I swam for the lakeshore.
Fifty yards, so close to escaping your jaws!
A few more strokes and I can evade this fate.

Sinister intentions, motives of pure hate,
withered your heart away into this black abyss.
An ancient song spun for the innocent
to entrap, ensnare our souls for your pleasure.

They told me you lurked in the oceans
never swimming upstream these days.
I can see by your fins they lied to me,
hoping I would clear the way as you ate my remains.

Surely, we can come to some agreement,
on whose body you take this night.
I have a friend, you know,
one that may fit the bill.

He has I’m sure, crossed your path.
Brought a certain amount of evil to your world,
by making your existence a living hell.
Come with me to meet this excellent fellow.

He’s actually written a book concerning your species.
Something to do with your big white teeth.
Your shiny scales and empty belly.
Once you see whom I speak of, I am sure you will agree.

YEARNINGS

Brittle in the sun.
Fearful of the lunatics.
I search the midnight sky.
For a reprieve of my sinful ways.
My shame hidden in the copse.
Regulated to the shadows
of the damned.
My heart bleeds
for simpler days.
When a coffin lid did not stand
between the living and my
evil encrusted soul.

MISSING IN ACTION

A home like many others stood solemn in the night.
The basking fire warming the occupants inside.
Clustered near the hearth, they stood resolute
against the monsters of the night.

Plans of great exploits instilled the thrill
of the chase in their hearts, yet a shadow lingered on.
One member of their group had not showed
at the appointed time and place.

A presence lurked without this home,
A shadow peering beyond the tinted glass.
Whispered hatred, baleful eyes searched the assembled,
“which one to take next,” he mused.

John had yet to appear this night,
but only the monster standing in the night
knew the reason why, John’s head
lay within his palms, hands stained red.

He chuckled at the confused state of the
valiant group hiding inside those walls.
Never would their friend show up at the appointed
time to plan their clandestine activities.

Michael Randolph is a horror author and poet currently residing in San Antonio Texas. His work has appeared in numerous anthologies and his latest book Missives in Red, a horror poetry collection. When not writing, which is rare, he facets exquisite gemstones and loves to travel the world as time permits.