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Alexis Child

The March Featured Poet is

Alexis Child

Please feel free to email Alexis at: alexis.nocturna@rogers.com

Alexis Child

DIARY OF DEATH

In dimly lit fog-blanketed streets
A devil in disguise by shadow creeps
One fearful night
Surrounded by the social blight
The murderous monster strikes
Wielding surgical knives

Under the full moon's frosty glow
His brutal blood lust grows
Another victim's butchered like swine
Not just any old East End crime
One more lady of the night disappears
London is gripped with frenzied fear

Detectives puzzle over half-clues
Not to blame are the Jews
Unanswered questions
No murder weapons
Such outrageous speculations
A butcher from another nation
Taunting letters mock police

The murderous rampage ceased
No sinister confession uttered
Murderer's body undiscovered
Forever justice is starved
Chilling reminders carved
In Whitechapel’s heart of infamy
A diary of death incomplete

CHAMBERED WHISPERS

Bad dreams he chased away; ghost stories
singing midnight lullabies -- words lulled
raindrops into a trance beyond the wall of sleep.
Spirit-whispered warnings, madness shadows
spawned, through veins of mortal flesh.

"Death descends dark shadows on those
worthy," whispered the blade slicing through
the cold autumn night. Bright red screams
showered the quivering body; liquid tears 
from a lacerated sky when darkness falls.

He reigns in blood, the devil in his eye.
Up the stairs he leads the children in the
pale soft moonlight, singing of his crimes.

NIGHT VISITATIONS: LES INCUBES

The hunter raids dens
Collecting nocturnal emissions
From skins of willing prey
In the gathering darkness
Shapes himself a body with horns
Thrust upwards in defiance of heaven
Endowed with motion and icy seed
Rouses sleeping females
Excited as an awakening city
Riding among the leaders in charge
Restless and bored is the devil these days

The physician suggests trickery
Chimera, the invention
Of hysterical women
Prone to perverted imaginations
The church is concerned
About the nature of women
What incubi inject
Into witches womb's
Little, to no concern about nuns
Devoted to the expression of gratitude
I shan't deny giving in 
Devils need direct encouragement

CORPSE GRINDER

Memories chase after him like a murderer's glove,
bruised and bloodied. Fugitive thoughts are nighttime
shadows springing from an abnormal mind, the wrong
shade of red. Scarcely remembered are the others, like a
child standing with its face pressed, distorted against glass.

Darkness closes in as a ravenous crow, sadistic urges
a devouring flesh. Emotionless eyes laugh coldly,
"Either way they die." Driving down the long highway,
he hunts for prey like the hawks he holds in high esteem,
bleeding offerings to the broken moonlight, nothing
less than the blatant face of death embracing itself.

 

Alexis Child hails from Toronto, Canada; horror in its purest form. She works at a Call Crisis Centre befriending demons of the mind that roam freely amongst her writings and lives with a Calico-cat child sleuthing all that goes bump in the night. Her poetry and fiction have been featured in numerous online and print publications, including Black Petals, Estronomicon eZine, Midnight Lullabies Anthology, Sein und Werden, Sinfully Twisted Magazine, Tales of the Talisman, Sinister Tales and elsewhere. Her book, Devil in the Clock, will be released in print in the near future by Witch Finder Press.

Visit her website:
http://www.angelfire.com/poetry/alexischild/