where they disappear, hungry cannibals,  

me, just greetings, Happy Halloween.

The gods ate their children
from the underworld to the height of the sky
Griffon giant in blue steel
quiet as a childhood dream and cold as the whisper of death

(putting  the devil-turned-coin in thy pocket near the cross)
and while the Greek papyri
scarcely go beyond Salome’s laughter
O this beautiful male born of demon king Ravana
raise thyself, dimensions, visions..
silver through strange patterns of a deeper argent,
carne vale. (eng. here’s meat)
Samhain is here, the life of Sylla
while dying they cut their hair
the administration of death her presence seen
eternally lost children for the monsters that greeted them

a world that has flown backwards
the unreality of what it requires
ephemeral ways to get closer to

all the fires extinguished in the hearths
all the dead who believe they are coming into this world

lives equally

all Irish legends
and darkened blacksmiths
toys are in the palm of the Chronos

where witches go riding into which holes they go
from the bales of fear my private lunatic changes me

where they disappear, hungry cannibals,

Homeless Sun


inspired by pampered materialists pushing books on how to get nirvana forever while arriving from end-of-the-wealth orders whose only concern is wandering between special feasts and diets and signing petitions to protect endangered species, fashioned and on the other hand,  after talking to a homeless person

between toilet and scaffolding
seasonal socka under sandals’
scavengers flushed out bustards,
in the middle of the pigwash
in the spider’s heart

axis smuggling honey
in the lungs of the forgotten dragon

they feed on the    wash of light
they feed on the headache of solitude
the hypocritical tenants of the silence feed
in anti-Images, et symphoniæ

Give me the  torn yours, thrown yours                                                            from the basement tapes  restored cymbal
according to the designs of its predecessors
out of suitable doors
who drank the moon’s blood
dusted with streaks of powder
infections, poison, parasites
coal notes and
bewildered Kafka

I raise the torch for the sun they shut off last night
from the current meter


Does the silence agree with the talk
in Sunday’s tumultuous land
the eternal also facing each other
mocking songs are
reduced to someone else’s life
fed defamatory method and threat

Whether oblivion can overcome man
whether it is accepted malice
and so many stories are mournful
that were invented about me
this is the land of undeniable witness
all libellous human

Picture walls these will keep the sky
and dream, dissolved light rain
over the land encourages truthful Pilate
it is possible that at some point you will believe it
the kingdom of heaven is like the kingdom of men

and the son to whose bow they came
about the three kings for the worship of Christ
and their son never shines
and their paths are shifted east
thought – dream
which erodes the body, like the last quarter of full moon


I saw they were in you, the flames of the crown
future dawns and secret nights
later, in a land of injustice, I was lost
as when a friend or unknown love is sought

make me.. whisper.. in thousand poppies/in the valley of wrath

I water my anger
to the Virgin blest yclept
a sun – ypointing eternally slept
by brooding darkness myrth

Then you, violence, my  fancy of itself
of wrinkled care desires
make me.. whisper.. in thousand poppies

lost in sudden, turns damp to infusion brewed
of the winding morning chalice
hence  the frolic awakening of a spinning man
cast high awakening malice

Poppied, yellow June
has such violent roses
to the thorns has  long, sharp

amulet, blade
fingertips of  cobra Basilisk
All wreathed bites
echoes in a rumpus of shade

Wrath after wrath
into the happy blossom
to shake the poisonous bell
while yet my  weep cheer Cimmerian

In the budding of the caterpillar

upon grey bloody hair
and not within my razzmatazz eye
and upright mad rabid Lyssa
amidst the feast of rage-stuffed time

I touch
the necklace of Harmonia

(hallowed be my irre)

The thunder-blasted glees  or past injustices,
shall bloom the thunder flashes of lightning
in the drip all over dominion

Sometimes suddenly
comes at eventide beggar
knight named NIGHT with the coinage in all the pomp
frenzied Zadkiel holds my dagger, dressed in Indigo-Sloth

or one more worthy sunfish
caught in blood down dry
dare, cornucopia…

to lay down upon the poor sleeper’s cry



A sky in the blood crimson

and the shrill on hell coal black
sings like a kangaroo, left-hand dance you’ll see,

Of the inward sun sets fortitude
as never loved before

The hysteria accelerates
such cello keel unto the strum
rarely performed publicly

A drunk lover crossing promenade
Soon, Pitiful spirits, zombies and Christianlike buried
swaying to the sceletons sarabande

To sound of the tune went false,
I know
I pen
I ink

there, a love cardboard intelligent box
here, deft, a drunk casino
let’s gamble to savouring a twosome


To recognise the limbs with humour
no, understand against the evil sheeps
One, two…
Under the guidance of a snoring wolf
my eyes agape, bloody, were lamentations
so far punished by snoring
of my Wolfen neighbour

It is Ere ere
Ere against the leering snort
Past the grey tumultuous night
three, four…. evil born sheep
quenching the dying chamber of eyes
(sound of snoring)
Snorer set growls drolling.
no tyrant shall blast
his sweet nighthood peace.

A crescent-shaped steel
Ghastly hee-hee-hee
bold and azure.
Vultures at the snoring spirit
loud roared sulphurous hyena
In the throes of anguish growl

Sounded like a dreary doom
sounded like a surcharged wall
through rattan sought thus led to Ere
again unseen forever snoring
Bleeding ear.

to find no place for rest
to abhorrent steadfastness of sweet hope,
snorer shall taste my pain and my tears,
that while my footsteps inebriate
and with pomp fate… ah!

This knife is my witness…
Once I loved that man,
cacophonies fade out
awaken, whoreson.

As I gaze upon his vocal cords
a conquered deed worst of deadly might
the scarlet blossoms in drop of blood

And do not drop in beneath the dying flute
submerged in knife, darkest night
snorer dark and wild is smiling around the
reedlike chair
when paradisial winds…

In readiness, a knife dragged the seest
dropsy, I descend down into the dream
finally in peace

undisturbed tomb of he tit–amulet in my madhouse.

Laying In Wait To Pounce Upon His Prey – Poem by Leila Samarrai


So beautifully lined with fear,
a face of the loser, the being bearing
her cross with Christian fortitude,
the cross built of the entire human experience
Ms Masters in the art of loneliness.
The archetypal example! Monsters! It’s been years since
I’ve seen that kind of
monsters, so twisted,
it’s… quite disgusting,
even by nightmarish standards.
Once the man was nailed to the cross
Today, the cross is crucified in man

Expose those clowns,
throw them into mud pits
and ensure their eternal destruction.

I do not tolerate rivals.
There’s only one Rabisu* doing what is bad to his neighbor.! ,
Who do they think they are to compare with my malice,
those vicious monsters! .
My malice is going for theatrics.

Seeing them circling above you in the physical world,
I realized our encounter was no accident, right?
I received word of you… that say you were..
You, in your own way,

My Morrigain demoness of the corpses,
my Mora, my queen of the nightmare..
We’re exactly the same.
Ah, I cannot tell more

But, now I believe..
In intentional encounters!
it’s almost like a one-way love affair.
laying in wait to pounce upon his prey

Monster/Parallax’ – Poem by Leila Samarrai

I am here…
– I shutter
partition starts –
the pieces,
chaos moving in,
a fury within devils
rupturing with enormity
giving stirring laughter
and wings (numb they, edged with menthol

“The man you speak of no longer exists.”
We are here,
I tremble…
sapless from dark honey,
blood in seltzer,
wine’s reverse dream about grapes –
of a web unbound
fog at pale-speed
drifts my eyes to focus
(my teeth Wolfen still,
flesh remembered…

“Then what stands before me assuming his manner and form? ”

I am here
weak sapless from fanged honey
my teeth Wolfen still
flesh between
bound to hard gums
“A monster is rough-hewn by unfortunate events

and given breath by necessity.”
Leila Samarrai