Biography

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!" http://www.amazon.co.uk/-/e/B01A4NKLCO

Samples

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.

Blog entries by Steven Dark

Beyond the light (29/07/2014)

Writers Unlimited Google Community (02/01/2013)

my head an accident waiting to happen (25/06/2012)

All grotesque about the earth (08/06/2012)

yellow about the land (07/06/2012)

Loudly into the cold (10/02/2012)

Once I Loved You (06/02/2012)

Ashes to Ashes (03/02/2012)

Poetry LIVE (07/09/2011)

lenka (10/07/2011)

Read more entries by Steven Dark…

Blog link: https://www.writeoutloud.net/blogs/stevendark

Audio entries by Steven Dark

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

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

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