The UndeadPoets Society is not dead.

We have been in stasis, but will rise again…

Keep the faith.

The UndeadPoet

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His Cherokee Mistress

sleeps with her face
between his thighs & whispers his legs still.

In her dreams drools, makes a ravine runs
past his naked ankles. At first morning light
they bathe each other in the stream
behind their house.
When her father dies,
the pie she bakes is moist with tears.
Her absence leaves splotches of sadness

from where they rest their heads to where
her father rests forever.
Her long dark hair
is a rolodex of grief his thin fingers caress.

Outside an oak. Rings within mark
drought one year, another a volley of storms
harsh enough to scoop roofs off homes,

the new & old cherished ways in which
the man shows the Cherokee mistress
his adoration’s maturation. She returns
weeps grief into her coffee, his hot grits.

What sadness he kisses from underneath
her shadowed knees hidden like secrets

He loves her. He never has to tell her—
she counts in firewood the years she’s knows.


I know it’s been a while, so I hope my return isn’t seen as intrusion. Be well y’all.

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Jealous… (U-N-Death Love 2 hate me)

cant help how I feel
green like leaves, hanging onto
every move you make

wishing to be the one you loved
not the memory shoved away….

Poets Note: sorry I have a thing for alternative titles…

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[UN] Hopeless Romantic [DEAD]

My life like death are
the same. Still. Empty. No hope
of love finding me…

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Another Kind of Book

The cover of darkness held you for a reason
fighting the light away
What is more painful than fearing life
or more hurtful than being permeated by fright
To choose numbness as a shelter
a self-made guardian
an angel saviour
yet with no emotions
To be trapped within the icy mirror of memories
To yearn the non-existence above all
yet pouring the words of power
into another kind of book
To send it through time
through space
sacrificing the own happiness
enduring the pain
bearing the solitude
To invite
calling with a voice that only one can hear
and follow the road that should be followed

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Slightly dead (under the Sun)…

beneath the suns rays

I’ve been kissed by life!

wondering what tomorrow may hold.

with this pen I spill words over lines

because tomorrow has yet to be told

I can no longer wonder what it may hold and bring

today is here

and yesterday still haunts me

though I’ve drowned that pitiful day in a bottle of Gin,

it seems to be with me yet here again… 

so beneath the suns rays

kissed by life,

pondering tomorrow with spilled words over lines

as yesterday still haunts me drowned in a bottle of Gin,

I speak words


like I’ve done this for years….

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The Illiminati

by Beloved49


Templar Knight’s of old
sworn to secrecy
enlighten men so bold
perfect circle never ends
perfect circle never ends
enlighten men so bold
sworn to secrecy
Templar knights of old

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Senyru challenge

Shells crunch, starfish crawl
I run, and ducks flutter off
My hometown is the same

Shell burst tears bodies
I run and duck past debris
My hometown has changed

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I came to the desert,
to find the ghosts here
were not mine.

The streets were pure,
the sand bleached clean.

Too soon I watched
the lighthouse crumble,
as I walked a street
strewn with red feathers.

Clockwork scorpions crawled
from the baking sands,
injecting their amber poison,
to kill me.

Ghosts walk the streets now,
ghosts I know, where once
they were strangers to me.

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Against the Grain

Asked once more to step forward into the heart of who I am,

I find myself in a place that goes against the grain.

Most would say to hold my words, to do the logical thing,

But I have no choice in this if I wish to remain human.

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