palace

Abdul Alhazred

Folder: 
Poetry

Alhazred was born in Yemen,

Traveling in the known world;

Amassing lore and legend,

And the tales of the fiends.


 

A writer and a poet,

He was educated much.

Geometry, algebra, Alchemy

And magickal incantations' need.


 

From the cup of occult knowledge

He drank deep...

Driving a normal person

To madness or beyond.


 

Alhazred was once a normal man,

With desires like we all can.

He was Arab by birth,

With a pale skin in rebirth.


Being labeled the mad,

As he was once a dad.

But had to eat his child,

By the King of the Palace's might.


 

He wrote down the Necronomicon,

In more than one song...

The obscure, the forgotten,

The suppressed, the rotten.


Never meant to be read;

It causes insanity with speed.

Not interpreted rationally,

The thoughts cause a rally.


 

Alhazred was insane,

By the lore he learned within.

But he wrote clear,

With many a tear.


 

The state of the Universe,

In reality suspense;

Plaything of mad gods at best,

Sewer of evil in the north, south, east, west.


 

Humans dare not dream of this,

For their peaceful lives they cannot miss.

A warning and guide this book is,

And by the Djinns you do wish.


 

Alhazred died, not a mystery,

It is written in history.

In the marketplace,

He was erased.


By the Demon from beyond,

Who wanted him gone.

Blood upon the sand,

There he was banned.


In broad daylight,

With many a sight.

 

He meddled with evil things,

With beings with wings.

He is now dead,

After he bled...

Author's Notes/Comments: 

A poem about the Mad Poet Abdul Alhazred who wrote the Necronomicon.

Capital City

The bright lights

City dwellers

The busy tube

And market sellers. 

London Eye

Big Ben

Encompassed in 

Their urban den.

Mayfair, Chelsea and

Oxford Street

The hum-drum

Of commuters' feet.  

Tourists flock

To see the sights

At Heathrow

From long-haul flights.

The winding Thames

The towering Shard

Buckingham Palace

And beefeater guards. 

City of London

Is the name

No other place

Can be the same.

 

Abdul Alhazred

Folder: 
Poetry

Alhazred was born in Yemen,
Traveling in the known world;
Amassing lore and legend,
And the tales of the fiends.

 

A writer and a poet,
He was educated much.
Geometry, algebra, Alchemy
And magickal incantations' need.

 

From the cup of occult knowledge
He drank deep...
Driving a normal person
To madness or beyond.

 

Alhazred was once a normal man,
With desires like we all can.
He was Arab by birth,
With a pale skin in rebirth.
Being labeled the mad,
As he was once a dad.
But had to eat his child,
By the King of the Palace's might.

 

He wrote down the Necronomicon,
In more than one song...
The obscure, the forgotten,
The suppressed, the rotten.
Never meant to be read;
It causes insanity with speed.
Not interpreted rationally,
The thoughts cause a rally.

 

Alhazred was insane,
By the lore he learned within.
But he wrote clear,
With many a tear.

 

The state of the Universe,
In reality suspense;
Plaything of mad gods at best,
Sewer of evil in the north, south, east, west.

 

Humans dare not dream of this,
For their peaceful lives they cannot miss.
A warning and guide this book is,
And by the Djinns you do wish.

 

Alhazred died, not a mystery,
It is written in history.
In the marketplace,
He was erased.
By the Demon from beyond,
Who wanted him gone.
Blood upon the sand,
There he was banned.
In broad daylight,
With many a sight.

 

He meddled with evil things,
With beings with wings.
He is now dead,
After he bled...

Author's Notes/Comments: 

A poem about the Mad Poet.

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Celephais

Folder: 
Poetry

A seaport in the land of Ooth-Nargai,

Being build of sky-blue marble;

Topped by slender minarets.

 

Bronze statues of famous heroes,

One page topped from Al Azif.

In the center the temple to Nath-Horthath,

Where eighty orchid-wreathed priests serve,

No less than ten thousand years old art they.

 

The greatest trading center in the Dreamlands,

Creatures of all sort in their bazaars.

As in Sona-Nyl, there being no time,

Nobody ever ages, dreamers aloft

In the taverns of Celephais.

 

Nobody matures, remaining forever innocent.

King Kuranes: King of Celephais,

Lost his life through drug addiction.

Living forever in the Dreamlands,

In the Palace of Seventy Delights,

Built of flawless rose-crystal.

 

Past the eastern gate is a park,

Wherein the King build a Norman Abbey

And a small Cornish fishing village,

To resemble his native Cornwall,

To which he can never return,

Now that his waking form is dead...

Author's Notes/Comments: 

A poem about Celephais.