Print pagina - Spookslot: Dance Macabre!

Off topic => Relaxhoek => Topic gestart door: rougekappje op 6-10-2003, 02:00:21

Titel: Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: rougekappje op 6-10-2003, 02:00:21

Naast alle topics waarin we kwijt kunnen wat we hebben meegemaakt, wat we van dingen vinden, wat ons irriteert en waarin we vrijelijk kunnen associeren mist er eigenlijk nog een topic dat appelleert aan onze angsten, onze donkere kanten en onze behoefte tot griezelen.

Hierbij is het griezel- & gedichtentopic geopend, namens Rouge en Nemesis! Het is bedoeld voor gedichten, korte verhalen (al dan niet zelfgeschreven), samenvattingen van gruwelverhalen... het maakt niet uit, als het maar om te griezelen is. Laten we er een griezelige gezellige herfst om een warm, knapperend nachtelijk vuur van maken... Happy haunting!

Titel: Re:Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: rougekappje op 6-10-2003, 02:11:26

Uit Roald Dahl' s 'Revolting Rhymes' deze mooie ode aan Little Red Riding ... ;-)

' As soon as Wolf began to feel
That he would like a decent meal,
He went and knocked on Grandma's door.
When Grandma opened it, she saw
The sharp white teeth, the horrid grin,
And Wolfie said, ``May I come in?''
Poor Grandmamma was terrified,
``He's going to eat me up!'' she cried.
And she was absolutely right.
He ate her up in one big bite.
But Grandmamma was small and tough,
And Wolfie wailed, ``That's not enough!
I haven't yet begun to feel
That I have had a decent meal!''
He ran around the kitchen yelping,
``I've got to have a second helping!''
Then added with a frightful leer,
``I'm therefore going to wait right here
Till Little Miss Red Riding Hood
Comes home from walking in the wood.''
He quickly put on Grandma's clothes,
(Of course he hadn't eaten those).
He dressed himself in coat and hat.
He put on shoes, and after that
He even brushed and curled his hair,
Then sat himself in Grandma's chair.
In came the little girl in red.
She stopped. She stared. And then she said,
``What great big ears you have, Grandma.''
``All the better to hear you with,'' the Wolf replied.
``What great big eyes you have, Grandma.''
said Little Red Riding Hood.
``All the better to see you with,'' the Wolf replied.
He sat there watching her and smiled.
He thought, I'm going to eat this child.
Compared with her old Grandmamma
She's going to taste like caviar.
Then Little Red Riding Hood said, ``But Grandma,
what a lovely great big furry coat you have on.''
``That's wrong!'' cried Wolf. ``Have you forgot
To tell me what BIG TEETH I've got?
Ah well, no matter what you say,
I'm going to eat you anyway.''
The small girl smiles. One eyelid flickers.
She wimps a pistol from her knickers.
She aims it at the creature's head
And bang bang bang, she shoots him dead.
A few weeks later, in the wood,
I came across Miss Riding Hood.
But what a change! No cloak of red,
No silly hood upon her head.
She said, ``Hello, and do please note
My lovely furry wolfskin coat.''

Titel: Re:Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: Nemesis op 6-10-2003, 02:14:09

Uit dezelfde bundel Roald's en mijn ode aan Lil Red ;)

The animal I really dig
Above all others is the pig.
Pigs are noble. Pigs are clever,
Pigs are corteous. However,
Now and then, to break this rule,
One meets a pig who is a fool.
What, for example, would you say
If strolling through the woods one day,
Right there in front of you you saw
A pig who'd built his house of STRAW?
The Wolf who saw it licked his lips,
And said, ``That pig has had his chips.''
``Little pig, little pig, let me come in!''
``No, no, by the hairs on my chinny-chin-chin!''
``Then I'll huff and I'll puff and I'll blow your house in!''

The little pig began to pray,
But Wolfie blew his house away.
He shouted, ``Bacon, pork and ham!
Oh, what a lucky Wolf I am!''
And though he ate the pig quite fast,
He carefully kept the tail till last.
Wolf wandered on, a trifle bloated.
Surprise, surprise, for soon he noted
Another little house for pigs,
And this one had been built of TWIGS!

``Little pig, little pig, let me come in!''
``No, no, by the hairs on my chinny-chin-chin!''
``Then I'll huff and I'll puff and I'll blow your house in!''

The Wolf said, ``Okay, here we go!''
He then began to blow and blow.
The little pig began to sqeal.
He cried, ``Oh Wolf, you've had one meal!
Why can't we talk and make a deal?
The Wolf replied, ``Not on your nelly!''
And soon the pig was in his belly.
``Two juicy little pigs!'' Wolf cried,
``But still I'm not quite satisfied!
I know how full my tummy's bulging,
But oh, how I adore indulging.''
So creeping quietly as a mouse,
The Wolf approached another house,
A house which also had inside
A little piggy trying to hide.
But this one, Piggy Number Three,
Was bright and brainy as could be.
No straw for him, no twigs or sticks.
This pig had built his house of BRICKS.
``You'll not get me!'' the Piggy cried.
``I'll blow you down!'' the Wolf replied.
``You'll need,'' Pig said, ``a lot of puff,
And I don't think you've got enough.''
Wolf huffed and puffed and blew and blew.
The house stayed up as good as new.
``If I can't blow it down,'' Wolf said,
I'll have to blow it up instead.
I'll come back in the dead of night
And blow it up with dynamite!''
Pig cried, ``You brute! I might have known!''
Then, picking up the telephone,
He dialed as quickly as he could
The number of red Riding Hood.
``Hello,'' she said. ``Who's speaking? Who?
Oh, hello, Piggy, how d'you do?''
Pig cried, ``I need your help, Miss Hood!
Oh help me, please! D'you think you could?''
``I'll try of course,'' Miss Hood replied.
``What's on your mind...?'' ``A Wolf!'' Pig cried.
``I know you've dealt with wolves before,
And now I've got one at my door!''
``My darling Pig,'' she said, ``my sweet,
That's something really up my street.
I've just begun to wash my hair.
But when it's dry, I'll be right there.''
A short while later, through the wood,
Came striding brave Miss Riding Hood.
The Wolf stood there, his eyes ablaze
And yellowish, like mayonnaise.
His teeth were sharp, his gums were raw,
And spit was dripping from his jaw.
Once more the maiden's eyelid flickers.
She draws the pistol from her knickers.
Once more she hits the vital spot,
And kills him with a single shot.
Pig, peeping through the window, stood
And yelled, ``Well done, Miss Riding Hood!''

Ah, Piglet, you must never trust
Young ladies from the upper crust.
For now, Miss Riding Hood, one notes,
Not only has two wolfskin coats,
But when she goes from place to place
She has a PIGSKIN TRAVELLING CASE.

Titel: Re:Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: Nemesis op 6-10-2003, 13:01:06

The Invisible Beast - Jack Prelutsky

The beast that is invisible
Is stalking through the park.
But you cannot see it coming
Though it isn’t very dark.
Oh, you know it’s out there somewhere
Though just why you cannot tell.
For although you cannot see it,
It can see you very well.

You sense it’s frightful features
And it’s great ungainly form,
And you wish that you were home now,
Where it’s cozy, safe, and warm.
And you know it’s coming closer
For you smell it’s awful smell.
And although you cannot see it,
It can see you very well.

Oh, your heart is beating faster,
Beating louder than a drum,
For you hear it’s footsteps falling
And your body’s froze and numb.
And you cannot scream for terror,
And your fear you cannot quell.
For although you cannot see it,
It can see you very well.

Titel: Re:Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: rougekappje op 6-10-2003, 14:16:04

Dorothy Parker - Tombstones in the Starlight

I. The Minor Poet

His little trills and chirpings were his best.
No music like the nightingale's was born
Within his throat; but he, too, laid his breast
Upon a thorn.

II. The Pretty Lady

She hated bleak and wintry things alone.
All that was warm and quick, she loved too well-
A light, a flame, a heart against her own;
It is forever bitter cold, in Hell.

III. The Very Rich Man

He'd have the best, and that was none too good;
No barrier could hold, before his terms.
He lies below, correct in cypress wood,
And entertains the most exclusive worms.

IV. The Fisherwoman

The man she had was kind and clean
And well enough for every day,
But, oh, dear friends, you should have seen
The one that got away!

V. The Crusader

Arrived in Heaven, when his sands were run,
He seized a quill, and sat him down to tell
The local press that something should be done
About that noisy nuisance, Gabriel.

Vl. The Actress

Her name, cut clear upon this marble cross,
Shines, as it shone when she was still on earth;
While tenderly the mild, agreeable moss
Obscures the figures of her date of birth.

Titel: Re:Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: rougekappje op 6-10-2003, 15:04:41

Edgar Allan Poe- The Lake

In spring of youth it was my lot
To haunt of the wide world a spot
The which I could not love the less-
So lovely was the loneliness
Of a wild lake, with black rock bound,
And the tall pines that towered around.

But when the Night had thrown her pall
Upon that spot, as upon all,
And the mystic wind went by
Murmuring in melody-
Then- ah then I would awake
To the terror of the lone lake.

Yet that terror was not fright,
But a tremulous delight-
A feeling not the jewelled mine
Could teach or bribe me to define-
Nor Love- although the Love were thine.

Death was in that poisonous wave,
And in its gulf a fitting grave
For him who thence could solace bring
To his lone imagining-
Whose solitary soul could make
An Eden of that dim lake.

Titel: Re:Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: Nemesis op 6-10-2003, 21:35:01

Barbara Allen's Cruelty - Thomas Percy (1729-1811)

In Scarlet towne, where I was borne,
There was a faire maid dwellin,
Made every youth crye, wel-awaye!
Her name was Barbara Allen.

All in the merrye month of May,
When greene buds they were swellin,
Yong Jemmye Grove on his death-bed lay,
For love of Barbara Allen.

He sent his man unto her then,
To the town, where shee was dwellin;
You must come to my master deare,
Giff your name be Barbara Allen.

For death is printed on his face,
And ore his hart is stealin:
Then haste away to comfort him,
lovelye Barbara Allen.

Though death be printed on his face,
And ore his harte is stealin,
Yet little better shall he bee,
For bonny Barbara Allen.

So slowly, slowly, she came up,
And slowly she came nye him;
And all she sayd, when there she came,
Yong man, I think y'are dying.

He turnd his face unto her strait,
With deadlye sorrow sighing;
lovely maid, come pity mee,
Ime on my death-bed lying.

If on your death-bed you doe lye,
What needs the tale you are tellin:
I cannot keep you from your death;
Farewell, sayd Barbara Allen.

He turnd his face unto the wall,
As deadlye pangs he fell in:
Adieu! adieu! adieu to you all,
Adieu to Barbara Allen.

As she was walking ore the fields,
She heard the bell a knellin;
And every stroke did seem to saye,
Unworthy Barbara Allen.

She turnd her bodye round about,
And spied the corps a coming:
Laye downe, laye downe the corps, she sayd,
That I may look upon him.

With scornful eye she looked downe,
Her cheeke with laughter swellin;
That all her friends cryd out amaine,
Unworthye Barbara Allen.

When he was dead, and laid in grave,
Her harte was struck with sorrowe,
O mother, mother, make my bed,
For I shall dye to morrowe.

Hard harted creature him to slight,
Who loved me so dearlye:
O that I had beene more kind to him,
When he was live and neare me!

She, on her death-bed as she laye,
Beg'd to be buried by him;
And sore repented of the daye,
That she did ere denye him.

Farewell, she sayd, ye virgins all,
And shun the fault I fell in:
Henceforth take warning by the fall
Of cruel Barbara Allen.

Titel: Re:Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: Bodejos op 6-10-2003, 21:50:35

Enkele jaren geleden was er een reportage op televisie over een belgische vrouw, die in de jaren 70 van de vorige eeuw was overleden. Vlak voor haar overlijden had ze gezegd, dat haar wil zo sterk was, dat die ervoor kon zorgen dat haar stoffelijk overschot niet zou vergaan. Ook had ze gezegd, dat dit na 25 jaar gecontroleerd mocht worden.

Aldus geschiedde, onder het toezicht van een notaris, die haar verzegelde lijkkist opende, onder toeziend oog van enkele belangstellenden en een cameraploeg.

Wat de vrouw vlak voor haar dood had gezegd, bleek waar te zijn: haar lichaam was nog nagenoeg intact, en de aanwezigen keken met verbazing naar hetgeen ze daar aantroffen: een overblijfsel van een vrouw die 25 jaar na haar dood, woord had gehouden. Onnodig te zeggen dat hier geen sprake was van een geprepareerd of gemummificeerd lijk.

Titel: Re:Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: Nemesis op 6-10-2003, 22:59:19

Funeral Blues - W.H. Auden

_{Komt dit gedicht je bekend voor? Het werd in de film 'Four weddings and a funeral'
voorgedragen door Matthew tijdens de begrafenis van zijn vriend Gareth.}

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.
Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead.
Put crêpe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last forever: I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;
Pack up the moon and dismantel the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood;
For nothing now can ever come to any good.

Titel: Re:Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: Nemesis op 7-10-2003, 13:23:48

Dit was vast een heel griezelige film in Mexico 8)

Titel: Re:Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: Floortje op 7-10-2003, 14:25:28

o fijn... griezelen ;D

Wel grappig dat hier tot nu toe vooral Engelse verhalen/gedichten staan, Nederlands griezelen kan ook best cool zijn hoor ;)

www.dazy.de (http://www.dazy.de) is duits/engels, maar ja

kheb dit weekend nogal gegriezeld bij de film Signs
hoewel er amper enge dingen in gebeuren, maar die eerste keer dat ze zon alien laten zien: iedereen KEIHARD gillen ;D
Het mooiste moment uit de film was wel dat de kinderen denken dat ze een sooert trechter op hun hoofd moeten zetten, in verband met de signalen die de aliens uitzenden. Een tijdje daarna gaat een wat oudere jongen die daar woont ook met ze meedoen en dan krijg je dit beeld:

(http://www.hotpress.com/i/1842335.jpg)

Titel: Re:Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: Nemesis op 7-10-2003, 22:47:28

De tuinman en de dood - P.N. van Eyck

Een Perzisch Edelman:

Van morgen ijlt mijn tuinman, wit van schrik,
Mijn woning in: "Heer, Heer, één ogenblik!

Ginds, in de rooshof, snoeide ik loot na loot,
Toen keek ik achter mij. Daar stond de Dood.

Ik schrok, en haastte mij langs de andere kant,
Maar zag nog juist de dreiging van zijn hand.

Meester, uw paard, en laat mij spoorslags gaan,
Voor de avond nog bereik ik Ispahaan!" -

Van middag (lang reeds was hij heengespoed)
Heb ik in 't cederpark de Dood ontmoet.

"Waarom," zo vraag ik, want hij wacht en zwijgt,
"Hebt gij van morgen vroeg mijn knecht gedreigd?"

Glimlachend antwoordt hij: "Geen dreiging was 't,
Waarvoor uw tuinman vlood. Ik was verrast,

Toen 'k 's morgens hier nog stil aan 't werk zag staan,
Die 'k 's avonds halen moest in Ispahaan."

Titel: Re:Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: Icarus op 8-10-2003, 16:33:35

Dit gedicht van W.E Henley lijkt wel toepasselijk bij deze herfstige gloomy dagen ..:

The Rain and the Wind

The rain and the wind, the wind and the rain --
They are with us like a disease:
They worry the heart, they work the brain,
As they shoulder and clutch at the shrieking pane,
And savage the helpless trees.
What does it profit a man to know
These tattered and tumbling skies
A million stately stars will show,
And the ruining grace of the after-glow
And the rush of the wild sunrise?
Ever the rain -- the rain and the wind!
Come, hunch with me over the fire,
Dream of the dreams that leered and grinned,
Ere the blood of the Year got chilled and thinned,
And the death came on desire!

Titel: Re:Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: Ongewensd Persoon op 8-10-2003, 19:21:55

www.nightwish.com en dan lyrics, staat vast veel interessante teksten tussen die hier ook wel tussen konden staan.

Titel: Re:Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: LC op 8-10-2003, 21:14:56

members.lycos.nl/hetonverklaarbare (http://members.lycos.nl/hetonverklaarbare)

Hij doet het niet allemaal maar over aliens enz ( niet bekijken als je niet tegen Aliens kan, slaap je niet goed)

Titel: Re:Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: Nemesis op 9-10-2003, 12:43:23

Het is een smalle lijn tussen feit en fictie... :-\

LONDEN - Een rechtbank in het Schotse Edinburgh heeft een man die geobsedeerd was door vampiers veroordeeld tot levenslang wegens moord op zijn beste vriend. Hij had zijn slachtoffer gedood, vervolgens diens bloed gedronken en een deel van de schedelinhoud opgegeten. Dit meldden Britse media donderdag.

De 22-jarige Allan Menzies zei tegenover de rechtbank dat hij een pact had gesloten met de vampier Akasha uit de horrorfilm Queen of the damned. Hij hoopte onsterfelijk te worden door zijn 21-jarige vriend te doden en diens bloed te drinken. Volgens de man had Akasha, gespeeld door de in 2001 overleden zangeres Aaliyah, hem opgedragen zijn vriend te doden.

De rechter wilde hem niet ontoerekeningsvatbaar verklaren. Volgens de rechter is Menzies "slecht, gewelddadig en een zeer gevaarlijk man" die niet geschikt is om vrij rond te lopen.

_{nu.nl (http://www.nu.nl)}

Titel: Re:Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: Nemesis op 9-10-2003, 20:38:12

The Raven - Edgar Allen Poe (1845)

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
"'Tis some visitor," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door-
Only this, and nothing more."

Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow;- vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow- sorrow for the lost Lenore-
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore-
Nameless here for evermore.

And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me- filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating,
"'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door-
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door;-
This it is, and nothing more."

Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
"Sir," said I, "or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you"- here I opened wide the door;-
Darkness there, and nothing more.

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortals ever dared to dream before;
But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, "Lenore!"
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, "Lenore!"-
Merely this, and nothing more.

Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
"Surely," said I, "surely that is something at my window lattice:
Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore-
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;-
'Tis the wind and nothing more."

Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of yore;
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door-
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door-
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore.
"Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou," I said, "art sure no craven,
Ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering from the Nightly shore-
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!"
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning- little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blest with seeing bird above his chamber door-
Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
With such name as "Nevermore."

But the raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing further then he uttered- not a feather then he fluttered-
Till I scarcely more than muttered, "other friends have flown before-
On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before."
Then the bird said, "Nevermore."

Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
"Doubtless," said I, "what it utters is its only stock and store,
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore-
Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore
Of 'Never- nevermore'."

But the Raven still beguiling all my fancy into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird, and bust and door;
Then upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore-
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt and ominous bird of yore
Meant in croaking "Nevermore."

Titel: Re:Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: Nemesis op 9-10-2003, 20:39:10

This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamplight gloated o'er,
But whose velvet violet lining with the lamplight gloating o'er,
She shall press, ah, nevermore!

Then methought the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by Seraphim whose footfalls tinkled on the tufted floor.
"Wretch," I cried, "thy God hath lent thee-by these angels he hath sent thee
Respite- respite and nepenthe, from thy memories of Lenore!
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore!"
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil!- prophet still, if bird or devil!-
Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted-
On this home by horror haunted- tell me truly, I implore-
Is there- is there balm in Gilead?- tell me- tell me, I implore!"
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil- prophet still, if bird or devil!
By that Heaven that bends above us- by that God we both adore-
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore-
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore."
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

"Be that word our sign in parting, bird or fiend," I shrieked, upstarting-
"Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken!- quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!"
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,
And the lamplight o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted- nevermore!

Titel: Re:Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: rougekappje op 12-10-2003, 17:42:53

The Haunted Palace- Edgar Allen Poe

In the greenest of our valleys
By good angels tenanted,
Once a fair and stately palace-
Radiant palace- reared its head.
In the monarch Thought's dominion-
It stood there!
Never seraph spread a pinion
Over fabric half so fair!

Banners yellow, glorious, golden,
On its roof did float and flow,
(This- all this- was in the olden
Time long ago,)
And every gentle air that dallied,
In that sweet day,
Along the ramparts plumed and pallid,
A winged odor went away.

Wanderers in that happy valley,
Through two luminous windows, saw
Spirits moving musically,
To a lute's well-tuned law,
Round about a throne where, sitting
(Porphyrogene!)
In state his glory well-befitting,
The ruler of the realm was seen.

And all with pearl and ruby glowing
Was the fair palace door,
Through which came flowing, flowing, flowing,
And sparkling evermore,
A troop of Echoes, whose sweet duty
Was but to sing,
In voices of surpassing beauty,
The wit and wisdom of their king.

But evil things, in robes of sorrow,
Assailed the monarch's high estate.
(Ah, let us mourn!- for never morrow
Shall dawn upon him desolate!)
And round about his home the glory
That blushed and bloomed,
Is but a dim-remembered story
Of the old time entombed.

And travellers, now, within that valley,
Through the red-litten windows see
Vast forms, that move fantastically
To a discordant melody,
While, like a ghastly rapid river,
Through the pale door,
A hideous throng rush out forever
And laugh- but smile no more

Titel: Re:Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: Robin op 12-10-2003, 21:03:07

Tijd voor een waargebeurd verhaal! De persoon waar het omgaat, ken ik persoonlijk, ik noem hem hier Theo.

Er was een meisje dat opgroeide in een groot gezin, op een boerderij. De vader was een stugge, strenge man.
Het meisje werd vanaf dat ze heel jong was misbruikt door haar vader. Meerdere keren per week en dat jaren lang. Zwangerschappen konden dan ook niet uitblijven. Maar iedere zwangerschap eindigde in een miskraam omdat de man nadat hij zijn eigen dochter zwanger had gemaakt, haar dusdanig mishandelde dat ze de vrucht verloor. Al die ongeboren baby's verdwenen in de gierput.
Tot het moment dat ze op haar 17e weer zwanger werd. Kort nadat ze erachter kwam dat ze weer zwanger was, stierf haar vader aan een hartaanval. Het meisje kreeg de baby, maar moest het direct na de geboorte afstaan. Omdat de moeder van het meisje bang was voor de schande. En dit terwijl ze al die jaren oogkleppen voorhad.
Die baby (Theo) groeide op in een kindertehuis, zonder liefde. Hij had allerlei lichamelijke afwijkingen, waaronder halfblind. Hij werd eigenlijk door niemand ooit serieus genomen en stond altijd overal aan de zijlijn.
Hij wist niets over zijn afkomst, had helemaal geen familie dacht ie.
Tot hij op een dag via via een vrouw tegenkwam, die beweerde zijn tante te zijn. Op die manier kwam hij in contact met zijn moeder. En bleken zijn ooms en tantes ook zijn broers en zussen te zijn. En zijn moeder dus ook zijn zus.
Met zijn moeder heeft hij nu een beetje contact, al gaat dat moeizaam.

Titel: Re:Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: Nemesis op 14-10-2003, 21:44:44

Verschrikkelijk dit, robin, :'( en misschien niet eens zozeer voor dit topic omdat dat eigenlijk bestemd is voor fictie of in ieder geval 'lekker' te griezelen en te genieten van mooie gedichten...

Inwendig steek ik een kaarsje op voor Theo, die ik vooral bewonder om het feit dat hij de grootheid in zijn hart kan vinden het contact met zijn moeder aan te kunnen. :-\

Titel: Re:Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: Nemesis op 14-10-2003, 21:45:48

Uitvaart - Jean-Pierre Rawie

Zo’n tien jaar terug voor haar gevallen;
het duurde maar een maand of drie.
Toen kwamen drank en jaloezie
en achterklap de boel vergallen.

Op zich geen grond voor nostalgie
- zo ging het vroeg of laat met allen -,
maar het is vreemd nu ik de smalle
doodkist in deze aula zie.

Iets wat ik nooit geheel aanvaardde
blijkt plotseling ontstellend echt:

Dat ook door mij beminde vrouwen
verdwijnen in de natte aarde,

de handen op de borst gevouwen,
de voeten naast elkaar gelegd.

Titel: Re:Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: Nemesis op 16-10-2003, 23:52:10

Trickle Drops - Walt Whitman

Trickle drops! my blue veins leaving!
O drops of me! trickle, slow drops,
Candid from me falling, drip, bleeding drops,
From wounds made to free you whence you were prison'd,
From my face, from my forehead and lips,
From my breast, from within where I was conceal'd, press forth red drops, confession drops,
Stain every page, stain every song I sing, every word I say, bloody drops,
Let them know your scarlet heat, let them glisten,
Saturate them with yourself all ashamed and wet,
Glow upon all I have written or shall write, bleeding drops,
Let it all be seen in your light, blushing drops.

Titel: Re:Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: Anubis op 19-10-2003, 16:07:14

_{Prachtig, Nemesis..!:'(}
Once again by the old Master (I cannot resist ;))

The City In The Sea-E.A. Poe

Lo! Death has reared himself a throne
In a strange city lying alone
Far down within the dim West
Where the good and the bad and the worst and the best
Have gone to their eternal rest.
There shrines and palaces and towers
(Timeeaten towers that tremble not!)
Resemble nothing that is ours.
Around by lifting winds forgot
Resignedly beneath the sky
The melancholy waters lie.

No rays from the holy heaven come down
On the long nighttime of that town;
But light from out the lurid sea
Streams up the turrets silently
Gleams up the pinnacles far and free
Up domes up spires up kingly halls
Up fanes up Babylonlike walls
Up shadowy longforgotten bowers
Of sculptured ivy and stone flowers
Up many and many a marvellous shrine
Whose wreathed friezes intertwine
The viol the violet and the vine.
Resignedly beneath the sky
The melancholy waters lie.
So blend the turrets and shadows there
That all seem pendulous in air
While from a proud tower in the town
Death looks gigantically down.

There open fanes and gaping graves
Yawn level with the luminous waves;
But not the riches there that lie
In each idol's diamond eye
Not the gailyjewelled dead
Tempt the waters from their bed;
For no ripples curl alas!
Along that wilderness of glass
No swellings tell that winds may be
Upon some faroff happier sea
No heavings hint that winds have been
On seas less hideously serene.

But lo a stir is in the air!
The wave there is a movement there!
As if the towers had thrust aside
In slightly sinking the dull tide
As if their tops had feebly given
A void within the filmy Heaven.
The waves have now a redder glow
The hours are breathing faint and low
And when amid no earthly moans
Down down that town shall settle hence
Hell rising from a thousand thrones
Shall do it reverence.

Titel: Re:Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: Nemesis op 20-10-2003, 21:05:33

^{Indeed irresistable! :D}

Dreamland - Lewis Carroll

When midnight mists are creeping,
And all the land is sleeping,
Around me tread the mighty dead,
And slowly pass away.

Lo, warriors, saints, and sages,
From out the vanished ages,
With solemn pace and reverend face
Appear and pass away.

The blaze of noonday splendour,
The twilight soft and tender,
May charm the eye: yet they shall die,
Shall die and pass away.

But here, in Dreamland's centre,
No spoiler's hand may enter,
These visions fair, this radiance rare,
Shall never pass away.

I see the shadows falling,
The forms of old recalling;
Around me tread the mighty dead,
And slowly pass away.

Titel: Re:Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: Nemesis op 22-10-2003, 22:03:30

The other side of a mirror - Mary Coleridge
(1861-1907)

I sat before my glass one day,
And conjured up a vision bare,
Unlike the aspects glad and gay,
That erst were found reflected there –
The vision of a woman, wild
With more than womanly despair.

Her hair stood back on either side
A face bereft of loveliness.
It had no envy now to hide
What once no man on earth could guess.
It formed the thorny aureole
Of hard unsanctified distress.

Her lips were open – not a sound
Came through the parted lines of red.
Whate'er it was, the hideous wound
In silence and in secret bled.
No sigh relieved her speechless woe,
She had no voice to speak her dread.

And in her lurid eyes there shone
The dying flame of life's desire,
Made mad because its hope was gone,
And kindled at the leaping fire
Of jealousy, and fierce revenge,
And strength that could not change nor tire.

Shade of a shadow in the glass,
O set the crystal surface free!
Pass – as the fairer visions pass –
Nor ever more return, to be
The ghost of a distracted hour,
That heard me whisper, "I am she!"

Titel: Re:Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: Nemesis op 23-10-2003, 17:38:49

auteur onbekend, maar zo mooi...

Do not stand at my grave and weep;
I am not there, I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow.
I am the diamond glints on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain.
I am the gentle autumn's rain.
When you awaken in the morning's hush,
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft stars that shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry;
I am not there, I did not die.

Titel: Re:Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: Nemesis op 25-10-2003, 03:21:36

The old huntsman - Arthur Conan Doyle

There's a keen and grim old huntsman
On a horse as white as snow;
Sometimes he is very swift
And sometimes he is slow.
But he never is at fault,
For he always hunts at view
And he rides without a halt
After you.

The huntsman's name is Death,
His horse's name is Time;
He is coming, he is coming
As I sit and write this rhyme;
He is coming, he is coming,
As you read the rhyme I write;
You can hear the hoofs' low drumming
Day and night.

You can hear the distant drumming
As the clock goes tick-a-tack,
And the chiming of the hours
Is the music of his pack.
You may hardly note their growling
Underneath the noonday sun,
But at night you hear them howling
As they run.

And they never check or falter
For they never miss their kill;
Seasons change and systems alter,
But the hunt is running still.
Hark! the evening chime is playing,
O'er the long grey town it peals;
Don't you hear the death-hound baying
At your heels?

Where is there an earth or burrow?
Where a cover left for you?
A year, a week, perhaps to-morrow
Brings the Huntsman's death halloo!
Day by day he gains upon us,
And the most that we can claim
Is that when the hounds are on us
We die game.

And somewhere dwells the Master,
By whom it was decreed;
He sent the savage huntsman,
He bred the snow-white steed.
These hounds which run for ever,
He set them on your track;
He hears you scream, but never
Calls them back.

He does not heed our suing,
We never see his face;
He hunts to our undoing,
We thank him for the chase.
We thank him and we flatter,
We hope – because we must –
But have we cause? No matter!

Titel: Re:Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: Nemesis op 26-10-2003, 22:04:32

De zelfmoordenaar - Piet Paaltjens (1835-1894)

In het diepst van het woud
- 't Was al herfst en erg koud -
Liep een heer in zijn eentje te dwalen.
Och, zijn oog zag zoo dof!
En zijn goed zat zoo slof!
En hij tandknerste, als was hij aan 't malen.

"Harriot!" dus riep hij verwoed,
"'k Heb een adder gebroed,
Neen, erger, een draak aan mijn borst hier!"
En hij sloeg op zijn jas,
En hij trapte in een plas;
't Spattend slik had zijn boordjes bemorst schier.

En meteen zocht zijn blik
Naar een eiketak, dik
Genoeg om zijn lichaam te torschen.
Daarna haalde hij een strop
Uit zijn zak, hing zich op,
En toen kon hij zich niet meer bemorsen.

Het werd stil in het woud
En wel tienmaal zo koud,
Want de wintertijd kwam. En intusschen
Hing maar steeds aan zijn tak,
Op zijn doode gemak,
Die mijnheer, tot verbazing der musschen.

En de winter vlood heen,
Want de lente verscheen,
Om opnieuw voor den zomer te wijken.
Toen dan zwierf - 't was erg warm -
Er een paar arm in arm
Door het woud. Maar wat stond dát te kijken!

Want, terwijl het, zoo zacht
Koozend, voortliep en dacht:
Hier onder deez' eik is 't goed vrijen,
Kwam een laars van den man,
Die daar boven hing, van
Zijn reeds lang verteerd linkerbeen glijen.

"Al mijn leven! van waar
Komt die laars?" riep het paar,
En werktuigelijk keek het naar boven.
En daar zag het met schrik
Dien mijnheer, eens zo dik
En nu tot een geraamte afgekloven.

Op zijn grijzende kop
Stond zijn hoed nog rechtop,
Maar de rand was er af. Al zijn linnen
Was gerafeld en grauw.
Door een gat in zijn mouw
Blikten mieren en wurmen en spinnen.

Zijn horloge stond stil,
En één glas van zijn bril
Was kapot en het ander beslagen.
Op den rand van een zak
Van zijn vest zat een slak,
Een erg slijmrige slak, stil te knagen.

In een wip was de lust
Om te vrijen gebluscht
Bij het paar. Zelfs geen woord dorst het te spreken.
't Zag van schrik zóó spierwit
Als een laken, wen dit
Reeds een dag op het gras ligt te bleeken.

Titel: Re:Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: hannes op 27-10-2003, 12:39:21

Everybody shake it
Time to be free amongst yourselves
Your mama told you to be discreet
And keep your freak to yourself

But your mama lied to you all this time
She knows as well as you and I
You’ve got to express what is taboo in you
And share your freak with the rest of us

‘Cause it’s a beautiful thing !
A beautiful thing !
A beautiful thing !

macy gray

Titel: Re:Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: Nemesis op 28-10-2003, 15:41:26

Anthem for Doomed Youth - Wilfred Owen

WHAT passing-bells for these who die as cattle?
Only the monstrous anger of the guns.
Only the stuttering rifles' rapid rattle
Can patter out their hasty orisons.
No mockeries for them from prayers or bells,
Nor any voice of mourning save the choirs--
The shrill, demented choirs of wailing shells;
And bugles calling for them from sad shires.

What candles may be held to speed them all?
Not in the hands of boys, but in their eyes
Shall shine the holy glimmers of good-byes.
The pallor of girls' brows shall be their pall;
Their flowers the tenderness of patient minds,
And each slow dusk a drawing-down of blinds.

Titel: Re:Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: Nemesis op 28-10-2003, 15:41:49

Ah, Are You Digging on My Grave? - Thomas Hardy

"AH, are you digging on my grave,
My loved one? -- planting rue?"
-- "No: yesterday he went to wed
One of the brightest wealth has bred.
'It cannot hurt her now,' he said,
'That I should not be true.'"

"Then who is digging on my grave,
My nearest dearest kin?"
-- "Ah, no: they sit and think, 'What use!
What good will planting flowers produce?
No tendance of her mound can loose
Her spirit from Death's gin.'"

"But someone digs upon my grave?
My enemy? -- prodding sly?"
-- "Nay: when she heard you had passed the Gate
That shuts on all flesh soon or late,
She thought you no more worth her hate,
And cares not where you lie.

"Then, who is digging on my grave?
Say -- since I have not guessed!"
-- "O it is I, my mistress dear,
Your little dog , who still lives near,
And much I hope my movements here
Have not disturbed your rest?"

"Ah yes! You dig upon my grave...
Why flashed it not to me
That one true heart was left behind!
What feeling do we ever find
To equal among human kind
A dog's fidelity!"

"Mistress, I dug upon your grave
To bury a bone, in case
I should be hungry near this spot
When passing on my daily trot.
I am sorry, but I quite forgot
It was your resting place."

Titel: Re:Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: Nemesis op 30-10-2003, 23:14:47

Death's Head - Phyllis Gottlieb (1926 - )

at 3 a.m. I run my tongue
around my teeth (take in a breath)
(give out a breath) take one more step
approaching death. my teeth are firm
and hard and white (take in a breath)
incisors bite and molars grind
(give out a breath) the body lying
next to mine is sweet and warm
I 've heard that worms (take in a breath)
don 't really eat (give out a breath)
the coffin meat of human kind
and if they did I wouldn't mind
that 's what I heard (take in a breath)
(and just in time) I think it 's all
a pack of lies. I know my flesh
will end in slime. the streets are mean
and full of thieves. the children in
the sleeping rooms (give out a breath)
walk narrowly upon my heart
the animal beneath the cloth
submerged rises to any bait
of lust or fury, love or hate
(take in a breath) my orbic skull
is eminently frangible
so delicate a shell to keep
my brains from spillage. still my breath
goes in and out and nearer death

and yet I seem to get to sleep

Titel: Re:Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: Nemesis op 4-11-2003, 14:11:05

Madenballade - Jean-Pierre Rawie

De laatste snik, het uitvaartritueel,
de al dan niet bedroefde nabestaanden -
doch verder lijkt er niet zo bijster veel
meer in en om de verse groeve gaande.

Maar schijn bedriegt: als wij er zijn geweest
en afgelegd zijn in een witte wade,
begint het pas, het eigenlijke feest
voor de op ons karkas beluste maden.

Er is nog heel wat leven ondergronds,
als wij tot slot voorgoed de ogen sluiten:
de maden lusten wel gehakt van ons,
ze kennen ons van binnen en van buiten.

Waar eens gedacht werd en waar werd gevoeld,
waar eens gestreefd werd naar de grootste daden,
niets blijft ervan dan dat het er krioelt
van vette onverzadigbare maden.

Het hart dat klopte voor een lieve vrouw,
de hersens die ons niets dan zorgen gaven,
de maden lusten heel die troep wel rauw
nadat men ons vakkundig heeft begraven.

Wat ik hier zing is akelig en naar,
want allen wacht hetzelfde lot ten leste.
- Ook maden moeten leven weliswaar,
maar misschien is cremeren toch het beste.

Titel: Re:Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: Nemesis op 6-11-2003, 03:14:16

Ode on the Death of a Favorite Cat Drowned in a Tub of Goldfishes - Thomas Gray

'Twas on a lofty vase's side,
Where China's gayest art had dy'd
The azure flow'rs that blow;
Demurest of the tabby kind,
The pensive Selima, reclin'd,
Gazed on the lake below.

Her conscious tail her joy declar'd;
The fair round face, the snowy beard,
The velvet of her paws,
Her coat, that with the tortoise vies,
Her ears of jet, and emerald eyes,
She saw: and purr'd applause.

Still had she gaz'd; but 'midst the tide
Two angel forms were seen to glide,
The Genii of the stream;
Their scaly armour's Tyrian hue
Thro' richest purple to the view
Betray'd a golden gleam.

The hapless Nymph with wonder saw:
A whisker first and then a claw,
With many an ardent wish,
She stretch'd in vain to reach the prize.
What female heart can gold despise?
What cat's averse to fish?

Presumptuous Maid! with looks intent
Again she stretch'd, again she bent,
Nor knew the gulf between.
(Malignant Fate sat by, and smil'd)
The slipp'ry verge her feet beguil'd,
She tumbled headlong in.

Eight times emerging from the flood
She mew'd to ev'ry wat'ry god,
Some speedy aid to send.
No Dolphin came, no Nereid stirr'd;
Nor cruel Tom, nor Susan heard.
A Fav'rite has no friend!

From hence, ye Beauties, undeceiv'd,
Know, one false step is ne'er retriev'd,
And be with caution bold.
Not all that tempts your wand'ring eyes
And heedless hearts is lawful prize,
Nor all, that glisters, gold.

Titel: Re:Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: Nemesis op 10-11-2003, 13:01:20

De Val - Esther Jansma (1998 )

We kruisten de Styx.
De veerman lag dronken in zijn schip.
Ik hield het roer en we zonken als stenen.

Water bestaat als de aarde
in lagen, transparante linten, glanzende strata
van steeds kleiner leven, minder warmte.

In je haren bloeiden luchtbellen,
de stroom trok je hoofd naar achter
en streelde je hals.

Stenen wuifden met armen van algen en varens,
zongen zachtjes gorgelend 'vrede'.
Ze sneden je kleren los.

Vissen likten het bloed van je benen.
Ik hield je hand vast. Ik wilde je troosten
maar we vielen te snel en er zijn geen woorden

die zonder lucht bestaan, mijn liefde
bleef boven, blauwe ballonnen, bakens voor even,
de plaats markerend van het ongeluk

voordat ze verder dreven. Je mond ging open.
Je gezicht werd rood, je handen zochten
evenwicht, zochten mijn armen.

Je probeerde in me omhoog te klimmen.
Je was een glasblazer met een wolk van diamanten
aan zijn mond. Ik hield je vast als een katje.

Ik aaide je vingers.
Je liet niet los.
Je sliep en ik aaide je vingers, liet los.

Titel: Re:Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: Lorelei op 13-11-2003, 18:47:13

The Cure- Lullaby

On candystripe legs spiderman comes
softly through the shadow of the evening sun
stealing past the windows of the blissfully dead
looking for the victim shivering in bed
searching out fear in the gathering gloom and
suddenly! a movement in the corner of the
room! and there is nothing i can do when i
realise with freight that the spiderman is having
me for dinner tonight

Quietly he laughs and shaking his head creeps
closer now closer to the foot of the bed and
softer than shadow and quicker than flies his
arms are all around me and his tongue in my
eyes "be still be calm be quiet now my precious
boy don't struggle like that or i will only love
you more for it's much too late to get away or
turn on the light the spiderman is having you
for dinner tonight"

And i feel like i'm being eaten by a thousand
million shivering furry holes and i know that in
the morning i will wake up in the shivering cold
and the spiderman is always hungry...

Titel: Re:Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: Lorelei op 13-11-2003, 18:59:53

The Valley of Unrest - Edgar Allan Poe

Once it smiled a silent dell
Where the people did not dwell;
They had gone unto the wars,
Trusting to the mild-eyed stars,
Nightly, from their azure towers,
To keep watch above the flowers,
In the midst of which all day
The red sunlight lazily lay.
Now each visitor shall confess
The sad valley's restlessness.
Nothing there is motionless-
Nothing save the airs that brood
Over the magic solitude.
Ah, by no wind are stirred those trees
That palpitate like the chill seas
Around the misty Hebrides!
Ah, by no wind those clouds are driven
That rustle through the unquiet Heaven
Uneasily, from morn till even,
Over the violets there that lie
In myriad types of the human eye-
Over the lilies there that wave
And weep above a nameless grave!
They wave:- from out their fragrant tops
Eternal dews come down in drops.
They weep:- from off their delicate stems
Perennial tears descend in gems.

Titel: Re:Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: Lorelei op 13-11-2003, 19:18:51

2. Nun seh' ich wohl, warum so dunkle Flammen
Kindertotenlieder- Mahler

Nun seh' ich wohl, warum so dunkle Flammen
Ihr sprühtet mir in manchem Augenblicke.
O Augen!
Gleichsam, um voll in einem Blicke
Zu drängen eure ganze Macht zusammen.
Doch ahnt' ich nicht, weil Nebel mich umschwammen,
Gewoben vom verblendenden Geschicke,
Daß sich der Strahl bereits zur Heimkehr schicke,
Dorthin, von wannen alle Strahlen stammen.
Ihr wolltet mir mit eurem Leuchten sagen:
Wir möchten nah dir bleiben gerne!
Doch ist uns das vom Schicksal abgeschlagen.
Sieh' uns nur an, denn bald sind wir dir ferne!
Was dir nur Augen sind in diesen Tagen:
In künft'gen Nächten sind es dir nur Sterne.

Titel: Re:Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: Lorelei op 13-11-2003, 19:51:30

Alles still!

Alles still! es tanzt den Reigen
Mondenstrahl in Wald und Flur,
Und darüber thront das Schweigen
Und der Winterhimmel nur.

Alles still! vergeblich lauschet
Man der Krähe heisrem Schrei.
Keiner Fichte Wipfel rauschet,
Und kein Bächlein summt vorbei.

Alles still! die Dorfeshütten
Sind wie Gräber anzusehn,
Die, von Schnee bedeckt, inmitten
Eines weiten Friedhofs stehn.

Alles still! nichts hör ich klopfen
Als mein Herze durch die Nacht -
Heiße Tränen niedertropfen
Auf die kalte Winterpracht.

Theodor Fontane

Titel: Re:Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: rougekappje op 14-11-2003, 13:38:58

Phantasmagoria - D.H. Lawrence

RIGID sleeps the house in darkness, I alone
Like a thing unwarrantable cross the hall
And climb the stairs to find the group of doors
Standing angel-stern and tall.

I want my own room’s shelter. But what is this
Throng of startled beings suddenly thrown
In confusion against my entry? Is it only the trees’
Large shadows from the outside street lamp blown?

Phantom to phantom leaning; strange women weep
Aloud, suddenly on my mind
Startling a fear unspeakable, as the shuddering wind
Breaks and sobs in the blind.

So like to women, tall strange women weeping!
Why continually do they cross the bed?
Why does my soul contract with unnatural fear?
I am listening! Is anything said?

Ever the long black figures swoop by the bed;
They seem to be beckoning, rushing away, and beckoning.
Whither then, whither, what is it, say
What is the reckoning.

Tall black Bacchae of midnight, why then, why
Do you rush to assail me?
Do I intrude on your rites nocturnal?
What should it avail me?

Is there some great Iacchos of these slopes
Suburban dismal?
Have I profaned some female mystery, orgies
Black and phantasmal?

Titel: Re:Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: rougekappje op 14-11-2003, 13:47:17

A Cradle Song - W.B. Yeats

THE DANANN children laugh, in cradles of wrought gold,
And clap their hands together, and half close their eyes,
For they will ride the North when the ger-eagle flies,
With heavy whitening wings, and a heart fallen cold:
I kiss my wailing child and press it to my breast,
And hear the narrow graves calling my child and me.
Desolate winds that cry over the wandering sea;
Desolate winds that hover in the flaming West;
Desolate winds that beat the doors of Heaven, and beat
The doors of Hell and blow there many a whimpering ghost;
O heart the winds have shaken; the unappeasable host
Is comelier than candles before Maurya’s feet.

Titel: Re:Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: rougekappje op 14-11-2003, 13:52:48

Thief in the Night - D.H. Lawrence

LAST night a thief came to me
  And struck at me with something dark.
I cried, but no one could hear me,
  I lay dumb and stark.

When I awoke this morning
  I could find no trace;
Perhaps ’twas a dream of warning,
  For I’ve lost my peace.

Titel: Re:Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: rougekappje op 14-11-2003, 14:05:33

The Grave of Shelley - Oscar Wilde

LIKE burnt-out torches by a sick man’s bed
  Gaunt cypress-trees stand round the sun-bleached stone;
  Here doth the little night-owl make her throne,
And the slight lizard show his jewelled head.
And, where the chaliced poppies flame to red,
  In the still chamber of yon pyramid
  Surely some Old-World Sphinx lurks darkly hid,
Grim warder of this pleasaunce of the dead.

Ah! sweet indeed to rest within the womb
  Of Earth, great mother of eternal sleep,
But sweeter far for thee a restless tomb
  In the blue cavern of an echoing deep,
Or where the tall ships founder in the gloom
  Against the rocks of some wave-shattered steep.

Titel: Re:Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: Nemesis op 14-11-2003, 16:13:08

_{hey rouge! goed je weer te zien! :D}

Thebe - Gerrit Achterberg

Met leven toegerust voor beiden,
liep ik vannacht de gangen in,
die naar u leiden.
Het ondergrondsch geburgte droeg
een stilte, die met tegenzin
mijn tred verdroeg.

De muren stonden als verzadigd
van ruige schimmel; lucht en licht,
voorgoed beschadigd,
beten mij uit; de wil alleen
bij u te zijn in 't jongste gericht,
hield mij ter been.

Het labyrinth verliep in schroeven
van eender, blinder cirkeling.
U ten behoeve?
Ik weet niet meer hoe lang ik ging.
Hoe brachten zij, die u begroeven,
zoover een ding?

Totdat mijn voeten op u stuitten:
uit een volslagen duisternis
zag ik uw oogen opensplijten;
uw handen, die ik niet kon tillen,
voelde ik langs het leven streelen,
dat in mij sloeg;
uw mond, in dood verholen, vroeg.
Een taal waarvoor geen teken is
in dit heelal,
verstond ik voor de laatste maal.

Maar had geen adem meer genoeg
en ben gevlucht in dit gedicht:
noodtrappen naar het morgenlicht,
vervaald en veel te vroeg.

Titel: Re:Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: rougekappje op 15-11-2003, 23:34:29

_{And you! Nem´sis, dear!! :D}

The Dole of the King’s Daughter - Oscar Wilde

SEVEN stars in the still water,
And seven in the sky;
Seven sins on the King’s daughter,
Deep in her soul to lie.

Red roses are at her feet,
(Roses are red in her red-gold hair)
And O where her bosom and girdle meet
Red roses are hidden there.

Fair is the knight who lieth slain
Amid the rush and reed,
See the lean fishes that are fain
Upon dead men to feed.

Sweet is the page that lieth there,
(Cloth of gold is goodly prey,)
See the black ravens in the air,
Black, O black as the night are they.

What do they there so stark and dead?
(There is blood upon her hand)
Why are the lilies flecked with red?
(There is blood on the river sand.)

There are two that ride from the south and east,
And two from the north and west,
For the black raven a goodly feast,
   For the King’s daughter rest.

There is one man who loves her true,
(Red, O red, is the stain of gore!)
He hath duggen a grave by the darksome yew,
(One grave will do for four.)

No moon in the still heaven,
In the black water none,
The sins on her soul are seven,
The sin upon his is one.

Titel: Re: Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: rougekappje op 17-11-2003, 19:05:45

Het volgende stukje komt uit The Hound of the Baskervilles, van A.C. Doyle:

We had come to a point where a narrow grassy path struck off from the road and wound away across the moor. A steep, boulder-sprinkled hill lay upon the right which had in bygone days been cut into a granite quarry. The face which was turned towards us formed a dark cliff, with ferns and brambles growing in its niches. From over a distant rise there floated a gray plume of smoke.

"A moderate walk along this moor-path brings us to Merripit House," said he. "Perhaps you will spare an hour that I may have the pleasure of introducing you to my sister."
My first thought was that I should be by Sir Henry's side. But then I remembered the pile of papers and bills with which his study table was littered. It was certain that I could not help with those. And Holmes had expressly said that I should study the neighbours upon the moor. I accepted Stapleton's invitation, and we turned together down the path.

"It is a wonderful place, the moor," said he, looking round over the undulating downs, long green rollers, with crests of jagged granite foaming up into fantastic surges. "You never tire of the moor. You cannot think the wonderful secrets which it contains. It is so vast, and so barren, and so mysterious."
"You know it well, then?"
"I have only been here two years. The residents would call me a newcomer. We came shortly after Sir Charles settled. But my tastes led me to explore every part of the country round, and I should think that there are few men who know it better than I do."
"Is it hard to know?"
"Very hard. You see, for example, this great plain to the north here with the queer hills breaking out of it. Do you observe anything remarkable about that?"
"It would be a rare place for a gallop."
"You would naturally think so and the thought has cost several their lives before now. You notice those bright green spots scattered thickly over it?"
"Yes, they seem more fertile than the rest."
Stapleton laughed.
"That is the great Grimpen Mire," said he. "A false step yonder means death to man or beast. Only yesterday I saw one of the moor ponies wander into it. He never came out. I saw his head for quite a long time craning out of the bog-hole, but it sucked him down at last. Even in dry seasons it is a danger to cross it, but after these autumn rains it is an awful place. And yet I can find my way to the very heart of it and return alive. By George, there is another of those miserable ponies!"

Something brown was rolling and tossing among the green sedges. Then a long, agonized, writhing neck shot upward and a dreadful cry echoed over the moor. It turned me cold with horror, but my companion's nerves seemed to be stronger than mine.
"It's gone!" said he. "The mire has him. Two in two days, and many more, perhaps, for they get in the way of going there in the dry weather and never know the difference until the mire has them in its clutches. It's a bad place, the great Grimpen Mire."

"And you say you can penetrate it?"
"Yes, there are one or two paths which a very active man can take. I have found them out."
"But why should you wish to go into so horrible a place?"
"Well, you see the hills beyond? They are really islands cut off on all sides by the impassable mire, which has crawled round them in the course of years. That is where the rare plants and the butterflies are, if you have the wit to reach them."
"I shall try my luck some day."

He looked at me with a surprised face.
"For God's sake put such an idea out of your mind," said he.
"Your blood would be upon my head. I assure you that there would not be the least chance of your coming back alive. It is only by remembering certain complex landmarks that I am able to do it."
"Halloa!" I cried. "What is that?"
A long, low moan, indescribably sad, swept over the moor. It filled the whole air, and yet it was impossible to say whence it came. From a dull murmur it swelled into a deep roar, and then sank back into a melancholy, throbbing murmur once again. Stapleton looked at me with a curious expression in his face.

Queer place, the moor!" said he.
"But what is it?"
"The peasants say it is the Hound of the Baskervilles calling for its prey. I've heard it once or twice before, but never quite so loud."
I looked round, with a chill of fear in my heart, at the huge swelling plain, mottled with the green patches of rushes. Nothing stirred over the vast expanse save a pair of ravens, which croaked loudly from a tor behind us.

Titel: Re: Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: Nemesis op 19-11-2003, 11:34:00

For we have thought the larger thoughts
And gone the shorter way.
And we have danced to devil's tunes,
Shivering home to pray;
To serve one master in the night,
Another in the day.

--Ernest Hemingway

Titel: Re: Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: rougekappje op 19-11-2003, 21:42:03

The Hanging Garden - The Cure

CHREATURES KISSING IN THE RAIN
SHAPELESS IN THE DARK AGAIN
IN THE HANGING GARDEN
PLEASE DON'T SPEAK
IN THE HANGING GARDEN
NO ONE SLEEPS

CATCHING HALOES ON THE MOON
GIVE MY HANDS THE SHAPES OF ANGELS
IN THE HEAT OF THE NIGHT
THE ANIMALS SCREAM
IN THE HEAT OF THE NIGHT
WALKING INTO A DREAM...

FALL FALL FALL FALL
INTO THE WALLS
JUMP JUMP OUT OF TIME
FALL FALL FALL FALL
OUT OF THE SKY
COVER MY FACE AS THE ANIMALS CRY

CREATURES KISSING IN THE RAIN
SHAPELESS IN THE DARK AGAIN
IN A HANGING GARDEN
CHANGE THE PAST
IN A HANGING GARDEN
WEARING FURS
AND MASKS

FALL FALL FALL FALL
INTO THE WALLS
JUMP JUMP OUT OF TIME
FALL FALL FALL FALL
OUT OF THE SKY
COVER MY FACE AS THE ANIMALS DIE
IN THE HANGING GARDEN

Titel: Re: Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: rougekappje op 19-11-2003, 21:51:12

A Poison Tree - W. Blake

I was angry with my friend:
I told my wrath, my wrath did end.
I was angry with my foe:
I told it not, my wrath did grow.
And I watered it in fears,
Night and morning with my tears;
And I sunned it with smiles,
And with soft deceitful wiles.
And it grew both day and night,
Till it bore an apple bright.
And my foe beheld it shine.
And he knew that it was mine,
And into my garden stole
When the night had veiled the pole;
In the morning glad I see
My foe outstretched beneath the tree

Titel: Re: Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: rougekappje op 19-11-2003, 21:59:35

December- Gerrit Achterberg

Het is dezelfde December
van je dood.
You don't remember…
Weer ligt die straat
aan beide einden
in mist gevat;
geen ander gaat
voorbij, dit kwaad
met zijn gelaat
verhinderende:
het onbeil vat
post in mijn lot.
Ik sta verstard.
O deur, bestemde
voor komst en keer
in liefde's blinde
armenpaar,
ik ga u binnen
als breker in
wildvreemde huizen,
wederzin
opent zijn sluizen
op mijn klim.
Ik sta te suizen,
bloed uit, bloed in.
Het oude duister
wil dat ik luister
naar zijn gebeim
van nacht's gekende
slaapfestijn,
het fluisterende…
maar het kan niet zijn:
ik ben beneden
het laagste peil
van zin en rede,
ik ben beneden
mijn levensreden,
trede voor trede
wordt in mij groot
een hamer, hamer.
Is dit je kamer?
Dit is December,
die van je dood.
You don't remember…

Titel: Re: Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: rougekappje op 19-11-2003, 22:05:42

Dorothy Parker - Rainy Night

Ghosts of all my lovely sins,
Who attend too well my pillow,
Gay the wanton rain begins;
Hide the limp and tearful willow.

Turn aside your eyes and ears,
Trail away your robes of sorrow,
You shall have my further years-
You shall walk with me tomorrow.

I am sister to the rain;
Fey and sudden and unholy,
Petulant at the windowpane,
Quickly lost, remembered slowly.

I have lived with shades, a shade;
I am hung with graveyard flowers.
Let me be tonight arrayed
In the silver of the showers.

Every fragile thing shall rust;
When another April passes
I may be a furry dust,
Sifting through the brittle grasses.

All sweet sins shall be forgot;
Who will live to tell their siring?
Hear me now, nor let me rot
Wistful still, and still aspiring.

Ghosts of dear temptations, heed;
I am frail, be you forgiving.
See you not that I have need
To be living with the living?

Sail, tonight, the Styx's breast;
Glide among the dim processions
Of the exquisite unblest,
Spirits of my shared transgressions,

Roam with young Persephone.
Plucking poppies for your slumber . . .
With the morrow, there shall be
One more wraith among your number.

Titel: Re: Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: rougekappje op 19-11-2003, 22:35:31

here is little Effie's head - e.e. Cummings

here is little Effie's head
whose brains are made of gingerbread
when the judgment day comes
God will find six crumbs

stooping by the coffinlid
waiting for something to rise
as the other somethings did--
you imagine His surprise

bellowing through the general noise
Where is Effie who was dead?
--to God in a tiny voice,
i am may the first crumb said

whereupon its fellow five
crumbs chuckled as if they were alive
and number two took up the song,
might i'm called and did no wrong

cried the third crumb, i am should
and this is my little sister could
with our big brother who is would
don't punish us for we were good;

and the last crumb with some shame
whispered unto God, my name
is must and with the others i've
been Effie who isn't alive

just imagine it I say
God amid a monstrous din
watch your step and follow me
stooping by Effie's little, in

(want a match or can you see?)
which the six subjunctive crumbs
twitch like mutilated thumbs:
picture His peering biggest whey

coloured face on which a frown
puzzles, but I know the way--
(nervously Whose eyes approve
the blessed while His ears are crammed

with the strenuous music of
the innumerable capering damned)
--staring wildly up and down
the here we are now judgment day

cross the threshold have no dread
lift the sheet back in this way.
here is little Effie's head
whose brains are made of gingerbread

Titel: Re: Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: Bodejos op 19-11-2003, 22:47:48

Schitterend iedere keer weer, waar jij, nemesis, icarus, en wie post er nog meer regelmatig in dit topic, die teksten vandaan halen. Volgens mij is er ergens een griezelige bibliotheek waar jullie iedere keer bij elkaar komen, om te kijken wat voor moois NU weer geschikt is om hier te plaatsen. Eigenlijk horen hier ook spinnewebben en krakende traptreden bij, en openstaande ramen, waar de wind naar binnen blaast. Whoooooeeeeiiiiii.

Ga zo door, ik lees het elke keer weer met plezier. ;)

Titel: Re: Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: Nemesis op 20-11-2003, 01:57:31

_{Fijn om te horen Jos! (dan gaan we nog even door ;))}

The Yarn of the "Nancy Bell" - W.S. Gilbert

'TWAS on the shores that round our coast
From Deal to Ramsgate span,
That I found alone on a piece of stone
An elderly naval man.

His hair was weedy, his beard was long,
And weedy and long was he,
And I heard this wight on the shore recite,
In a singular minor key:

"Oh, I am a cook and a captain bold,
And the mate of the NANCY brig,
And a bo'sun tight, and a midshipmite,
And the crew of the captain's gig."

And he shook his fists and he tore his hair,
Till I really felt afraid,
For I couldn't help thinking the man had been drinking,
And so I simply said:

"Oh, elderly man, it's little I know
Of the duties of men of the sea,
And I'll eat my hand if I understand
However you can be

"At once a cook, and a captain bold,
And the mate of the NANCY brig,
And a bo'sun tight, and a midshipmite,
And the crew of the captain's gig."

Then he gave a hitch to his trousers, which
Is a trick all seamen larn,
And having got rid of a thumping quid,
He spun this painful yarn:

"'Twas in the good ship NANCY BELL
That we sailed to the Indian Sea,
And there on a reef we come to grief,
Which has often occurred to me.

"And pretty nigh all the crew was drowned
(There was seventy-seven o' soul),
And only ten of the NANCY'S men
Said 'Here!' to the muster-roll.

"There was me and the cook and the captain bold,
And the mate of the NANCY brig,
And the bo'sun tight, and a midshipmite,
And the crew of the captain's gig.

"For a month we'd neither wittles nor drink,
Till a-hungry we did feel,
So we drawed a lot, and, accordin' shot
The captain for our meal.

"The next lot fell to the NANCY'S mate,
And a delicate dish he made;
Then our appetite with the midshipmite
We seven survivors stayed.

"And then we murdered the bo'sun tight,
And he much resembled pig;
Then we wittled free, did the cook and me,
On the crew of the captain's gig.

"Then only the cook and me was left,
And the delicate question, 'Which
Of us two goes to the kettle?' arose,
And we argued it out as sich.

"For I loved that cook as a brother, I did,
And the cook he worshipped me;
But we'd both be blowed if we'd either be stowed
In the other chap's hold, you see.

"'I'll be eat if you dines off me,' says TOM;
'Yes, that,' says I, 'you'll be, -
'I'm boiled if I die, my friend,' quoth I;
And 'Exactly so,' quoth he.

"Says he, 'Dear JAMES, to murder me
Were a foolish thing to do,
For don't you see that you can't cook ME,
While I can - and will - cook YOU!'

"So he boils the water, and takes the salt
And the pepper in portions true
(Which he never forgot), and some chopped shalot.
And some sage and parsley too.

"'Come here,' says he, with a proper pride,
Which his smiling features tell,
''T will soothing be if I let you see
How extremely nice you'll smell.'

"And he stirred it round and round and round,
And he sniffed at the foaming froth;
When I ups with his heels, and smothers his squeals
In the scum of the boiling broth.

"And I eat that cook in a week or less,
And - as I eating be
The last of his chops, why, I almost drops,
For a wessel in sight I see!

* * * *

"And I never larf, and I never smile,
And I never lark nor play,
But sit and croak, and a single joke
I have - which is to say:

"Oh, I am a cook and a captain bold,
And the mate of the NANCY brig,
And a bo'sun tight, and a midshipmite,
And the crew of the captain's gig!'"

Titel: Re: Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: Icarus op 20-11-2003, 17:10:05

The Conqueror Worm - Edgar Allan Poe

Lo! 'tis a gala night
Within the lonesome latter years!
An angel throng, bewinged, bedight
In veils, and drowned in tears,
Sit in a theatre, to see
A play of hopes and fears,
While the orchestra breathes fitfully
The music of the spheres.
Mimes, in the form of God on high,
Mutter and mumble low,
And hither and thither fly-
Mere puppets they, who come and go
At bidding of vast formless things
That shift the scenery to and fro,
Flapping from out their Condor wings
Invisible Woe!
That motley drama- oh, be sure
It shall not be forgot!
With its Phantom chased for evermore,
By a crowd that seize it not,
Through a circle that ever returneth in
To the self-same spot,
And much of Madness, and more of Sin,
And Horror the soul of the plot.
But see, amid the mimic rout
A crawling shape intrude!
A blood-red thing that writhes from out
The scenic solitude!
It writhes!- it writhes!- with mortal pangs
The mimes become its food,
And seraphs sob at vermin fangs
In human gore imbued.
Out- out are the lights- out all!
And, over each quivering form,
The curtain, a funeral pall,
Comes down with the rush of a storm,
While the angels, all pallid and wan,
Uprising, unveiling, affirm
That the play is the tragedy, "Man,"
And its hero the Conqueror Worm.

Titel: Re: Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: Icarus op 20-11-2003, 17:35:35

The Harlot's House    - Oscar Wilde


We caught the tread of dancing feet,
We loitered down the moonlit street,
And stopped beneath the harlot's house.

Inside, above the din and fray,
We heard the loud musicians play
The "Treues Liebes Herz" of Strauss.

Like strange mechanical grotesques,
Making fantastic arabesques,
The shadows raced across the blind.

We watched the ghostly dancers spin
To sound of horn and violin,
Like black leaves wheeling in the wind.

Like wire-pulled automatons,
Slim silhouetted skeletons
Went sidling through the slow quadrille.

They took each other by the hand,
And danced a stately saraband;
Their laughter echoed thin and shrill.

Sometimes a clockwork puppet pressed
A phantom lover to her breast,
Sometimes they seemed to try to sing.

Sometimes a horrible marionette
Came out, and smaoked its cigarette
Upon the steps like a live thing.

Then, turning to my love, I said,
"The dead are dancing with the dead,
The dust is whirling with the dust."

But she--she heard the violin,
And left my side, and entered in:
Love passed into the house of lust.

Then suddenly the tune went false,
The shadows wearied of the waltz,
The shadows ceased to wheel and whirl.

And down the long and silent street,
The dawn, with silver-sandalled feet,
Crept like a frightened girl.

Titel: Re: Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: Nemesis op 20-11-2003, 22:43:38

The Listeners - Walter de la Mare

'Is there anybody there?' said the Traveller,
Knocking on the moonlit door;
And his horse in the silence champed the grasses
Of the forest's ferny floor:
And a bird flew up out of the turret,
Above the Traveller's head
And he smote upon the door again a second time;
'Is there anybody there?' he said.
But no one descended to the Traveller;
No head from the leaf-fringed sill
Leaned over and looked into his grey eyes,
Where he stood perplexed and still.
But only a host of phantom listeners
That dwelt in the lone house then
Stood listening in the quiet of the moonlight
To that voice from the world of men:
Stood thronging the faint moonbeams on the dark stair,
That goes down to the empty hall,
Hearkening in an air stirred and shaken
By the lonely Traveller's call.
And he felt in his heart their strangeness,
Their stillness answering his cry,
While his horse moved, cropping the dark turf,
'Neath the starred and leafy sky;
For he suddenly smote on the door, even
Louder, and lifted his head:-
'Tell them I came, and no one answered,
That I kept my word,' he said.
Never the least stir made the listeners,
Though every word he spake
Fell echoing through the shadowiness of the still house
From the one man left awake:
Ay, they heard his foot upon the stirrup,
And the sound of iron on stone,
And how the silence surged softly backward,
When the plunging hoofs were gone.

Titel: Re: Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: Nemesis op 21-11-2003, 09:12:46

The Highwayman - Alfred Noyes

The wind was a torrent of darkness upon the gusty trees,
The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas,
The road was a ribbon of moonlight looping the purple moor,
And the highwayman came riding--
Riding--riding--
The highwayman came riding, up to the old inn door.

He'd a French cocked hat on his forehead, and a bunch of lace at his chin;
He'd a coat of the claret velvet, and breeches of fine doe-skin.
They fitted with never a wrinkle; his boots were up to his thigh!
And he rode with a jeweled twinkle--
His rapier hilt a-twinkle--
His pistol butts a-twinkle, under the jeweled sky.

Over the cobbles he clattered and clashed in the dark inn-yard,
He tapped with his whip on the shutters, but all was locked and barred,
He whistled a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there
But the landlord's black-eyed daughter--
Bess, the landlord's daughter--
Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.

Dark in the dark old inn-yard a stable-wicket creaked
Where Tim, the ostler listened--his face was white and peaked--
His eyes were hollows of madness, his hair like mouldy hay,
But he loved the landlord's daughter--
The landlord's black-eyed daughter;
Dumb as a dog he listened, and he heard the robber say:

"One kiss, my bonny sweetheart; I'm after a prize tonight,
But I shall be back with the yellow gold before the morning light.
Yet if they press me sharply, and harry me through the day,
Then look for me by moonlight,
Watch for me by moonlight,
I'll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way."

He stood upright in the stirrups; he scarce could reach her hand,
But she loosened her hair in the casement! His face burnt like a brand
As the sweet black waves of perfume came tumbling o'er his breast,
Then he kissed its waves in the moonlight
(O sweet black waves in the moonlight!),
And he tugged at his reins in the moonlight, and galloped away to the west.

He did not come in the dawning; he did not come at noon.
And out of the tawny sunset, before the rise of the moon,
When the road was a gypsy's ribbon over the purple moor,
The redcoat troops came marching--
Marching--marching--
King George's men came marching, up to the old inn-door.

They said no word to the landlord; they drank his ale instead,
But they gagged his daughter and bound her to the foot of her narrow bed.
Two of them knelt at her casement, with muskets by their side;
There was Death at every window,
And Hell at one dark window,
For Bess could see, through her casement, the road that he would ride.

They had bound her up at attention, with many a sniggering jest!
They had tied a rifle beside her, with the barrel beneath her breast!
"Now keep good watch!" and they kissed her. She heard the dead man say,
"Look for me by moonlight,
Watch for me by moonlight,
I'll come to thee by moonlight, though Hell should bar the way."

Titel: Re: Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: Nemesis op 21-11-2003, 09:13:09

She twisted her hands behind her, but all the knots held good!
She writhed her hands till her fingers were wet with sweat or blood!
They stretched and strained in the darkness,
and the hours crawled by like years,
Till, on the stroke of midnight,
Cold on the stroke of midnight,
The tip of one finger touched it! The trigger at least was hers!

The tip of one finger touched it, she strove no more for the rest;
Up, she stood up at attention, with the barrel beneath her breast.
She would not risk their hearing, she would not strive again,
For the road lay bare in the moonlight,
Blank and bare in the moonlight,
And the blood in her veins, in the moonlight, throbbed to her love's refrain.

Tlot tlot, tlot tlot! Had they heard it? The horse-hooves, ringing clear;
Tlot tlot, tlot tlot, in the distance! Were they deaf that they did not hear?
Down the ribbon of moonlight, over the brow of the hill,
The highwayman came riding--
Riding--riding--
The redcoats looked to their priming! She stood up straight and still.

Tlot tlot, in the frosty silence! Tlot tlot, in the echoing night!
Nearer he came and nearer! Her face was like a light!
Her eyes grew wide for a moment, she drew one last deep breath,
Then her finger moved in the moonlight--
Her musket shattered the moonlight--
Shattered her breast in the moonlight and warned him--with her death.

He turned, he spurred to the West; he did not know who stood
Bowed, with her head o'er the casement, drenched in her own red blood!
Not till the dawn did he hear it, and his face grew grey to hear
How Bess, the landlord's daughter,
The landlord's black-eyed daughter,
Had watched for her love in the moonlight, and died in the darkness there.

Back, he spurred like a madman, shrieking a curse to the sky,
With the white road smoking behind him and his rapier brandished high!
Blood-red were his spurs in the golden noon, wine-red was his velvet coat
When they shot him down in the highway,
Down like a dog in the highway,
And he lay in his blood in the highway, with the bunch of lace at his throat.

And still on a winter's night, they say, when the wind is in the trees,
When the moon is a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas,
When the road is a gypsy's ribbon looping the purple moor,
The highwayman comes riding--
Riding--riding--
The highwayman comes riding, up to the old inn-door.

Over the cobbles he clatters and clangs in the dark inn-yard,
He taps with his whip on the shutters, but all is locked and barred,
He whistles a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there
But the landlord's black-eyed daughter--
Bess, the landlord's daughter--
Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.

Titel: Re: Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: Nemesis op 21-11-2003, 09:17:01

The way through the woods - Rudyard Kipling

They shut the road through the woods
Seventy years ago.
Weather and rain have undone it again,
And now you would never know
There was once a road through the woods
Before they planted the trees.
It is underneath the coppice and heath,
And the thin anemones.
Only the keeper sees
That, where the ring-dove broods,
And the badgers roll at ease,
There was once a road through the woods.

Yet, if you enter the woods
Of a summer evening late,
When the night-air cools on the trout-ringed pools
Where the otter whistles his mate.
(They fear not men in the woods,
Because they see so few)
You will hear the beat of a horse's feet,
And the swish of a skirt in the dew,
Steadily cantering through
The misty solitudes,
As though they perfectly knew
The old lost road through the woods . . . .
But there is no road through the woods.

Titel: Re: Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: rougekappje op 21-11-2003, 10:20:06

House on a Cliff -- Louis MacNeice

Indoors the tang of a tiny oil lamp. Outdoors
The winking signal on the waste of sea.
Indoors the sound of the wind. Outdoors the wind.
Indoors the locked heart and the lost key.

Outdoors the chill, the void, the siren. Indoors
The strong man pained to find his red blood cools,
While the blind clock grows louder, faster. Outdoors
The silent moon, the garrulous tides she rules.

Indoors ancestral curse-cum-blessing. Outdoors
The empty bowl of heaven, the empty deep.
Indoors a purposeful man who talks at cross
Purposes, to himself, in a broken sleep.

Titel: Re: Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: rougekappje op 21-11-2003, 10:28:36

'Ballad of Hector in Hades' -- Edwin Muir

Yes, this is where I stood that day,
Beside this sunny mound.
The walls of Troy are far away,
And outward comes no sound.

I wait. On all the empty plain
A burnished stillness lies,
Save for the chariot's tinkling hum,
And a few distant cries.

His helmet glitters near. The world
Slowly turns around,
With some new sleight compels my feet
From the fighting ground.

I run. If I turn back again
The earth must turn with me,
The mountains planted on the plain,
The sky clamped to the sea.

The grasses puff a little dust
Where my footsteps fall.
I cast a shadow as I pass
The little wayside wall.

The strip of grass on either hand
Sparkles in the light;
I only see that little space
To the left and to the right,

And in that space our shadows run,
His shadow there and mine,
The little flowers, the tiny mounds,
The grasses frail and fine.

But narrower still and narrower!
My course is shrunk and small,
Yet vast as in a deadly dream,
And faint the Trojan wall.
The sun up in the towering sky
Turns like a spinning ball.

The sky with all its clustered eyes
Grows still with watching me,
The flowers, the mounds, the flaunting weeds
Wheel slowly round to see.

Two shadows racing on the grass,
Silent and so near,
Until his shadow falls on mine.
And I am rid of fear.

The race is ended. Far away
I hang and do not care,
While round bright Troy Achilles whirls
A corpse with streaming hair.

Titel: Re: Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: rougekappje op 21-11-2003, 10:38:54

Waste Land Limericks -- Wendy Cope

I

In April one seldom feels cheerful;
Dry stones, sun and dust make me fearful;
Clairvoyantes distress me,
Commuters depress me--
Met Stetson and gave him an earful.

II

She sat on a mighty fine chair,
Sparks flew as she tidied her hair;
She asks many questions,
I make few suggestions--
Bad as Albert and Lil--what a pair!

III

The Thames runs, bones rattle, rats creep;
Tiresias fancies a peep--
A typist is laid,
A record is played--
Wei la la. After this it gets deep.

IV

A Phoenician named Phlebas forgot
About birds and his business--the lot,
Which is no surprise,
Since he'd met his demise
And been left in the ocean to rot.

V

No water. Dry rocks and dry throats,
Then thunder, a shower of quotes
From the Sanskrit and Dante.
Da. Damyata. Shantih.
I hope you'll make sense of the notes.

Titel: Re: Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: Nemesis op 21-11-2003, 10:45:48

Jabberwocky - Lewis Carroll

'Twas brillig and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.

"Beware the Jabberwock, my son!
The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun
The frumious Bandersnatch!"

He took his vorpal sword in hand:
Long time the manxnome foe he sought --
So rested he by the Tumtum tree,
And stood awhile in thought.

And, as in uffish thought he stood,
The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,
Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,
And burbled as it came!

One, two! One, two! And through and through
The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!
He left it dead, and with its head
He went galumphing back.

"And hast thou slain the Jabberwock?
Come to my arms, my beamish boy!
O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!"
He chortled in his joy.

'Twas brillig and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.

Titel: Re: Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: Icarus op 21-11-2003, 23:44:57

Rhapsody on a Windy Night - Thomas Stearns Eliot

Twelve o'clock.
Along the reaches of the street
Held in a lunar synthesis,
Whispering lunar incantations
Disolve the floors of memory
And all its clear relations,
Its divisions and precisions,
Every street lamp that I pass
Beats like a fatalistic drum,
And through the spaces of the dark
Midnight shakes the memory
As a madman shakes a dead geranium.

Half-past one,
The street lamp sputtered,
The street lamp muttered,
The street lamp said,
'Regard that woman
Who hesitates toward you in the light of the door
Which opens on her like a grin.
You see the border of her dress
Is torn and stained with sand,
And you see the corner of her eye
Twists like a crooked pin.'

The memory throws up high and dry
A crowd of twisted things;
A twisted branch upon the beach
Eaten smooth, and polished
As if the world gave up
The secret of its skeleton,
Stiff and white.
A broken spring in a factory yard,
Rust that clings to the form that the strength has left
Hard and curled and ready to snap.

Half-past two,
The street-lamp said,
'Remark the cat which flattens itself in the gutter,
Slips out its tongue
And devours a morsel of rancid butter.'
So the hand of the child, automatic,
Slipped out and pocketed a toy that was running along
the quay.
I could see nothing behind that child's eye.
I have seen eyes in the street
Trying to peer through lighted shutters,
And a crab one afternoon in a pool,
An old crab with barnacles on his back,
Gripped the end of a stick which I held him.

Half-past three,
The lamp sputtered,
The lamp muttered in the dark.

The lamp hummed:
'Regard the moon,
La lune ne garde aucune rancune,
She winks a feeble eye,
She smiles into corners.
She smooths the hair of the grass.
The moon has lost her memory.
A washed-out smallpox cracks her face,
Her hand twists a paper rose,
That smells of dust and old Cologne,
She is alone With all the old nocturnal smells
That cross and cross across her brain.
The reminiscence comes
Of sunless dry geriniums
And dust in crevices,
Smells of chestnuts in the streets
And female smells in shuttered rooms
And cigarettes in corridors
And cocktail smells in bars.'

The lamp said,
'Four o'clock,
Here is the number on the door.
Memory!
You have the key,
The little lamp spreads a ring on the stair,
Mount.
The bed is open; the tooth-brush hangs on the wall,
Put your shoes at the door, sleep, prepare for life.'

The last twist of the knife.

Titel: Re: Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: Icarus op 21-11-2003, 23:47:08

The Mad Gardener's Song - Lewis Carroll

He thought he saw an Elephant,
That practised on a fife:
He looked again, and found it was
A letter from his wife.
'At length I realise,' he said,
The bitterness of Life!'

He thought he saw a Buffalo
Upon the chimney-piece:
He looked again, and found it was
His Sister's Husband's Niece.
'Unless you leave this house,' he said,
"I'll send for the Police!'

He thought he saw a Rattlesnake
That questioned him in Greek:
He looked again, and found it was
The Middle of Next Week.
'The one thing I regret,' he said,
'Is that it cannot speak!'

He thought he saw a Banker's Clerk
Descending from the bus:
He looked again, and found it was
A Hippopotamus.
'If this should stay to dine,' he said,
'There won't be much for us!'

He thought he saw a Kangaroo
That worked a coffee-mill:
He looked again, and found it was
A Vegetable-Pill.
'Were I to swallow this,' he said,
'I should be very ill!'

He thought he saw a Coach-and-Four
That stood beside his bed:
He looked again, and found it was
A Bear without a Head.
'Poor thing,' he said, 'poor silly thing!
It's waiting to be fed!'

He thought he saw an Albatross
That fluttered round the lamp:
He looked again, and found it was
A Penny-Postage Stamp.
'You'd best be getting home,' he said:
'The nights are very damp!'

He thought he saw a Garden-Door
That opened with a key:
He looked again, and found it was
A Double Rule of Three:
'And all its mystery,' he said,
'Is clear as day to me!'

He thought he saw a Argument
That proved he was the Pope:
He looked again, and found it was
A Bar of Mottled Soap.
'A fact so dread,' he faintly said,
'Extinguishes all hope!'

Titel: Re: Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: rougekappje op 22-11-2003, 12:43:38

Hmmm eng en erg mooi allemaal :)
Deze vind ik ook erg mooi en op een wat duistere 'unsettling' manier ergens ook hoopgevend:

What if a much of a which of a wind' --- e. e. cummings

what if a much of a which of a wind
gives the truth to summer's lie;
bloodies with dizzying leaves the sun
and yanks immortal stars awry?
Blow king to beggar and queen to seem
(blow friend to fiend: blow space to time)
-when skies are hanged and oceans drowned,
the single secret will still be man

what if a keen of a lean wind flays
screaming hills with sleet and snow:
strangles valleys by ropes of thing
and stifles forests in white ago?
Blow hope to terror; blow seeing to blind
(blow pity to envy and soul to mind)
-whose hearts are mountains, roots are trees,
it's they shall cry hello to the spring

what if a dawn of a doom of a dream
bites this universe in two,
peels forever out of his grave
and sprinkles nowhere with me and you?
Blow soon to never and never to twice
(blow life to isn't; blow death to was)
-all nothing's only our hugest home;
the most who die, the more we live

Titel: Re: Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: rougekappje op 22-11-2003, 13:02:07

Desolation Row -- Bob Dylan

They're selling postcards of the hanging
They're painting the passports brown
The beauty parlor is filled with sailors
The circus is in town
Here comes the blind commissioner
They've got him in a trance
One hand is tied to the tight-rope walker
The other is in his pants
And the riot squad they're restless
They need somewhere to go
As the Lady and I look out tonight
From Desolation Row

Cinderella, she seems so easy
"It takes one to know one," she smiles
And puts her hands in her back pockets
Bette Davis style
And in comes Romeo, he's moaning
"You Belong To Me I Believe"
And someone says, "You're in the wrong place, my friend
You better leave."
And the only sound that's left
After the ambulances go
Is Cinderella sweeping up
On Desolation Row

Now the moon is almost hidden
The stars are beginning to hide
The fortunetelling lady
Has even taken all her things inside
All except for Cain and Abel
And the hunchback of Notre Dame
Everybody is making love
Or else expecting rain
And the Good Samaritan, he's dressing
He's getting ready for the show
He's going to the carnival tonight
On Desolation Row

Now Ophelia, she's 'neath the window
For her I feel so afraid
On her twenty-second birthday
She already is an old maid
To her, death is quite romantic
She wears an iron vest
Her profession's her religion
Her sin is her lifelessness
And though her eyes are fixed upon
Noah's great rainbow
She spends her time peeking
Into Desolation Row

Einstein, disguised as Robin Hood
With his memories in a trunk
Passed this way an hour ago
With his friend, a jealous monk
He looked so immaculately frightful
As he bummed a cigarette
Then he went off sniffing drainpipes
And reciting the alphabet
Now you would not think to look at him
But he was famous long ago
For playing the electric violin
On Desolation Row

Dr. Filth, he keeps his world
Inside of a leather cup
But all his sexless patients
They're trying to blow it up
Now his nurse, some local loser
She's in charge of the cyanide hole
And she also keeps the cards that read
"Have Mercy On His Soul"
They all play on penny whistles
You can hear them blow
If you lean your head out far enough
From Desolation Row

Across the street they've nailed the curtains
They're getting ready for the feast
The Phantom of the Opera
A perfect image of a priest
They're spoonfeeding Casanova
To get him to feel more assured
Then they'll kill him with self-confidence
After poisoning him with words
And the Phantom's shouting to skinny girls
"Get Outta Here If You Don't Know
Casanova is just being punished for going
To Desolation Row"

Now at midnight all the agents
And the superhuman crew
Come out and round up everyone
That knows more than they do
Then they bring them to the factory
Where the heart-attack machine
Is strapped across their shoulders
And then the kerosene
Is brought down from the castles
By insurance men who go
Check to see that nobody is escaping
To Desolation Row

Praise be to Nero's Neptune
The Titanic sails at dawn
And everybody's shouting
"Which Side Are You On?"
And Ezra Pound and T. S. Eliot
Fighting in the captain's tower
While calypso singers laugh at them
And fishermen hold flowers
Between the windows of the sea
Where lovely mermaids flow
And nobody has to think too much
About Desolation Row

Yes, I received your letter yesterday
(About the time the door knob broke)
When you asked how I was doing
Was that some kind of joke?
All these people that you mention
Yes, I know them, they're quite lame
I had to rearrange their faces
And give them all another name
Right now I can't read too good
Don't send me no more letters no
Not unless you mail them
From Desolation Row

Titel: Re: Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: rougekappje op 22-11-2003, 13:30:12

Ballad: The Sorcerer's Song -- W. S. Gilbert

Oh! My name is John Wellington Wells -
I'm a dealer in magic and spells,
In blessings and curses,
And ever-filled purses,
In prophecies, witches, and knells!
If you want a proud foe to make tracks -
If you'd melt a rich uncle in wax -
You've but to look in
On our resident Djinn,
Number seventy, Simmery Axe!

We've a first-class assortment of magic;
And for raising a posthumous shade
With effects that are comic or tragic,
There's no cheaper house in the trade.
Love-philtre - we've quantities of it;
And for knowledge if any one burns,
We keep an extremely small prophet, a prophet
Who brings us unbounded returns:

For he can prophesy
With a wink of his eye,
Peep with security
Into futurity,
Sum up your history,
Clear up a mystery,
Humour proclivity
For a nativity.
With mirrors so magical,
Tetrapods tragical,
Bogies spectacular,
Answers oracular,
Facts astronomical,
Solemn or comical,
And, if you want it, he
Makes a reduction on taking a quantity!

Oh! If anyone anything lacks,
He'll find it all ready in stacks,
If he'll only look in
On the resident Djinn,
Number seventy, Simmery Axe!

He can raise you hosts,
Of ghosts,
And that without reflectors;
And creepy things
With wings,
And gaunt and grisly spectres!
He can fill you crowds
Of shrouds,
And horrify you vastly;
He can rack your brains
With chains,
And gibberings grim and ghastly.
Then, if you plan it, he
Changes organity
With an urbanity,
Full of Satanity,
Vexes humanity
With an inanity
Fatal to vanity -
Driving your foes to the verge of insanity.
Barring tautology,
In demonology,
'Lectro biology,
Mystic nosology,
Spirit philology,
High class astrology,
Such is his knowledge, he
Isn't the man to require an apology

Oh! My name is John Wellington Wells -
I'm a dealer in magic and spells,
In blessings and curses,
And ever-filled purses -
In prophecies, witches, and knells.
If any one anything lacks,
He'll find it all ready in stacks,
If he'll only look in
On the resident Djinn,
Number seventy, Simmery Axe!

Titel: Re: Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: rougekappje op 22-11-2003, 17:06:28

The Bells - Edgar Allan Poe

I

Hear the sledges with the bells-
Silver bells!
What a world of merriment their melody foretells!
How they tinkle, tinkle, tinkle,
In the icy air of night!
While the stars that oversprinkle
All the heavens, seem to twinkle
With a crystalline delight;
Keeping time, time, time,
In a sort of Runic rhyme,
To the tintinnabulation that so musically wells
From the bells, bells, bells, bells,
Bells, bells, bells-
From the jingling and the tinkling of the bells.

II

Hear the mellow wedding bells,
Golden bells!
What a world of happiness their harmony foretells!
Through the balmy air of night
How they ring out their delight!
From the molten-golden notes,
And an in tune,
What a liquid ditty floats
To the turtle-dove that listens, while she gloats
On the moon!
Oh, from out the sounding cells,
What a gush of euphony voluminously wells!
How it swells!
How it dwells
On the Future! how it tells
Of the rapture that impels
To the swinging and the ringing
Of the bells, bells, bells,
Of the bells, bells, bells,bells,
Bells, bells, bells-
To the rhyming and the chiming of the bells!

III

Hear the loud alarum bells-
Brazen bells!
What a tale of terror, now, their turbulency tells!
In the startled ear of night
How they scream out their affright!
Too much horrified to speak,
They can only shriek, shriek,
Out of tune,
In a clamorous appealing to the mercy of the fire,
In a mad expostulation with the deaf and frantic fire,
Leaping higher, higher, higher,
With a desperate desire,
And a resolute endeavor,
Now- now to sit or never,
By the side of the pale-faced moon.
Oh, the bells, bells, bells!
What a tale their terror tells
Of Despair!
How they clang, and clash, and roar!
What a horror they outpour
On the bosom of the palpitating air!
Yet the ear it fully knows,
By the twanging,
And the clanging,
How the danger ebbs and flows:
Yet the ear distinctly tells,
In the jangling,
And the wrangling,
How the danger sinks and swells,
By the sinking or the swelling in the anger of the bells-
Of the bells-
Of the bells, bells, bells,bells,
Bells, bells, bells-
In the clamor and the clangor of the bells!

IV

Hear the tolling of the bells-
Iron Bells!
What a world of solemn thought their monody compels!
In the silence of the night,
How we shiver with affright
At the melancholy menace of their tone!
For every sound that floats
From the rust within their throats
Is a groan.
And the people- ah, the people-
They that dwell up in the steeple,
All Alone
And who, tolling, tolling, tolling,
In that muffled monotone,
Feel a glory in so rolling
On the human heart a stone-
They are neither man nor woman-
They are neither brute nor human-
They are Ghouls:
And their king it is who tolls;
And he rolls, rolls, rolls,
Rolls
A paean from the bells!
And his merry bosom swells
With the paean of the bells!
And he dances, and he yells;
Keeping time, time, time,
In a sort of Runic rhyme,
To the paean of the bells-
Of the bells:
Keeping time, time, time,
In a sort of Runic rhyme,
To the throbbing of the bells-
Of the bells, bells, bells-
To the sobbing of the bells;
Keeping time, time, time,
As he knells, knells, knells,
In a happy Runic rhyme,
To the rolling of the bells-
Of the bells, bells, bells:
To the tolling of the bells,
Of the bells, bells, bells, bells-
Bells, bells, bells-
To the moaning and the groaning of the bells.

Titel: Re: Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: rougekappje op 22-11-2003, 18:34:14

The Ghosts' High Noon - WS Gilbert

When the night wind howls in the chimney cowls, and the bat in the
moonlight flies,
And inky clouds, like funeral shrouds, sail over the midnight skies -
When the footpads quail at the night-bird's wail, and black dogs
bay the moon,
Then is the spectres' holiday - then is the ghosts' high noon!

As the sob of the breeze sweeps over the trees, and the mists lie
low on the fen,
From grey tombstones are gathered the bones that once were women
and men,
And away they go, with a mop and a mow, to the revel that ends too
soon,
For cockcrow limits our holiday - the dead of the night's high
noon!

And then each ghost with his ladye-toast to their churchyard beds
take flight,
With a kiss, perhaps, on her lantern chaps, and a grisly grim "good
night";
Till the welcome knell of the midnight bell rings forth its
jolliest tune,
And ushers our next high holiday - the dead of the night's high
noon!

Titel: Re: Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: Nemesis op 23-11-2003, 01:32:56

^{geloof me, als je bang bent voor spinnen is dit best griezelig! :-[}

The Embarrassing Episode of Little Miss Muffet - Guy Wetmore Carryl

Little Miss Muffet discovered a tuffet,
(Which never occurred to the rest of us)
And, as 'twas a June day, and just about noonday,
She wanted to eat - like the rest of us:
Her diet was whey, and I hasten to say
It is wholesome and people grow fat on it.
The spot being lonely, the lady not only
Discovered the tuffet, but sat on it.

A rivulet gabbled beside her and babbled,
As rivulets always are thought to do,
And dragon flies sported around and cavorted,
As poets say dragon flies ought to do;
When, glancing aside for a moment, she spied
A horrible sight that brought fear to her,
A hideous spider was sitting beside her,
And most unavoidably near to her!

Albeit unsightly, this creature politely Said: "
Madam, I earnestly vow to you,
I'm penitent that I did not bring my hat.
I Should otherwise certainly bow to you."
Thought anxious to please, he was so ill at ease
That he lost all his sense of propriety,
And grew so inept that he clumsily stept
In her plate - which is barred in Society.

This curious error completed her terror;
She shuddered, and growing much paler, not
Only left tuffet, but dealt him a buffet
Which doubled him up in a sailor knot.
It should be explained that at this he was pained:
He cried: "I have vexed you, no doubt of it!
Your fists's like a truncheon." "You're still in my luncheon,"
Was all that she answered. "Get out of it!"

And the Moral is this: Be it madam or miss
To whom you have something to say,
You are only absurd when you get in the curd
But you're rude when you get in the whey.

Titel: Re: Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: Nemesis op 23-11-2003, 15:12:43

(http://members.lycos.nl/consnert/images/icarus.jpg)

Het volgende gedicht posten Icarus en ik samen, om te vieren hoe mooi het leven is in al zijn facetten! :D

Vita Nuova - Oscar Wilde

I stood by the unvintageable sea
Till the wet waves drenched face and hair with spray
The long red fires of the dying day
Burned in the west; the wind piped drearily;
And to the land the clamorous gulls did flee:
'Alas!' I cried, 'my life is full of pain,
And who can garner fruit or golden grain
From these waste fields which travel ceaselessly!'
My nets gaped wide with many a break and flaw,
Nathless I threw them as my final cast
Into the sea, and waited for the end.
When lo! a sudden glory! and I saw
The argent splendour of white limbs ascend,
And in that joy forgot my tortured past.

Titel: Re: Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: Icarus op 23-11-2003, 18:45:29

:D hmmm inderdaad Nemesis namens ons beide en wat een prachtig gedicht is het toch!

Hier nog eentje over een gevoel, dat we allemaal wel herkennen denk ik..

A Nightmare - WS Gilbert

When you're lying awake with a dismal headache, and repose is
taboo'd by anxiety,
I conceive you may use any language you choose to indulge in
without impropriety;
For your brain is on fire - the bedclothes conspire of usual
slumber to plunder you:
First your counterpane goes and uncovers your toes, and your sheet
slips demurely from under you;
Then the blanketing tickles - you feel like mixed pickles, so
terribly sharp is the pricking,
And you're hot, and you're cross, and you tumble and toss till
there's nothing 'twixt you and the ticking.
Then the bedclothes all creep to the ground in a heap, and you pick
'em all up in a tangle;
Next your pillow resigns and politely declines to remain at its
usual angle!
Well, you get some repose in the form of a doze, with hot eyeballs
and head ever aching,
But your slumbering teems with such horrible dreams that you'd very
much better be waking;
For you dream you are crossing the Channel, and tossing about in a
steamer from Harwich,
Which is something between a large bathing-machine and a very small
second-class carriage;
And you're giving a treat (penny ice and cold meat) to a party of
friends and relations -
They're a ravenous horde - and they all came on board at Sloane
Square and South Kensington Stations.
And bound on that journey you find your attorney (who started that
morning from Devon);
He's a bit undersized, and you don't feel surprised when he tells
you he's only eleven.
Well, you're driving like mad with this singular lad (by the bye
the ship's now a four-wheeler),
And you're playing round games, and he calls you bad names when you
tell him that "ties pay the dealer";
But this you can't stand, so you throw up your hand, and you find
you're as cold as an icicle,
In your shirt and your socks (the black silk with gold clocks),
crossing Salisbury Plain on a bicycle:
And he and the crew are on bicycles too - which they've somehow or
other invested in -
And he's telling the tars all the particuLARS of a company he's
interested in -
It's a scheme of devices, to get at low prices, all goods from
cough mixtures to cables
(Which tickled the sailors) by treating retailers, as though they
were all vegeTAbles -
You get a good spadesman to plant a small tradesman (first take off
his boots with a boot-tree),
And his legs will take root, and his fingers will shoot, and
they'll blossom and bud like a fruit-tree -
From the greengrocer tree you get grapes and green pea,
cauliflower, pineapple, and cranberries,
While the pastry-cook plant cherry-brandy will grant - apple puffs,
and three-corners, and banberries -
The shares are a penny, and ever so many are taken by ROTHSCHILD
and BARING,
And just as a few are allotted to you, you awake with a shudder
despairing -
You're a regular wreck, with a crick in your neck, and no wonder
you snore, for your head's on the floor, and you've needles and
pins from your soles to your shins, and your flesh is a-creep, for
your left leg's asleep, and you've cramp in your toes, and a fly on
your nose, and some fluff in your lung, and a feverish tongue, and
a thirst that's intense, and a general sense that you haven't been
sleeping in clover;
But the darkness has passed, and it's daylight at last, and the
night has been long - ditto, ditto my song - and thank goodness
they're both of them over!

Titel: Re: Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: Icarus op 23-11-2003, 19:38:19

The House Of Dust: Part 02: 04: Nightmare - Conrad Aiken

'Draw three cards, and I will tell your future . . .
Draw three cards, and lay them down,
Rest your palms upon them, stare at the crystal,
And think of time . . . My father was a clown,
My mother was a gypsy out of Egypt;
And she was gotten with child in a strange way;
And I was born in a cold eclipse of the moon,
With the future in my eyes as clear as day.'

I sit before the gold-embroidered curtain
And think her face is like a wrinkled desert.
The crystal burns in lamplight beneath my eyes.
A dragon slowly coils on the scaly curtain.
Upon a scarlet cloth a white skull lies.

'Your hand is on the hand that holds three lilies.
You will live long, love many times.
I see a dark girl here who once betrayed you.
I see a shadow of secret crimes.

'There was a man who came intent to kill you,
And hid behind a door and waited for you;
There was a woman who smiled at you and lied.
There was a golden girl who loved you, begged you,
Crawled after you, and died.

'There is a ghost of murder in your blood—
Coming or past, I know not which.
And here is danger—a woman with sea-green eyes,
And white-skinned as a witch . . .'

The words hiss into me, like raindrops falling
On sleepy fire . . . She smiles a meaning smile.
Suspicion eats my brain; I ask a question;
Something is creeping at me, something vile;

And suddenly on the wall behind her head
I see a monstrous shadow strike and spread,
The lamp puffs out, a great blow crashes down.
I plunge through the curtain, run through dark to the street,
And hear swift steps retreat . . .

The shades are drawn, the door is locked behind me.
Behind the door I hear a hammer sounding.
I walk in a cloud of wonder; I am glad.
I mingle among the crowds; my heart is pounding;
You do not guess the adventure I have had! . . .

Yet you, too, all have had your dark adventures,
Your sudden adventures, or strange, or sweet . . .
My peril goes out from me, is blown among you.
We loiter, dreaming together, along the street.

Titel: Re: Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: Nemesis op 23-11-2003, 20:33:34

The Loch Ness Monster's Song - Edwin Morgan

Sssnnnwhuffffll?
Hnwhuffl hhnnwfl hnfl hfl?
Gdroblboblhobngbl gbl gl g g g g glbgl.
Drublhaflablhaflubhafgabhaflhafl fl fl -
gm grawwwww grf grawf awfgm graw gm.
Hovoplodok - doplodovok - plovodokot - doplodokosh?
Splgraw fok fok splgrafhatchgabrlgabrl fok splfok!
Zgra kra gka fok!
Grof grawff gahf?
Gombl mbl bl -
blm plm,
blm plm,
blm plm,
blp

NB: dit is een echt, bestaand gedicht!
Het verhaal gaat dat het monster van Loch Ness af en toe boven water komt op zoek naar kameraden uit zijn jeugd (prehistorische reptielen).
Als hij ze niet vindt daalt hij teleurgesteld weer af naar de diepten van het meer, na nog even stevig gevloekt te hebben - op z'n monsters dan...
(hij heeft het ook daadwerkelijk over een diplodocus als je goed leest)

(http://www.hlc-lib.org/youth_search/dino_buttons/diplodocus.gif)

Titel: Re: Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: Icarus op 25-11-2003, 17:30:01

:D Hmmm en na deze ode aan Nessie .. ode aan een ander mooi speciaal monster(tje).. !

Octopus

Strange beauty, eight-limbed and eight-handed,
Whence camest to dazzle our eyes?
With thy bosom bespangled and banded
With the hues of the seas and the skies;
Is thy home European or Asian,
O mystical monster marine?
Part molluscous and partly crustacean,
Betwixt and between.

Wast thou born to the sound of sea trumpets?
Hast thou eaten and drunk to excess
Of the sponges -- thy muffins and crumpets,
Of the seaweed -- thy mustard and cress?
Wast thou nurtured in caverns of coral,
Remote from reproof or restraint?
Art thou innocent, art thou immoral,
Sinburnian or Saint?

Lithe limbs, curling free, as a creeper
That creeps in a desolate place,
To enroll and envelop the sleeper
In a silent and stealthy embrace,
Cruel beak craning forward to bite us,
Our juices to drain and to drink,
Or to whelm us in waves of Cocytus,
Indelible ink!

O breast, that 'twere rapture to writhe on!
O arms 'twere delicious to feel
Clinging close with the crush of the Python,
When she maketh her murderous meal!
In thy eight-fold embraces enfolden,
Let our empty existence escape,
Give us death that is glorious and golden,
Crushed all out of shape!

Ah! thy red lips, lascivious and luscious,
With death in their amorous kiss,
Cling round us, and clasp us, and crush us,
With bitings of agonised bliss;
We are sick with the poison of pleasure,
Dispense us the potion of pain;
Ope thy mouth to its uttermost measure
And bite us again!

By Algernon Charles Sin-Burn

Titel: Re: Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: Icarus op 25-11-2003, 17:58:19

Een voorproefje om alvast in stemming voor LOTR deel III te komen voor de liefhebbers ;)

'Three Rings for the Elven Kings'

Three Rings for the Elven-kings under the sky,
Seven for the Dwarf-lords in their halls of stone,
Nine for Mortal Men doomed to die,
One for the Dark Lord on his dark throne
In the Land of Mordor where the Shadows lie.
One Ring to rule them all, One Ring to find them,
One Ring to bring them all and in the darkness bind them
In the Land of Mordor where the Shadows lie.

-- J R R Tolkien

'He chanted a song of wizardry'

He chanted a song of wizardry,
Of piercing, opening, of treachery,
Revealing, uncovering, betraying.
Then sudden Felagund there swaying
Sang in answer a song of staying,
Resisting, battling against power,
Of secrets kept, strength like a tower,
And trust unbroken, freedom, escape;
Of changing and of shifting shape
Of snares eluded, broken traps,
The prison opening, the chain that snaps.
Backwards and forwards swayed their song.
Reeling and foundering, as ever more strong
The chanting swelled, Felagund fought,
And all the magic and might he brought
Of Elvenesse into his words.
Softly in the gloom they heard the birds
Singing afar in Nargothrond,
The sighing of the Sea beyond,
Beyond the western world, on sand,
On sand of pearls in Elvenland.
Then the gloom gathered; darkness growing
In Valinor, the red blood flowing
Beside the Sea, where the Noldor slew
The Foamriders, and stealing drew
Their white ships with their white sails
From lamplit havens. The wind wails,
The wolf howls. The ravens flee.
The ice mutters in the mouths of the Sea.
The captives sad in Angband mourn.
Thunder rumbles, the fires burn ---
And Finrod fell before the throne.

-- J. R. R. Tolkien

Titel: Re: Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: Nemesis op 26-11-2003, 18:12:27

pity the poor spiders - archy (don marquis)

i have just been reading
an advertisement of a certain
roach exterminator
the human race little knows
all the sadness it
causes in the insect world
i remember some weeks ago
meeting a middle aged spider
she was weeping
what is the trouble i asked
her it is these cursed
fly swatters she replied
they kill of all the flies
and my family and i are starving
to death it struck me as
so pathetic that i made
a little song about it
as follows to wit

twas an elderly mother spider
grown gaunt and fierce and gray
with her little ones crouched beside her
who wept as she sang this lay

curses on these here swatters
what kills off all the flies
for me and my little daughters
unless we eats we dies

swattin and swattin and swattin
tis little else you hear
and we ll soon be dead and forgotten
with the cost of living so dear

my husband he up and left me
lured off by a centipede
and he says as he bereft me
tis wrong but i ll get a feed

and me a working and working
scouring the streets for food
faithful and never shirking
doing the best i could

curses on these here swatters
what kills off all the flies
me and my poor little daughters
unless we eats we dies

only a withered spider
feeble and worn and old
and this is what
you do when you swat
you swatters cruel and cold

i will admit that some
of the insects do not lead
noble lives but is every
man s hand to be against them
yours for less justice
and more charity

Titel: Re: Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: Nemesis op 26-11-2003, 18:55:44

Mutual forgiveness of each vice,
Such are the gates of Paradise.

BLAKE - Hendrik Marsman

Ik lig niet meer alleen in het ruim.
de dood heeft mij samengelegd
met het tedere witte kind
dat ik eens in den verren tuin
onuitsprekelijk heb liefgehad.

nu zullen wij samen vergaan
haar stem in de duisternis zegt:
neem mijn hand, het donker is koud.
neem mijn hand, het donker is groot.
die de liefde niet samen houdt
worden éen in den angst voor den dood.

in een weerlicht verblind en onthuld
grijpt een mond een bevenden mond
en een leven van lust en schuld
wordt wit in die duistere stond
waarin alles te niet wordt gedaan: angst en bloed, hovaardij en lust,
en mijn trotse purperen naam
wordt smetteloos uitgewist
met haar zuiveren sneeuwwitten naam.

nu zijn wij bijna vergaan
-is dat licht daar het Paradijs?
nu zijn wij bijna vergaan
-is dan alles voorgoed voorbij

Noot: De gedichten van Marsman zijn vaak doordrongen van doodsangst, en ook boten en water spelen een grote rol.
De ironie wil dat Marsman omkwam toen het schip waarmee hij naar Engeland wilde vluchten in 1940 werd getroffen door een Duitse torpedo en zonk...

Titel: Re: Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: Icarus op 26-11-2003, 21:54:18

THE HAG - Robert Herrick

The Hag is astride,
This night for to ride,
The devil and she together;
Through thick and through thin,
Now out, and then in,
Though ne'er so foul be the weather.

A thorn or a bur
She takes for a spur;
With a lash of a bramble she rides now,
Through brakes and through briars,
O'er ditches and mires,
She follows the spirit that guides now.

No beast, for his food,
Dares now range the wood,
But hush'd in his lair he lies lurking;
While mischiefs, by these,
On land and on seas,
At noon of night are a-working.

The storm will arise,
And trouble the skies
This night; and, more for(the wonder,
The ghost from the tomb
Affrighted shall come,
Call'd out by the clap of the thunder.

Titel: Re: Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: Nemesis op 26-11-2003, 22:06:26

Witchery - Frank Dempster Sherman

Out of the purple drifts,
From the shadow sea of night,
On tides of musk a moth uplifts
Its weary wings of white.
Is it a dream or ghost
Of a dream that comes to me,
Here in the twilight on the coast,
Blue cinctured by the sea?
Fashioned of foam and froth --
And the dream is ended soon,
And lo, whence came the moon-white moth
Comes now the moth-white moon!

Titel: Re: Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: Nemesis op 27-11-2003, 13:33:25

Tijd - M Vasalis

Ik droomde, dat ik langzaam leefde ....
langzamer dan de oudste steen.
Het was verschrikkelijk: om mij heen
schoot alles op, schokte of beefde,
wat stil lijkt. 'k Zag de drang waarmee
de bomen zich uit de aarde wrongen
terwijl ze hees en hortend zongen;
terwijl de jaargetijden vlogen
verkleurende als regenbogen .....
Ik zag de tremor van de zee,
zijn zwellen en weer haastig slinken,
zoals een grote keel kan drinken.
En dag en nacht van korte duur
vlammen en doven: flakkrend vuur.
- De wanhoop en welsprekendheid
in de gebaren van de dingen,
die anders star zijn, en hun dringen,
hun ademloze, wrede strijd ....
Hoe kón ik dat niet eerder weten,
niet beter zien in vroeger tijd ?
Hoe moet ik het weer ooit vergeten ?

Titel: Re: Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: Nemesis op 27-11-2003, 20:46:38

The Midnightmouse - Christian Morgenstern

It midnights, not a moon is out.
No star lives in the heavenhouse.
Runs twelve times through the heavenhouse
The Midnightmouse.

She pipes upon her little jaws.
The hellhorse from his nightmare roars...
Runs quietly, her allotted course.
The Midnightmouse.

Her Lord, the Spirit great and white,
Has gone abroad on such a night.
She keeps watch in his heaven; all's right.
The Midnightmouse.

Titel: Re: Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: Nemesis op 28-11-2003, 01:32:55

VERHAAL VAN EEN OOGGETUIGE - Paul Snoek

Zowat driehonderd mannen zitten in een kring.
Het is ijskoud en ze zijn naakt.
Ze beschermen hun blote vrouwen en kinderen
tegen de scherpe zuidpoolwind

Soms mag een oudere man de kring verlaten
om wat warmte op te doen tussen de vrouwen.
Vaak krijgt hij dan een stukje rauwe vis.
Daarna neemt hij opnieuw zijn plaats in,
want bij de mensen blijven mannen altijd mannen.

Er nadert een helikopter door zeehonden bemand.
Het zijn geleerden, technici en godsgezanten.
Ze maken films en droppen helgekleurde zakken
met voedsel. Er staan goede woorden op de zakken.

Op zeker ogenblik schoudert een zeehond zijn geweer
en hoewel hij weet dat op het doden van mensen
zware straffen staan,
gaande van 500 dollar tot een jaar hechtenis,
legt hij een rechtsstaande man,
de mooiste van allen,
neer.

Titel: Re: Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: Nemesis op 29-11-2003, 10:12:21

The Subway Piranhas - Edwin Morgan

Did anyone tell you
that in each subway train
there is one special seat
with a small hole in it
and underneath the seat
is a tank of piranha-fish
which have not been fed
for quite some time.
The fish become quite agitated
by the shoogling of the train
and jump up through the seat.
The resulting skeletons
of unlucky passengers
turn an honest penny
for the transport executive,
hanging far and wide
in medical schools.

De dichter werd een aantal jaren geleden gevraagd een serie gedichten te schrijven ter gelegenheid van de opening van de opgeknapte metro in Glasgow. Hij zond dit gedicht in als proeve, waarop men besloot de opdracht in te trekken 8)

Titel: Re: Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: Nemesis op 1-12-2003, 13:58:56

The Song of the Little Hunter - Rudyard Kipling

Ere Mor the Peacock flutters, ere the Monkey People cry,
Ere Chil the Kite swoops down a furlong sheer,
Through the Jungle very softly flits a shadow and a sigh--
He is Fear, O Little Hunter, he is Fear!
Very softly down the glade runs a waiting, watching shade,
And the whisper spreads and widens far and near.
And the sweat is on thy brow, for he passes even now--
He is Fear, O Little Hunter, he is Fear!

Ere the moon has climbed the mountain, ere the rocks are ribbed with light,
When the downward-dipping trails are dank and drear,
Comes a breathing hard behind thee--snuffle-snuffle through the night--
It is Fear, O Little Hunter it is Fear,
On thy knees and draw the bow; bid the shrilling arrow go;
In the empty, mocking thicket plunge the spear!
But thy hands are loosed and weak, and the blood has left thy cheek--
It is Fear, O Little Hunter, it is Fear!

When the heat-cloud sucks the tempest, when the slivered pine-trees fall,
When the blinding, blaring rain-squalls lash and veer,
Through the war-gongs of the thunder rings a voice more loud than all--
It is Fear, O Little Hunter, it is Fear!
Now the spates are banked and deep; now the footless boulders leap--
Now the lightning shows each littlest leaf--rib clear--
But thy throat is shut and dried, and thy heart against thy side
Hammers: Fear, O Little Hunter--this is Fear!

Titel: Re: Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: Nemesis op 1-12-2003, 15:37:47

Midnight - Dorothy Parker

The stars are soft as flowers, and as near;
The hills are webs of shadow, slowly spun;
No separate leaf or single blade is here-
All blend to one.

No moonbeam cuts the air; a sapphire light
Rolls lazily. and slips again to rest.
There is no edged thing in all this night,
Save in my breast.

Titel: Re: Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: Nemesis op 2-12-2003, 17:54:59

Annabel Lee - Edgar Allan Poe

It was many and many a year ago,
In a kingdom by the sea,
That a maiden there lived whom you may know
By the name of Annabel Lee;--
And this maiden she lived with no other thought
Than to love and be loved by me.
She was a child and I was a child,
In this kingdom by the sea,
But we loved with a love that was more than love--
I and my Annabel Lee--
With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven
Coveted her and me.

And this was the reason that, long ago,
In this kingdom by the sea,
A wind blew out of a cloud by night
Chilling my Annabel Lee;
So that her high-born kinsman came
And bore her away from me,
To shut her up in a sepulchre
In this kingdom by the sea.

The angels, not half so happy in Heaven,
Went envying her and me:--
Yes! that was the reason (as all men know,
In this kingdom by the sea)
That the wind came out of a cloud, chilling
And killing my Annabel Lee.

But our love it was stronger by far than the love
Of those who were older than we--
Of many far wiser than we-
And neither the angels in Heaven above,
Nor the demons down under the sea,
Can ever dissever my soul from the soul
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee:--

For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And the stars never rise but I see the bright eyes
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side
Of my darling, my darling, my life and my bride,
In her sepulchre there by the sea--
In her tomb by the side of the sea.

Titel: Re: Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: Nemesis op 10-12-2003, 11:19:24

De dodenrit - Drs. P

We rijden met de trojka door 't eindeloze woud
Het vriest een graad of dertig, het is winter en vrij koud
De paardehoeven knersen in de pasgevallen sneeuw
't Is avond in Siberië, en nergens is een leeuw

We reizen met de kinderen, al zijn ze nog wat jong
Door 't eindeloze woud waarover ik zo-even zong
Een lommerrijk en zeer onoverzichtelijk terrein
Waarin men zich gelukkig prijst dat er geen leeuwen zijn

We zijn op weg naar Omsk, maar de weg daarheen is lang
En daarom vullen wij de tijd met feestelijk gezang
Intussen gaat zich iets bewegen in de achtergrond:
Iets donkers en iets talrijks, en dat lijkt me ongezond

Ze zijn nog vrij ver achter ons, ik zie ze echter wel
Het is een hele massa en ze lopen nogal snel
En door ons achterna te lopen halen zij ons in
Wat onvoordelig uit kan pakken voor een jong gezin

De donkere gedaanten zijn bijzonder vlug ter been
Ze lopen op vier poten, en ze kijken heel gemeen
Ze hebben grote tanden, dat is duidelijk te zien
Het zijn waarschijnlijk wolven, en kwaadaardig bovendien

Al is de toestand zorgelijk, ik raak niet in paniek
Ik houd de moed erin door middel van de volksmuziek
We kennen onze bundel en we zingen heel wat af
Terwijl de wolven nader komen in gestrekte draf

Het is van hier naar Omsk nog een kleine honderd werst
't Is prettig dat de paarden net vanmiddag zijn ververst
Wel jammer dat de wolven ons toch hebben ingehaald
Men ziet de flinke eetlust die hun uit de ogen straalt

We doen heel onbekommerd en we zingen continu
Toch moet er iets gebeuren onder moeders paraplu
En zonder op te vallen overleg ik met mijn vrouw
"Wie moet er aan geloven," vraag ik, "toe, bedenk eens gauw"

"Moet Igor het maar wezen?", "Nee, want Igor speelt viool"
"Wat vind je van Natasja?", "Maar die leert zo goed op school!"
"En Sonja dan?", "Nee, Sonja niet, zij heeft een mooie alt"
Zodat de keus tenslotte op de kleine Pjotr valt

Dus onder het gezang pak ik het ventje handig beet
Daar vliegt hij uit de trojka met een griezelige kreet
De wolven hebben alle aandacht voor die lekkernij
Nog vierentachtig werst en o, wat zijn wij heden blij

We mogen Pjotr wel waarderen om zijn eetbaarheid
Want daardoor raken wij die troep voorlopig even kwijt
Zo jagen wij maar voort als in een gruwelijke droom
Ajo ajo ajo al in die hoge klapperboom

Daar klinkt weer dat gehuil, en onze hoop is weer verscheurd
De wolven zijn terug en nu is Sonja aan de beurt
Daar gaat het arme kind, zij was zo vrolijk en zo braaf
Nog achtenzestig werst en in Den Haag daar woont een graaf

Ik zit nog na te peinzen en mijn vrouw stort meen'ge traan
En kijk daar komen achter ons de wolven al weer aan
Dus Igor, 't is wel spijtig maar jij wordt geen virtuoos
Nog tweeënvijftig werst en daar was laatst een meisje loos

Nu Igor is verwijderd hebben wij weer even rust
Maar nee, daar zijn de wolven weer, op nog een maal belust
De doodskreet van Natasja snijdt ons pijnlijk door de ziel
Nog zesendertig werst en in een blauwgeruite kiel

Mijn vrouw en ik zijn over, dus we zingen een duet
En als 't even mee wil zitten halen we het net
Helaas, ik moet haar afstaan aan de hongerige troep
Nu nog maar twintig werst en Hoeperdepoep zat op de stoep

Ik zing nu weer wat lustiger want Omsk komt in zicht
Ik maak een sprong van blijdschap en verlies mijn evenwicht
Terwijl de wolven mij verslinden, denk ik "Dat is pech
Ja Omsk dat is een mooie stad, maar net iets te ver weg"

(Trojka hier, trojka daar)
Ja, je ziet er veel dit jaar
(Trojka hier, trojka daar)
Overal zit paardehaar
(Trojka hier, trojka daar)
Steeds uit voorraad leverbaar
(Trojka hier, trojka daar)
Zachtjes snort de samovar
(Trojka hier, trojka daar)
Met een Slavisch handgebaar
(Trojka hier, trojka daar)
Doe het zelf met naald en schaar
(Trojka hier, trojka daar)
Is dat nu niet wonderbaar?
(Trojka hier, trojka daar)
Twee halfom en één tartaar
(Trojka hier, trojka daar)
Een liefdadigheidsbazar
(Trojka hier, trojka daar)
Hulde aan het gouden paar
(Trojka hier, trojka daar)
Foei, hoe suffend staat gij daar
(Trojka hier, trojka daar)
Moeder is de koffie klaar?
(Trojka hier, trojka daar)
Kijk, daar loopt een adelaar
(Trojka hier, trojka daar)
Is hier ook een abattoir?
(Trojka hier, trojka daar)
Basgitaar en klapsigaar
(Trojka hier, trojka daar)
Flinkgebouwde weduwnaar
(Trojka hier, trojka daar)
Leve onze goede Czar!

Titel: Re: Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: Lorelei op 12-12-2003, 02:55:59

Mr. Hyde

Light.. or is it a void?- dances before my eyes.
I awaken, renewed, the need for sin and lies
Consume me, have transformed me, am fixated, in awe.
I stare once again into the the darkness' gaping maw and i
Feel comforted. its black velvet, motherly, tenderly, caresses me.
I embrace it, choke the black slippery thing down, whatever i see
Before me, devoured. in an instant we are one.
In the mirror, a figure: strangely familiar
Someone i knew? a self in distant past?
I probably will never know. memories never last
they corrode, age, melt away, boulders into sand.
it's all that is left of me, this blackness is what i am.
I seek to fill this void with tongue and lash,
With rope, the knife's edge, fire and wax
I forge a bond with this new heart, darkness, and fear
I will hold tenderness no more, release it, nevermore shed any tear,
For anyone, nor for myself. i blend into the crowd
We are animals, gruesome, base, defiled, and proud.
I choose my victim carefully, knew her all along
Attracted into border districts by the promise of her song.
Alleyways, music and laughter, and drunken stink, and bile,
This deluge is home to me, i willingly mock and defile.
Bastard child of chemistry, my new animal self
Fits me like a glove. love only me, no one else.
But it fades in time, my potion lingers a moment, then is gone.
Its sweet delusions evacuate, like insects retreating at dawn.
They bore holes into me, cocoons of evil safe
In the corridors of my subsconscious, a dark mansion of hate
Waiting for its master to return home someday,
Awakened by the sweetest poison, where animal virtues lay.

Titel: Re: Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: Icarus op 14-12-2003, 19:28:15

The Cremation of Sam McGee - Robert Service

There are strange things done in the midnight sun
By the men who moil for gold;
The Arctic trails have their secret tales
That would make your blood run cold;
The Northern Lights have seen queer sights,
But the queerest they ever did see
Was that night on the marge of Lake Lebarge
I cremated Sam McGee.

Now Sam McGee was from Tennessee, where the cotton blooms and blows.
Why he left his home in the South to roam 'round the Pole, God only knows.
He was always cold, but the land of gold seemed to hold him like a spell;
Though he'd often say in his homely way that he'd "sooner live in hell".

On a Christmas Day we were mushing our way over the Dawson trail.
Talk of your cold! through the parka's fold it stabbed like a driven nail.
If our eyes we'd close, then the lashes froze till sometimes we couldn't see;
It wasn't much fun, but the only one to whimper was Sam McGee.

And that very night, as we lay packed tight in our robes beneath the snow,
And the dogs were fed, and the stars o'erhead were dancing heel and toe,
He turned to me, and "Cap," says he, "I'll cash in this trip, I guess;
And if I do, I'm asking that you won't refuse my last request."

Well, he seemed so low that I couldn't say no; then he says with a sort of moan:
"It's the cursed cold, and it's got right hold till I'm chilled clean through to the bone.
Yet 'tain't being dead -- it's my awful dread of the icy grave that pains;
So I want you to swear that, foul or fair, you'll cremate my last remains."

A pal's last need is a thing to heed, so I swore I would not fail;
And we started on at the streak of dawn; but God! he looked ghastly pale.
He crouched on the sleigh, and he raved all day of his home in Tennessee;
And before nightfall a corpse was all that was left of Sam McGee.

There wasn't a breath in that land of death, and I hurried, horror-driven,
With a corpse half hid that I couldn't get rid, because of a promise given;
It was lashed to the sleigh, and it seemed to say: "You may tax your brawn and brains,
But you promised true, and it's up to you to cremate those last remains."

Now a promise made is a debt unpaid, and the trail has its own stern code.
In the days to come, though my lips were dumb, in my heart how I cursed that load.
In the long, long night, by the lone firelight, while the huskies, round in a ring,
Howled out their woes to the homeless snows --O God! how I loathed the thing.

And every day that quiet clay seemed to heavy and heavier grow;
And on I went, though the dogs were spent and the grub was getting low;
The trail was bad, and I felt half mad, but I swore I would not give in;
And I'd often sing to the hateful thing, and it hearkened with a grin.

Till I came to the marge of Lake Lebarge, and a derelict there lay;
It was jammed in the ice, but I saw in a trice it was called the "Alice May".
And I looked at it, and I thought a bit, and I looked at my frozen chum;
Then "Here", said I, with a sudden cry, "is my cre-ma-tor-eum."

Some planks I tore from the cabin floor, and I lit the boiler fire;
Some coal I found that was lying around, and I heaped the fuel higher;
The flames just soared, and the furnace roared -- such a blaze you seldom see;
And I burrowed a hole in the glowing coal, and I stuffed in Sam McGee.

Then I made a hike, for I didn't like to hear him sizzle so;
And the heavens scowled, and the huskies howled, and the wind began to blow.
It was icy cold, but the hot sweat rolled down my cheeks, and I don't know why;
And the greasy smoke in an inky cloak went streaking down the sky.

I do not know how long in the snow I wrestled with grisly fear;
But the stars came out and they danced about 'ere again I ventured near;
I was sick with dread, but I bravely said: "I'll just take a peep inside.
I guess he's cooked, and it's time I looked";. . . then the door I opened wide.

And there sat Sam, looking cool and calm, in the heart of the furnace roar;
And he wore a smile you could see a mile, and he said: "Please close that door.
It's fine in here, but I greatly fear you'll let in the cold and storm --
Since I left Plumtree, down in Tennessee, it's the first time I've been warm."

There are strange things done in the midnight sun
By the men who moil for gold;
The Arctic trails have their secret tales
That would make your blood run cold;
The Northern Lights have seen queer sights,
But the queerest they ever did see
Was that night on the marge of Lake Lebarge
I cremated Sam McGee.

Titel: Re: Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: Icarus op 14-12-2003, 22:07:42

Ghost House - Robert Lee Frost

I dwell in a lonely house I know
That vanished many a summer ago,
And left no trace but the cellar walls,
And a cellar in which the daylight falls,
And the purple-stemmed wild raspberries grow.

O'er ruined fences the grape-vines shield
The woods come back to the mowing field;
The orchard tree has grown one copse
Of new wood and old where the woodpecker chops;
The footpath down to the well is healed.

I dwell with a strangely aching heart
In that vanished abode there far apart
On that disused and forgotten road
That has no dust-bath now for the toad.
Night comes; the black bats tumble and dart;

The whippoorwill is coming to shout
And hush and cluck and flutter about:
I hear him begin far enough away
Full many a time to say his say
Before he arrives to say it out.

It is under the small, dim, summer star.
I know not who these mute folk are
Who share the unlit place with me--
Those stones out under the low-limbed tree
Doubtless bear names that the mosses mar.

They are tireless folk, but slow and sad,
Though two, close-keeping, are lass and lad,--
With none among them that ever sings,
And yet, in view of how many things,
As sweet companions as might be had.

Titel: Re: Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: Lorelei op 23-12-2003, 23:07:04

Dark House - Lord Tennysson

Dark house, by which once more I stand
Here in the long unlovely street.
Doors, where my heart was used to beat
So quickly, waiting for a hand.A hand that can be clasped no more
Behold me, for I cannot sleep,
And like a guilty thing I creep
At earliest morning to the door.

He is not here; but far away
The noise of life begins again,
And ghastly through the drizzling rain
On the bald street breaks the blank day.

Titel: Re: Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: Lorelei op 23-12-2003, 23:08:19

De Zee - Drs P

'De zee', zo sprak mijn sterk doorgroefde buurman
'De zee, dat is een machtig fenomeen...'
Ik zag hoe hij, verzonken in gedachten
Zijn pijp uitklopte op zijn houten been

Nieuwsgierig maar geduldig bleef ik wachten
En hij hervond de draad van zijn betoog
'De zee', vervolgde hij, 'heeft veel facetten
Ja, meer dan u zou denken op het oog

Wij kenners plegen daar wel op te letten
En raken er niet over uitgepraat'
Ik voelde dat hij aan het woord zou blijven
En dacht: 'Nu ja, dan wordt het maar eens laat'

'De zee, die laat zich niet beknopt omschrijven
Ze kan soms ruw of hoog zijn, dan weer glad
Ze kan ons ook voor grote raadsels stellen
Dat heb ik dikwijls bij de hand gehad

De zee, meneer, laat ik u dat vertellen
Zowaar als ik hier zit, is mysterieus
En nu zult u me ongetwijfeld vragen
Om hierop door te gaan...' Ik had geen keus

'Met aardrijkskunde zal ik u niet plagen
Maar wat er in de zee niet alles leeft:
Waaronder veel, waarvan men in de regel
Niet eens een weerschijn van vermoeden heeft

Ik noem nu maar de koe, de vlo, de egel
De anemoon, de appel, de citroen
En verder - waar u vast wel van zult schrikken -
De draak, de duizendpoot, de schorpioen

En zelfs (ik zit het heus niet aan te dikken)
De wolf, de spin, de duivel en het spook...
U kunt zich daar althans een beeld bij vormen
Maar onbekende wezens zijn er ook

En die onttrekken zich aan alle normen
Daarvoor ben ik - geen lafaard - steeds gevlucht!
U kent misschien het paardje, maar de paarde?
De predenaar? De fopening? De plucht?

Wat dacht u van het frooster? De reerwaarde?
De plijm, de ploog, het fraampje en de glijn?
Dat zijn nog lang niet alle ongedierten
Die in de diepe zee te vinden zijn...'

De rook hing boven ons in lange slierten
Het laatste glas werd naar de mond gebracht
Toen ging hij heen, de zwaarbeproefde stuurman
En mooi dat ik onrustig sliep, die nacht.

Titel: Re: Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: Lorelei op 23-12-2003, 23:10:25

The Haunted House - Thomas Hood

Oh, very gloomy is the house of woe,
Where tears are falling while the bell is knelling,
With all the dark solemnities that show
That Death is in the dwelling!

Oh, very, very dreary is the room
Where Love, domestic Love, no longer nestles,
But smitten by the common stroke of doom,
The corpse lies on the trestles!

But house of woe, and hearse, and sable pall,
The narrow home of the departed mortal,
Ne’er looked so gloomy as that Ghostly Hall,
With its deserted portal!

The centipede along the threshold crept,
The cobweb hung across in mazy tangle,
And in its winding sheet the maggot slept
At every nook and angle.

The keyhole lodged the earwig and her brood,
The emmets of the steps has old possession,
And marched in search of their diurnal food
In undisturbed procession.

As undisturbed as the prehensile cell
Of moth or maggot, or the spider’s tissue,
For never foot upon that threshold fell,
To enter or to issue.

O’er all there hung the shadow of a fear,
A sense of mystery the spirit daunted,
And said, as plain as whisper in the ear,
The place is haunted.

Howbeit, the door I pushed—or so I dreamed--
Which slowly, slowly gaped, the hinges creaking
With such a rusty eloquence, it seemed
That Time himself was speaking.

But Time was dumb within that mansion old,
Or left his tale to the heraldic banners
That hung from the corroded walls, and told
Of former men and manners.

Those tattered flags, that with the opened door,
Seemed the old wave of battle to remember,
While fallen fragments danced upon the floor
Like dead leaves in December.

The startled bats flew out, bird after bird,
The screech-owl overhead began to flutter,
And seemed to mock the cry that she had heard
Some dying victim utter!

A shriek that echoed from the joisted roof,
And up the stair, and further still and further,
Till in some ringing chamber far aloof
In ceased its tale of murther!

Meanwhile the rusty armor rattled round,
The banner shuddered, and the ragged streamer;
All things the horrid tenor of the sound
Acknowledged with a tremor.

The antlers where the helmet hung, and belt,
Stirred as the tempest stirs the forest branches,
Or as the stag had trembled when he felt
The bloodhound at his haunches.

The window jingled in its crumbled frame,
And through its many gaps of destitution
Dolorous moans and hollow sighings came,
Like those of dissolution.

The wood-louse dropped, and rolled into a ball,
Touched by some impulse occult or mechanic;
And nameless beetles ran along the wall
In universal panic.

The subtle spider, that, from overhead,
Hung like a spy on human guilt and error,
Suddenly turned, and up its slender thread
Ran with a nimble terror.

The very stains and fractures on the wall,
Assuming features solemn and terrific,
Hinted some tragedy of that old hall,
Locked up in hieroglyphic.

Some tale that might, perchance, have solved the doubt,
Wherefore, among those flags so dull and livid,
The banner of the bloody hand shone out
So ominously vivid.

Some key to that inscrutable appeal
Which made the very frame of Nature quiver,
And every thrilling nerve and fiber feel
So ague-like a shiver.

For over all there hung a cloud of fear,
A sense of mystery the spirit daunted,
And said, as plain as whisper in the ear,
The place is haunted!

Prophetic hints that filled the soul with dread,
But through one gloomy entrance pointing mostly,
The while some secret inspiration said,
“That chamber is the ghostly!”

Across the door no gossamer festoon
Swung pendulous, --no web, no dusty fringes,
No silky chrysalis or white cocoon,
About its nooks and hinges.

The spider shunned the interdicted room,
The moth, the beetle, and the fly were banished,
And when the sunbeam fell athwart the gloom,
The very midge had vanished.

One lonely ray that glanced upon a bed,
As if with awful aim direct and certain,
To show the Bloody Hand, in burning red,
Embroidered on the curtain.

Titel: Re: Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: Lorelei op 23-12-2003, 23:15:25

Premonition - Robert Service

'Twas a year ago and the moon was bright
    (Oh, I remember so well, so well);
I walked with my love in a sea of light,
   And the voice of my sweet was a silver bell.
      And sudden the moon grew strangely dull,
        And sudden my love had taken wing;
I looked on the face of a grinning skull,
         I strained to my heart a ghastly thing.

'Twas but fantasy, for my love lay still
In my arms, with her tender eyes aglow,
And she wondered why my lips were chill,
    Why I was silent and kissed her so.
        A year has gone and the moon is bright,
               A gibbous moon, like a ghost of woe;
I sit by a new-made grave to-night,
And my heart is broken -- it's strange, you know.

Titel: Re: Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: Lorelei op 23-12-2003, 23:17:32

Spirits Of The Dead - Edgar Allan Poe

Thy soul shall find itself alone
'Mid dark thoughts of the grey tomb-stone;
Not one, of all the crowd, to pry
Into thine hour of secrecy.

Be silent in that solitude,
Which is not loneliness- for then
The spirits of the dead, who stood
In life before thee, are again
In death around thee, and their will
Shall overshadow thee; be still.

The night, though clear, shall frown,
And the stars shall not look down
From their high thrones in the Heaven
With light like hope to mortals given,
But their red orbs, without beam,
To thy weariness shall seem
As a burning and a fever
Which would cling to thee for ever.

Now are thoughts thou shalt not banish,
Now are visions ne'er to vanish;
From thy spirit shall they pass
No more, like dew-drop from the grass.

The breeze, the breath of God, is still,
And the mist upon the hill
Shadowy, shadowy, yet unbroken,
Is a symbol and a token.
How it hangs upon the trees,
A mystery of mysteries!

Titel: Re: Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: Lorelei op 23-12-2003, 23:23:39

The Beast - Holly J Laney

Young soul, with eyes

that burn so bright,

follow me

into the night.

Fear not the snares

that lay before,

for what this darkness

has in store.

A glitt’ring prize

at the end of the road:

go on, creep close,

let your eyes behold.

What day has wrought,

night reveals,

What life brings forth,

death does steal.

Nothing sacred,

to this beast:

Its devouring march

will never cease.

For the gift now found

at the end of the path

Is a once whole heart,

now torn in half;

To place within

a hollow chest,

Torn deep by the claws,

of love’s conquest.

Titel: Re: Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: Lorelei op 23-12-2003, 23:25:22

'The Waste Land (Part IV)'

IV. Death By Water

Phlebas the Phoenician, a fortnight dead,
Forgot the cry of gulls, and the deep seas swell
And the profit and loss.
      A current under sea
Picked his bones in whispers. As he rose and fell
He passed the stages of his age and youth
Entering the whirlpool.
      Gentile or Jew
O you who turn the wheel and look to windward,
Consider Phlebas, who was once handsome and tall as you.

   -- T. S. Eliot

Titel: Re: Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: Lorelei op 23-12-2003, 23:41:09

Fragment uit hoofdstuk V van ' Bored of the Rings' , een parodie op Lord of the Rings ;D

..As Goodgulf stepped onto the bridge the passage echoed with an ominous dribble, dribble, and a great crowd of narcs burst forth. In their midst was a towering dark shadow too terrible to describe. In it's hand it held a huge black globe and on its chest was written in cruel runes, "Villanova."

"Aiyee," shouted Legolam, "A ballhog!"

Goodgulf turned to face the dread shadow, and as he did, it slowly circled toward the bridge, bouncing the grim sphere as it came. The Wizard reeled back and, clutching at the ropes, raised his wand. "Back, vile hoopster," he cried.

At this the ballhog strode forward onto the bridge, and stepping back, the wizard drew himself up to his full height and said, "Avaunt, thin-clad one!"

Arrowroot waved Krona. "He cannot hold the bridge," he shouted and rushed forward.

"E pluribus unum," cried Bromosel and leaped after him.

"Esso extra," said Legolam, jumping behind him.

"Kaiser Frazer," shouted Gimlet, running up to join them.

The ballhog sprang forward, and raising the dread globe over his head, uttered a triumphant cry.

"Dulce et decorum," said Bromosel, hacking at the bridge.

"Above and beyond," said Arrowroot, chopping a support.

"A far, far better thing," said Legolam, slicing through the walkway.

"Nearer my God to thee," hummed Gimlet, cutting the last stay with a quick ax stroke.

With a loud snap, the bridge collapsed, spilling Goodgulf and the ballhog into the abyss. Arrowroot turned away and, stifling a sob, ran along the passage with the rest of the company close behind...

...On the far bank of the river they found a thick strand of dead trees covered with signs in Elveranto which said, "Come to the fabulous Elf Village," "Visit the Snake Farm," Don't miss Santa's Workshop," and "Help Keep Our Forest Enchanted!"

"Lalornadoon, Lalornadoon," sighed Legolam, "wonder of Lower Middle Earth!"

At that, a door in the trunk of a large tree opened, revealing a small room filled with postcard racks, loudly clicking cuckoo clocks, and boxes of maple-sugar candies. A greasy-looking elf slipped out from behind a taffy machine.

"Welcome Wagon," he said, bowing low. "I am Pentel."

"Come hither, conastoga," said Legolam.

"Well, well, well," said the elf, coughing importantly, "we are a bit out of season, aren't we?"

"We're just passing through," said Arrowroot.

"No matter," said Pentel. "Plenty to see, plenty to see. On the left, your petrified tree, to the right your Echo Rock and your Natural Bridge, and just ahead your Old Wishing Well."

"We've come from Doria," Arrowroot continued," We're on our way to Fordor."

The elf blanched. "I hope you've enjoyed your visit to Lornadoon Land of Magic," he said quickly, and handing them a sheaf of folders and pack-horse stickers, he leaped into the tree and slammed and bolted the door.

"These are troubled times," said Arrowroot...

...A moment later the door to the great tree swung open and a short elf stepped out. "Cellophane and Lavalier await you abovestairs," he said, and led the company into the wide trunk. The tree was completely hollow, and the inside was covered with brick-design wallpaper. A circular staircase led through a hole in the ceiling to an upper story, and the elf motioned for them to ascend the narrow steps. As they reached the top, they found themselves in a room decorated much as the one below, but brightly lit by great wagon-wheel chandeliers which hung from the lofty roof. On a pair of tree stumps at the end of the room sat Cellophane and Lavalier, arrayed in rich muslin.

Titel: Re: Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: Lorelei op 23-12-2003, 23:46:54

"Welcome to Lornadoon," said Lavalier, rising slowly to her feet, and it seemed to the company that she was as fair as a young sapling or scrub oak. She had magnificent chestnut hair, and when she shook her head, handfuls of magnificent chestnuts dropped to the floor like rain. Frito toyed with the Ring and wondered at her great beauty.

"I see, Frito," she said, "that as you toy with the Ring, you wonder at my great beauty."

Frito gasped.

"Do not fear," she said, solemnly tweaking his nose. "Nasties we're not."

Cellophane then rose and greeted each of the travelers in turn, and motioning for them to sit down on the rubber toadstools arranged around the room, bid them tell the tale of their adventures.

Arrowroot cleared his throat. "Once upon a time," he began.

"Call me Ishmael," said Gimlet.

"Whanne in Aprille," started Legolam.

"Hear me, oh Muse," commenced Bromosel.

After some discussion, Frito told the whole story of the Ring, of Dildo's party, the Black Schleppers, the Caucus of Orlon, Doria, and Goodgulf's untimely passing.

"Woodja, woodja, woo," said Cellophane sadly when Frito had finished.

Lavalier sighed deeply. "Your journey is long and hard," she said.

"Yes," said Cellophane, "you bear a great burden."

"Your enemies are powerful and merciless," said Lavalier.

"You have much to fear," said Cellophane.

"You leave at dawn," said Lavalier...

..."Farewell," said Lavaier, as the company crammed themselves into the boats. "A great journey begins with a single step. No man is an island."

"The early bird gets the worm," said Cellophane.

The rafts slipped out into the river, and Cellophane and Lavalier boarded a great boat-shaped swan and drifted a short distance behind them, and Lavalier sat in the prow and sang an elvish lament to the heart-breaking timbre of steel drums:

"Dago, Dago, Lassi Lima rintintin
Yanqui unicycle ramar rotoroot
Telstar aloha saarinen cloret
Stassen camaro impala desoto?
Gardol oleo telephon lumumbal
Chappaqua havatampa muriel
U canleada horsta wata, bwana,
Butyu canna makit drinque!

Comsat melba rubaiyat nirvana
Garcia y vega hiawatha aloo.
O mithra, mithra, I fain wud lie doon!
Valdaree valdera, que sera, sirrah,
Honi soit la vache qui rit.
Honi soit la vache qui rit."

("Oh the leaves are falling, the flowers are wilting, and the rivers are all going Republican. O Ramar, Ramar, ride quickly on your golden unicycle and warn the nymphs and drag queens! Ah, now who shall gather lichee nuts and make hoopla under the topiaries? Who will trim my unicorns? See, even now the cows laugh, Alas, alas." Chorus: "We are the chorus and we agree. We agree, we agree, we agree."

As the tiny boats passed round a bend in the river, Frito looked back in time to see the Lady Lavalier gracefully sticking her finger down her throat in the ancient elvish farewell.

Bromosel looked ahead to where the meandering of the river had brought them face to face with the barely risen sun. "The early bird gets hepatitis," he grunted, and fell asleep...

...At that moment there came a great crashing in the nearby woods, and a band of howling narcs and grunting beavers descended on the luckless party.

Arrowroot leaped to his feet. "Evinrude," he cried, and drawing the sword Krona, handed it hilt-first to the nearest narc.

"Joyvah Halvah," shouted Gimlet, and dropped his adze. (axe?)

""Unguentine," said Legolam, putting his hands on his head.

"Ipso facto," growled Bromosel, and unbuckled his sword belt.

Spam rushed over to Frito in the heat of the surrender and grasped him by the arm. "Time to trot, bwana," he said, drawing a shawl over his head, and the two boggies slipped down to the boats and out into the river before the charging narcs and their lumbering allies missed them.

The chief narc grabbed Arrowroot by the lapels and shook him fiercely. "Where are the boggies?" he screamed. Arrowroot turned to where Frito and Spam had been standing and then to Moxie and Pepsi, who were hiding next to where Legolam and Gimlet were playing possum.

Titel: Re: Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: Lorelei op 23-12-2003, 23:49:07

"You lie, you die," said the narc, and Arrowroot couldn't help but notice the tone of malice which had crept into his voice.

He pointed to the boggies, and two narcs jumped forward and swept them up in the thighs they had by way of arms.

"There's been some mistake," squealed Moxie, "I haven't got it."

""You've got the wrong man," Pepsi shrieked, "It was him," he said, pointing to Moxie.

"That's the one," cried Moxie, gesturing at Pepsi, "I'd know him anywhere. Three-five, eighty-two, tattoo on left arm of rutting dragon, two counts of aiding and abetting known Ring-bearer."

The chief narc laughed cruelly. "I give the rest of you ten to run," he said, twirling a set of giant bolos with a threatening application of english. At that, Bromosel started to sprint, but catching his feet in his sword belt, he tripped and impaled himself on his pointed shoes.

"Ye doom is ycomme true," he groaned. "O tell the Lacedomecians to damn the torpedoes." Then noisily shaking a large rattle, he expired.

The narc shook his head. "Me, you don't need," he said, and led the narc band away into the surrounding forest with Moxie and Pepsi...

Titel: Re: Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: Lorelei op 1-01-2004, 20:49:10

Het volgende stukje komt uit hoofdstuk 3 van het boek 1984, van George Orwell en is niet voor degenen met een zwakke maag

(nb on a lighter note: Room 101 is een erg humoristisch programma op de BBC met Paul Merton )

5
At each stage of his imprisonment he had known, or seemed to know, whereabouts he was in the windowless building. Possibly there were slight differences in the air pressure. The cells where the guards had beaten him were below ground level. The room where he had been interrogated by O'Brien was high up near the roof. This place was many metres underground, as deep down as it was possible to go.
It was bigger than most of the cells he had been in. But he hardly noticed his surroundings. All he noticed was that there were two small tables straight in front of him, each covered with green baize. One was only a metre or two from him, the other was further away, near the door. He was strapped upright in a chair, so tightly that he could move nothing, not even his head. A sort of pad gripped his head from behind, forcing him to look straight in front of him.
For a moment he was alone, then the door opened and O'Brien came in.
'You asked me once,' said O'Brien, 'what was in Room 101. I told you that you knew the answer already. Everyone knows it. The thing that is in Room 101 is the worst thing in the world.'
The door opened again. A guard came in, carrying something made of wire, a box or basket of some kind. He set it down on the further table. Because of the position in which O'Brien was standing. Winston could not see what the thing was.
'The worst thing in the world,' said O'Brien, 'varies from individual to individual. It may be burial alive, or death by fire, or by drowning, or by impalement, or fifty other deaths. There are cases where it is some quite trivial thing, not even fatal.'

He had moved a little to one side, so that Winston had a better view of the thing on the table. It was an oblong wire cage with a handle on top for carrying it by. Fixed to the front of it was something that looked like a fencing mask, with the concave side outwards. Although it was three or four metres away from him, he could see that the cage was divided lengthways into two compartments, and that there was some kind of creature in each. They were rats.
'In your case,' said O'Brien, 'the worst thing in the world happens to be rats.'
A sort of premonitory tremor, a fear of he was not certain what, had passed through Winston as soon as he caught his first glimpse of the cage. But at this moment the meaning of the mask-like attachment in front of it suddenly sank into him. His bowels seemed to turn to water.
'You can't do that!' he cried out in a high cracked voice. 'You couldn't, you couldn't! It's impossible.'
'Do you remember,' said O'Brien, 'the moment of panic that used to occur in your dreams? There was a wall of blackness in front of you, and a roaring sound in your ears. There was something terrible on the other side of the wall. You knew that you knew what it was, but you dared not drag it into the open. It was the rats that were on the other side of the wall.'
'O'Brien!' said Winston, making an effort to control his voice. 'You know this is not necessary. What is it that you want me to do?'
O'Brien made no direct answer. When he spoke it was in the schoolmasterish manner that he sometimes affected. He looked thoughtfully into the distance, as though he were addressing an audience somewhere behind Winston's back.

Titel: Re: Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: Lorelei op 1-01-2004, 20:50:19

'By itself,' he said, 'pain is not always enough. There are occasions when a human being will stand out against pain, even to the point of death. But for everyone there is something unendurable -- something that cannot be contemplated. Courage and cowardice are not involved. If you are falling from a height it is not cowardly to clutch at a rope. If you have come up from deep water it is not cowardly to fill your lungs with air. It is merely an instinct which cannot be destroyed. It is the same with the rats. For you, they are unendurable. They are a form of pressure that you cannot withstand, even if you wished to. You will do what is required of you.
'But what is it, what is it? How can I do it if I don't know what it is?'
O'Brien picked up the cage and brought it across to the nearer table. He set it down carefully on the baize cloth. Winston could hear the blood singing in his ears. He had the feeling of sitting in utter loneliness. He was in the middle of a great empty plain, a flat desert drenched with sunlight, across which all sounds came to him out of immense distances. Yet the cage with the rats was not two metres away from him. They were enormous rats. They were at the age when a rat's muzzle grows blunt and fierce and his fur brown instead of grey.
'The rat,' said O'Brien, still addressing his invisible audience, 'although a rodent, is carnivorous. You are aware of that. You will have heard of the things that happen in the poor quarters of this town. In some streets a woman dare not leave her baby alone in the house, even for five minutes. The rats are certain to attack it. Within quite a small time they will strip it to the bones. They also attack sick or dying people. They show astonishing intelligence in knowing when a human being is helpless.'
There was an outburst of squeals from the cage. It seemed to reach Winston from far away. The rats were fighting; they were trying to get at each other through the partition. He heard also a deep groan of despair. That, too, seemed to come from outside himself.
O'Brien picked up the cage, and, as he did so, pressed something in it. There was a sharp click. Winston made a frantic effort to tear himself loose from the chair. It was hopeless; every part of him, even his head, was held immovably. O'Brien moved the cage nearer. It was less than a metre from Winston's face.
'I have pressed the first lever,' said O'Brien. 'You understand the construction of this cage. The mask will fit over your head, leaving no exit. When I press this other lever, the door of the cage will slide up. These starving brutes will shoot out of it like bullets. Have you ever seen a rat leap through the air? They will leap on to your face and bore straight into it. Sometimes they attack the eyes first. Sometimes they burrow through the cheeks and devour the tongue.'
The cage was nearer; it was closing in. Winston heard a succession of shrill cries which appeared to be occurring in the air above his head. But he fought furiously against his panic. To think, to think, even with a split second left -- to think was the only hope. Suddenly the foul musty odour of the brutes struck his nostrils. There was a violent convulsion of nausea inside him, and he almost lost consciousness. Everything had gone black. For an instant he was insane, a screaming animal. Yet he came out of the blackness clutching an idea. There was one and only one way to save himself. He must interpose another human being, the body of another human being, between himself and the rats.

Titel: Re: Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: Lorelei op 1-01-2004, 20:51:40

The circle of the mask was large enough now to shut out the vision of anything else. The wire door was a couple of hand-spans from his face. The rats knew what was coming now. One of them was leaping up and down, the other, an old scaly grandfather of the sewers, stood up, with his pink hands against the bars, and fiercely sniffed the air. Winston could see the whiskers and the yellow teeth. Again the black panic took hold of him. He was blind, helpless, mindless.
'It was a common punishment in Imperial China,' said O'Brien as didactically as ever.
The mask was closing on his face. The wire brushed his cheek. And then -- no, it was not relief, only hope, a tiny fragment of hope. Too late, perhaps too late. But he had suddenly understood that in the whole world there was just one person to whom he could transfer his punishment -- one body that he could thrust between himself and the rats. And he was shouting frantically, over and over.
'Do it to Julia! Do it to Julia! Not me! Julia! I don't care what you do to her. Tear her face off, strip her to the bones. Not me! Julia! Not me!'
He was falling backwards, into enormous depths, away from the rats. He was still strapped in the chair, but he had fallen through the floor, through the walls of the building, through the earth, through the oceans, through the atmosphere, into outer space, into the gulfs between the stars -- always away, away, away from the rats. He was light years distant, but O'Brien was still standing at his side. There was still the cold touch of wire against his cheek. But through the darkness that enveloped him he heard another metallic click, and knew that the cage door had clicked shut and not open.

Titel: Re: Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: Lorelei op 2-01-2004, 01:21:02

The End of the Raven - by Poe's Cat

On a night quite unenchanting, when the rain was downward slanting,
I awakened to the ranting of the man I catch mice for.
Tipsy and a bit unshaven, in a tone I found quite craven,
Poe was talking to a Raven perched above the chamber door.
"Raven's very tasty," thought I, as I tiptoed o'er the floor,
"There is nothing I like more"

Soft upon the rug I treaded, calm and careful as I headed
Towards his roost atop that dreaded bust of Pallas I deplore.
While the bard and birdie chattered, I made sure that nothing clattered,
Creaked, or snapped, or fell, or shattered, as I crossed the corridor;
For his house is crammed with trinkets, curios and wierd decor - Bric-a-brac and junk galore.

Still the Raven never fluttered, standing stock-still as he uttered,
In a voice that shrieked and sputtered, his two cents' worth -
"Nevermore."

While this dirge the birdbrain kept up, oh, so silently I crept up,
Then I crouched and quickly lept up, pouncing on the feathered bore.
Soon he was a heap of plumage, and a little blood and gore -
Only this and not much more.

"Oooo!" my pickled poet cried out, "Pussycat, it's time I dried out!
Never sat I in my hideout talking to a bird before;
How I've wallowed in self-pity, while my gallant, valiant kitty
Put and end to that damned ditty" - then I heard him start to snore.
Back atop the door I clambered, eyed that statue I abhor,
Jumped - and smashed it on the floor.

Titel: Re: Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: Lorelei op 2-01-2004, 01:23:35

Dante's Inferno
Canto VI...The Gluttons
A new translation by Doctor Seuss - John Coughlin.

I was not happy, that I will say,
For when I turned 'round I was met with dismay!

Falling from the sky was rain, cold and hard,
Onto my head, and the head of Virgil, the Bard!

Black snow and foul water, it was up to our knees!
Where were we to hide? There weren't any trees!

I looked across the land, and could see ghosts all around
buried in the snow, they couldn't make a sound!

Then suddenly upon us, there sprung a great beast
with beady red eyes, and nasty yellow teeth,

His claws were like knives, and with them he would tear
at the ghosts in the snow, until their bones were laid bare!

"Who is that!" I asked my guide, my mouth a large O
"It is Cerebus the Dog!; keep your head low!"

With that my good guide picked up handfuls of slush,
threw them down the dog's throat, and then shouted "mush!"

Away ran the dog, not happy one bit
his mouth full of snow, he was in quite a snit!

Free to continue, my guide said, "let's go"
to which I replied "ode e ode e ode e O!"

Titel: Re: Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: Lorelei op 2-01-2004, 01:26:00

Dr Seuss : Startrek, The Next Generation - Dave Fuller

Picard: Sigma Indri, that's the star,
So, Data, please, how far? How far?

Data: Our ship can get there very fast
But still the trip will last and last
We'll have two days til we arrive
But can the Indrans there survive?

Picard: LaForge, please give us factor nine.

LaForge: But, sir, the engines are offline!

Picard: Offline! But why? I want to go!
Please make it so, please make it so!

Riker: But sir, if Geordi says we can't,
We can't, we mustn't, and we shan't,
The danger here is far too great!

Picard: But surely we must not be late!

Troi: I'm sensing anger and great ire.

Computer: Alert! Alert! The ship's on fire!

Picard: The ship's on fire? How could this be?
Who lit the fire?

Riker: Not me.

Worf: Not me.

Picard: Computer, how long til we die?

Computer: Eight minutes left to say goodbye.

Data: May I suggest a course to take?
We could, I think, quite safely make
Extinguishers from tractor beams
And stop the fire, or so it seems...

Geordi: Hurray! Hurray! You've saved the day!
Again I say, Hurray! Hurray!

Picard: Mr. Data, thank you much.
You've saved our lives, our ship, and such.

Troi: We still must save the Indran planet --

Data: Which (by the way) is made of granite...

Picard: Enough, you android. Please desist.
We understand -- we get your gist.
But can we get our ship to go?
Please, make it so, PLEASE make it so.

Geordi: There's sabotage among the wires
And that's what started all the fires.

Riker: We have a saboteur? Oh, no!
We need to go! We need to go!

Troi: We must seek out the traitor spy
And lock him up and ask him why?

Worf: Ask him why? How sentimental.
I say give him problems dental.

Troi: Are any Romulan ships around?
Have scanners said that they've been found?
Or is it Borg or some new threat
We haven't even heard of yet?
I sense no malice in this crew.
Now what are we supposed to do?

Crusher: Captain, please, the Indrans need us.
They cry out, "Help us, clothe us, feed us!"
I can't just sit and let them die!
A doctor MUST attempt -- MUST try!

Picard: Doctor, please, we'll get there soon.

Crusher: They may be dead by Tuesday noon.

*COMMERCIAL BREAK, COMMERCIAL BREAK
HOW LONG WILL THESE DUMB ADS TAKE?*

Worf: The saboteur is in the brig.
He's very strong and very big.
I had my phaser set on stun --
A zzzip! A zzzap! Another one!
He would not budge, he would not fall,
He would not stun, no, not at all!
He changed into a stranger form
All soft and purple, round and warm.

Picard: Did you see this, Mr. Worf?
Did you see this creature morph?

Worf: I did and then I beat him fairly.
Hit him on the jaw -- quite squarely.

Riker: My commendations, Klingon friend!
Our troubles now are at an end!

Crusher: Now let's get our ship to fly
And orbit yonder Indran sky!

Picard: LaForge, please tell me we can go...?

Geordi: Yes, sir, we can.

Picard: Then make it so!

Titel: Re: Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: Icarus op 2-01-2004, 02:11:35

Landscape With The Fall Of Icarus -William Carlos Williams

According to Brueghel
when Icarus fell
it was spring
a farmer was ploughing
his field
the whole pageantry
of the year was
awake tingling
near
the edge of the sea
concerned
with itself
sweating in the sun
that melted
the wings' wax
unsignificantly
off the coast
there was
a splash quite unnoticed
this was
Icarus drowning

Titel: Re: Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: Icarus op 2-01-2004, 02:14:43

The Fall of Rome - W.H. Auden

The piers are pummelled by the waves;
In a lonely field the rain
Lashes an abandoned train;
Outlaws fill the mountain caves.
Fantastic grow the evening gowns;
Agents of the Fisc pursue
Absconding tax-defaulters through
The sewers of provincial towns.
Private rites of magic send
The temple prostitutes to sleep;
All the literati keep
An imaginary friend.
Cerebrotonic Cato may
Extol the Ancient Disciplines,
But the muscle-bound Marines
Mutiny for food and pay.
Caesar's double-bed is warm
As an unimportant clerk
Writes I DO NOT LIKE MY WORK
On a pink official form.
Unendowed with wealth or pity,
Little birds with scarlet legs,
Sitting on their speckled eggs,
Eye each flu-infected city.
Altogether elsewhere, vast
Herds of reindeer move across
Miles and miles of golden moss,
Silently and very fast

Titel: Re: Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: Lorelei op 2-01-2004, 11:35:29

A Ballad of the last King of Thule - Sydney Jephcott

   There was a King of Thule
   Whom a Witch-wife stole at birth;
In a country known but newly,
   All under the dumb, huge Earth.
That King's in a Forest toiling;
   And he never the green sward delves
But he sees all his green waves boiling
   Over his sands and shelves;
In these sunsets vast and fiery,
   In these dawns divine he sees
Hy-Brasil, Mannan and Eire,
   And the Isle of Appletrees;
He watches, heart-still and breathless,
   The clouds through the deep day trailing,
As the white-winged vessels gathered,
   Into his harbours sailing;
Ranked Ibis and lazy Eagles
   In the great blue flame may rise,
But ne'er Sea-mew or Solan beating
   Up through their grey low skies;
When the storm-led fires are breaking,
   Great waves of the molten night,
Deep in his eyes comes aching
   The icy Boreal Light.
O, lost King, and O, people perished,
   Your Thule has grown one grave!
Unvisited as uncherished,
   Save by the wandering wave!
The billows burst in his doorways,
   The spray swoops over his walls! --
O, his banners that throb dishonoured
   O'er arms that hide in his halls --
Deserved is your desolation! --
   Why could you not stir and save
The last-born heir of your nation? --
   Sold into the South, a slave
Till he dies, and is buried duly
   In the hot Australian earth --
The lorn, lost King of Thule,
   Whom a Witch-wife stole at birth.

Titel: Re: Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: Lorelei op 2-01-2004, 11:43:40

Politically corrected ;D

The Ghosts - Robert Service

Said Lenin's ghost to Stalin's ghost:
"Mate with me in the Tomb;
Then day by day the rancid host
May gaze upon our doom.
A crystal casket we will share;
Come, crusty Comrade come,
And we will bear the public stare,
Ad nauseum."
Said Stalin's spook to Lenin's spook:
"Long have you held your place.
The masses must be bored to look
Upon your chemic face.
A change might be a good idear,
And though I pity you,
There is within the Tomb, I fear,
No room for two."
Said Lenin's wraith to Stalin's wraith:
"You're welcome to my job;
Let millions of our mighty faith
Gaze on your noble nob.
So when to goodly earth I've gone,
(And I'll be glad to go),
Your carrion can carry on
Our waxwork show."

Titel: Re: Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: Lorelei op 2-01-2004, 11:58:40

Subway Song - The Cure

Midnight in the subway
She's on her way home
She tries hard not to run
But she feels she's not alone
Echoes of footsteps
Follow close behind
But she dare not turn around

Turn around

Titel: Re: Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: Robin op 2-01-2004, 11:59:39

krijg ik echt kippevel van

Titel: Re: Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: Lorelei op 2-01-2004, 12:06:36

Ik ook Robin!!Brrr :-[

Het volgende zijn fragmenten uit The Quest- W.H. Auden

IX. The Tower
This is an architecture for the old;
Thus heaven was attacked by the afraid,
So once, unconsciously, a virgin made
Her maidenhead conspicuous to a god.
Here on dark nights while worlds of triumph sleep
Lost Love in abstract speculation burns,
And exiled Will to politics returns
In epic verse that makes its traitors weep.
Yet many come to wish their tower a well;
For those who dread to drown, of thirst may die,
Those who see all become invisible:
Here great magicians, caught in their own spell,
Long for a natural climate as they sigh
"Beware of Magic" to the passer-by.

X. The Presumptuous
They noticed that virginity was needed
To trap the unicorn in every case,
But not that, of those virgins who succeeded,
A high percentage had an ugly face.
The hero was as daring as they thought him,
But his pecular boyhood missed them all;
The angel of a broken leg had taught him
The right precautions to avoid a fall.
So in presumption they set forth alone
On what, for them, was not compulsory,
And stuck half-way to settle in some cave
With desert lions to domesticity,
Or turned aside to be absurdly brave,
And met the ogre and were turned to stone.

XII. Vocation
Incredulous, he stared at the amused
Official writing down his name among
Those whose request to suffer was refused.
The pen ceased scratching: though he came too late
To join the martyrs, there was still a place
Among the tempters for a caustic tongue
To test the resolution of the young
With tales of the small failings of the great,
And shame the eager with ironic praise.
Though mirrors might be hateful for a while,
Women and books would teach his middle age
The fencing wit of an informal style,
To keep the silences at bay and cage
His pacing manias in a worldly smile.

XIII. The Useful
The over-logical fell for the witch
Whose argument converted him to stone,
Thieves rapidly absorbed the over-rich,
The over-popular went mad alone,
And kisses brutalised the over-male.
As agents their importance quickly ceased;
Yet, in proportion as they seemed to fail,
Their instrumental value was increased
For one predestined to attain their wish.
By standing stones the blind can feel their way,
Wild dogs compel the cowardly to fight,
Beggars assist the slow to travel light,
And even madmen manage to convey
Unwelcome truths in lonely gibberish.

XX. The Garden
Within these gates all opening begins:
White shouts and flickers through its green and red,
Where children play at seven earnest sins
And dogs believe their tall conditions dead.
Here adolescence into number breaks
The perfect circle time can draw on stone,
And flesh forgives division as it makes
Another's moment of consent its own.
All journeys die here: wish and weight are lifted:
Where often round some old maid's desolation
Roses have flung their glory like a cloak,
The gaunt and great, the famed for conversation
Blushed in the stare of evening as they spoke
And felt their centre of volition shifted.

Titel: Re: Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: Lorelei op 2-01-2004, 12:31:05

Adventures Of Isabel - Ogden Nash

Isabel met an enormous bear,
Isabel, Isabel, didn't care;
The bear was hungry, the bear was ravenous,
The bear's big mouth was cruel and cavernous.
The bear said, Isabel, glad to meet you,
How do, Isabel, now I'll eat you!
Isabel, Isabel, didn't worry.
Isabel didn't scream or scurry.
She washed her hands and she straightened her hair up,
Then Isabel quietly ate the bear up.
Once in a night as black as pitch
Isabel met a wicked old witch.
the witch's face was cross and wrinkled,
The witch's gums with teeth were sprinkled.
Ho, ho, Isabel! the old witch crowed,
I'll turn you into an ugly toad!
Isabel, Isabel, didn't worry,
Isabel didn't scream or scurry,
She showed no rage and she showed no rancor,
But she turned the witch into milk and drank her.
Isabel met a hideous giant,
Isabel continued self reliant.
The giant was hairy, the giant was horrid,
He had one eye in the middle of his forhead.
Good morning, Isabel, the giant said,
I'll grind your bones to make my bread.
Isabel, Isabel, didn't worry,
Isabel didn't scream or scurry.
She nibled the zwieback that she always fed off,
And when it was gone, she cut the giant's head off.
Isabel met a troublesome doctor,
He punched and he poked till he really shocked her.
The doctor's talk was of coughs and chills
And the doctor's satchel bulged with pills.
The doctor said unto Isabel,
Swallow this, it will make you well.
Isabel, Isabel, didn't worry,
Isabel didn't scream or scurry.
She took those pills from the pill concocter,
And Isabel calmly cured the doctor.

Titel: Re: Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: Lorelei op 2-01-2004, 15:51:29

The Flying Dutchman - Edwin Arlington Robinson

Unyielding in the pride of his defiance,
Afloat with none to serve or to command,
Lord of himself at last, and all by Science,
He seeks the Vanished Land.
Alone, by the one light of his one thought,
He steers to find the shore from which he came,
Fearless of in what coil he may be caught
On seas that have no name.
Into the night he sails, and after night
There is a dawning, thought there be no sun;
Wherefore, with nothing but himself in sight,
Unsighted, he sails on.
At last there is a lifting of the cloud
Between the flood before him and the sky;
And then--though he may curse the Power aloud
That has no power to die--
He steers himself away from what is haunted
By the old ghost of what has been before,--
Abandoning, as always, and undaunted,
One fog-walled island more.

Titel: Re: Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: Lorelei op 2-01-2004, 15:56:56

Tijd voor weer een paar proefjes poezie van Neerland's grond !

Para Belles - A. Koorde

parelbel oorhostessen
taxfree maar enkel vrij op zicht
de welgebouwde
aan hun piloot
vertrouwde
sirenen van de lucht
engelen van beider kunne
in exclusief ontwerp
om mij persoonlijk lekker
verwenning toe te stoppen
wil ik koffie met traktatie
bij de extra demonstratie
klas is bak
niets zo veilig
dan met hen
te crashen
na een aangename
vlucht

Titel: Re: Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: Lorelei op 2-01-2004, 15:59:26

Galgenhumor - Arend Victorie

Midden op het dorpsplein,
staat een galg.
De dood lacht,
en telt vijftien in getal.
De beul die wacht.
Vijftien maal vijf florijnen, zullen in de beul
zijn beurs
verdwijnen.
De beul zijn vrouw lacht.

Titel: Re: Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: Lorelei op 2-01-2004, 16:01:11

K.I.P. - E. Ackermans :'(

Een kleine, witte kip,
Een krieltje zogezegd,
Had op een dag,
Zomaar, plots een ei gelegd.
Vanaf die dag besloot die kleine kip,
Zonder ook maar iemand iets te zeggen,
Dagelijks voor haar boerenbaasje,
Een smakelijk eitje te gaan leggen.
Dit deed zij jaren aan een stuk,
Netjes legde zij haar eie ren,
In een schoon en rustig hoekje,
Van haar kleine, knusse kippenren.
Op een ochtend was het echter over,
Kippetje kreeg het niet meer voor elkaar.
Geen eitje verscheen nog in het hoekje,
Ik weet dit klinkt wat raar, maar dat viel zwaar.
Boerenbaasje kon dat echter niet bevallen,
Hij maakte een eind aan het leven van onze kip,
En op het steentje van ons kippetjes’ grafje,
Stond nog niet eens… R.I.P.

Titel: Re: Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: Lorelei op 2-01-2004, 16:03:53

Trollen - Arend Victorie

Achter in mijn tuin,
onder coniferen.
Staan twee stenen trollen,
's nachts te discussieren.
Over hoe het zijn moet,
of over hoe het was.
Ze waren vroeger dagen,
veel meer in hun sas.

Toen kon je lekker dollen,
met haast ieder mens.
Een trollenstreek uithalen,
was elke trol zijn wens.
Dus werd 's nachts menig doler,
met het haardvuur al in zicht.
Geplet, onthoofd, bestolen,
en op zijn minst beentje gelicht.

Dat waren pas leuke tijden,
we dansten op menig graf.
Maar ja, zo tegenwoordig,
is de spanning er wel af.
Wie gelooft nu nog in trollen?
nee, in de staart zit het venijn.
Je ziet dat de meeste mensen,
zelf trol geworden zijn

Titel: Re: Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: Lorelei op 3-01-2004, 00:27:55

Medusa - Wouter Beek

Mijn hoofd rust op de steen
en ik groei vast
versmelting van mijn been
mijn hoofdhuid tot albast
mijn benen worden hout
mijn tenen wortelen in de aard
het voelt zo vertrouwd
en mijn verzet bedaard
mijn aderen monden in de zee
het zoute water stroomt door me heen
mijn bloed stroomt langzaam mee
en wij worden samen één
één met de wind die door mijn holten suist
resonerende windkrachten in m’n kop
één met de storm die door mijn schedel druist
vermolmde anemonen vullen mijn verkalkte oogkasten op
mijn ribben worden straks koraal
en mijn huid verteerd laat los
en mijn fossiele lichaamstaal
raakt wild begroeid met mos
en nu ik hier zo sta van steen
onherkenbaar en verdord
komt de drilboor van je stem
en slaat mijn vorm aan gort

Titel: Re: Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: Lorelei op 3-01-2004, 00:29:18

Ballad: The Ghost, the Gallant, the Gael, and the Goblin - WS Gilbert

O'er unreclaimed suburban clays
Some years ago were hobblin'
An elderly ghost of easy ways,
And an influential goblin.
The ghost was a sombre spectral shape,
A fine old five-act fogy,
The goblin imp, a lithe young ape,
A fine low-comedy bogy.
And as they exercised their joints,
Promoting quick digestion,
They talked on several curious points,
And raised this delicate question:
"Which of us two is Number One -
The ghostie, or the goblin?"
And o'er the point they raised in fun
They fairly fell a-squabblin'.
They'd barely speak, and each, in fine,
Grew more and more reflective:
Each thought his own particular line
By chalks the more effective.
At length they settled some one should
By each of them be haunted,
And so arrange that either could
Exert his prowess vaunted.
"The Quaint against the Statuesque" -
By competition lawful -
The goblin backed the Quaint Grotesque,
The ghost the Grandly Awful.
"Now," said the goblin, "here's my plan -
In attitude commanding,
I see a stalwart Englishman
By yonder tailor's standing.
"The very fittest man on earth
My influence to try on -
Of gentle, p'r'aps of noble birth,
And dauntless as a lion!
Now wrap yourself within your shroud -
Remain in easy hearing -
Observe - you'll hear him scream aloud
When I begin appearing!
The imp with yell unearthly - wild -
Threw off his dark enclosure:
His dauntless victim looked and smiled
With singular composure.
For hours he tried to daunt the youth,
For days, indeed, but vainly -
The stripling smiled! - to tell the truth,
The stripling smiled inanely.
For weeks the goblin weird and wild,
That noble stripling haunted;
For weeks the stripling stood and smiled,
Unmoved and all undaunted.
The sombre ghost exclaimed, "Your plan
Has failed you, goblin, plainly:
Now watch yon hardy Hieland man,
So stalwart and ungainly.
"These are the men who chase the roe,
Whose footsteps never falter,
Who bring with them, where'er they go,
A smack of old SIR WALTER.
Of such as he, the men sublime
Who lead their troops victorious,
Whose deeds go down to after-time,
Enshrined in annals glorious!
"Of such as he the bard has said
'Hech thrawfu' raltie rorkie!
Wi' thecht ta' croonie clapperhead
And fash' wi' unco pawkie!'
He'll faint away when I appear,
Upon his native heather;
Or p'r'aps he'll only scream with fear,
Or p'r'aps the two together."
The spectre showed himself, alone,
To do his ghostly battling,
With curdling groan and dismal moan,
And lots of chains a-rattling!
But no - the chiel's stout Gaelic stuff
Withstood all ghostly harrying;
His fingers closed upon the snuff
Which upwards he was carrying.
For days that ghost declined to stir,
A foggy shapeless giant -
For weeks that splendid officer
Stared back again defiant.
Just as the Englishman returned
The goblin's vulgar staring,
Just so the Scotchman boldly spurned
The ghost's unmannered scaring.
For several years the ghostly twain
These Britons bold have haunted,
But all their efforts are in vain -
Their victims stand undaunted.
This very day the imp, and ghost,
Whose powers the imp derided,
Stand each at his allotted post -
The bet is undecided.

Titel: Re: Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: Lorelei op 3-01-2004, 00:31:08

The House Of Dust: Part 03: 12: Witches' Sabbath - Conrad Aiken

Now, when the moon slid under the cloud
And the cold clear dark of starlight fell,
He heard in his blood the well-known bell
Tolling slowly in heaves of sound,
Slowly beating, slowly beating,
Shaking its pulse on the stagnant air:
Sometimes it swung completely round,
Horribly gasping as if for breath;
Falling down with an anguished cry . . .
Now the red bat, he mused, will fly;
Something is marked, this night, for death . . .
And while he mused, along his blood
Flew ghostly voices, remote and thin,
They rose in the cavern of his brain,
Like ghosts they died away again;
And hands upon his heart were laid,
And music upon his flesh was played,
Until, as he was bidden to do,
He walked the wood he so well knew.
Through the cold dew he moved his feet,
And heard far off, as under the earth,
Discordant music in shuddering tones,
Screams of laughter, horrible mirth,
Clapping of hands, and thudding of drums,
And the long-drawn wail of one in pain.
To-night, he thought, I shall die again,
We shall die again in the red-eyed fire
To meet on the edge of the wood beyond
With the placid gaze of fed desire . . .
He walked; and behind the whisper of trees,
In and out, one walked with him:
She parted the branches and peered at him,
Through lowered lids her two eyes burned,
He heard her breath, he saw her hand,
Wherever he turned his way, she turned:
Kept pace with him, now fast, now slow;
Moving her white knees as he moved . . .
This is the one I have always loved;
This is the one whose bat-soul comes
To dance with me, flesh to flesh,
In the starlight dance of horns and drums . . .
The walls and roofs, the scarlet towers,
Sank down behind a rushing sky.
He heard a sweet song just begun
Abruptly shatter in tones and die.
It whirled away. Cold silence fell.
And again came tollings of a bell.
* * * * *
This air is alive with witches: the white witch rides
Swifter than smoke on the starlit wind.
In the clear darkness, while the moon hides,
They come like dreams, like something remembered . .
Let us hurry! beloved; take my hand,
Forget these things that trouble your eyes,
Forget, forget! Our flesh is changed,
Lighter than smoke we wreathe and rise . . .
The cold air hisses between us . . . Beloved, beloved,
What was the word you said?
Something about clear music that sang through water . . .
I cannot remember. The storm-drops break on the leaves.
Something was lost in the darkness. Someone is dead.
Someone lies in the garden and grieves.
Look how the branches are tossed in this air,
Flinging their green to the earth!
Black clouds rush to devour the stars in the sky,
The moon stares down like a half-closed eye.
The leaves are scattered, the birds are blown,
Oaks crash down in the darkness,
We run from our windy shadows; we are running alone.
* * * * *
The moon was darkened: across it flew
The swift grey tenebrous shape he knew,
Like a thing of smoke it crossed the sky,
The witch! he said. And he heard a cry,
And another came, and another came,
And one, grown duskily red with blood,
Floated an instant across the moon,
Hung like a dull fantastic flame . . .
The earth has veins: they throb to-night,
The earth swells warm beneath my feet,
The tips of the trees grow red and bright,
The leaves are swollen, I feel them beat,
They press together, they push and sigh,
They listen to hear the great bat cry,
The great red bat with the woman's face . . .
Hurry! he said. And pace for pace
That other, who trod the dark with him,
Crushed the live leaves, reached out white hands
And closed her eyes, the better to see
The priests with claws, the lovers with hooves,
The fire-lit rock, the sarabands.
I am here! she said. The bough he broke—
Was it the snapping bough that spoke?
I am here! she said. The white thigh gleamed
Cold in starlight among dark leaves,
The head thrown backward as he had dreamed,
The shadowy red deep jasper mouth;
And the lifted hands, and the virgin breasts,
Passed beside him, and vanished away.
I am here! she cried. He answered 'Stay!'
And laughter arose, and near and far
Answering laughter rose and died . . .
Who is there? in the dark? he cried.
He stood in terror, and heard a sound
Of terrible hooves on the hollow ground;
They rushed, were still; a silence fell;
And he heard deep tollings of a bell.
* * * * *

Titel: Re: Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: Lorelei op 3-01-2004, 00:36:09

Now, when the moon slid under the cloud
And the cold clear dark of starlight fell,
He heard in his blood the well-known bell
Tolling slowly in heaves of sound,
Slowly beating, slowly beating,
Shaking its pulse on the stagnant air:
Sometimes it swung completely round,
Horribly gasping as if for breath;
Falling down with an anguished cry . . .
Now the red bat, he mused, will fly;
Something is marked, this night, for death . . .
And while he mused, along his blood
Flew ghostly voices, remote and thin,
They rose in the cavern of his brain,
Like ghosts they died away again;
And hands upon his heart were laid,
And music upon his flesh was played,
Until, as he was bidden to do,
He walked the wood he so well knew.
Through the cold dew he moved his feet,
And heard far off, as under the earth,
Discordant music in shuddering tones,
Screams of laughter, horrible mirth,
Clapping of hands, and thudding of drums,
And the long-drawn wail of one in pain.
To-night, he thought, I shall die again,
We shall die again in the red-eyed fire
To meet on the edge of the wood beyond
With the placid gaze of fed desire . . .
He walked; and behind the whisper of trees,
In and out, one walked with him:
She parted the branches and peered at him,
Through lowered lids her two eyes burned,
He heard her breath, he saw her hand,
Wherever he turned his way, she turned:
Kept pace with him, now fast, now slow;
Moving her white knees as he moved . . .
This is the one I have always loved;
This is the one whose bat-soul comes
To dance with me, flesh to flesh,
In the starlight dance of horns and drums . . .
The walls and roofs, the scarlet towers,
Sank down behind a rushing sky.
He heard a sweet song just begun
Abruptly shatter in tones and die.
It whirled away. Cold silence fell.
And again came tollings of a bell.
* * * * *
This air is alive with witches: the white witch rides
Swifter than smoke on the starlit wind.
In the clear darkness, while the moon hides,
They come like dreams, like something remembered . .
Let us hurry! beloved; take my hand,
Forget these things that trouble your eyes,
Forget, forget! Our flesh is changed,
Lighter than smoke we wreathe and rise . . .
The cold air hisses between us . . . Beloved, beloved,
What was the word you said?
Something about clear music that sang through water . . .
I cannot remember. The storm-drops break on the leaves.
Something was lost in the darkness. Someone is dead.
Someone lies in the garden and grieves.
Look how the branches are tossed in this air,
Flinging their green to the earth!
Black clouds rush to devour the stars in the sky,
The moon stares down like a half-closed eye.
The leaves are scattered, the birds are blown,
Oaks crash down in the darkness,
We run from our windy shadows; we are running alone.
* * * * *
The moon was darkened: across it flew
The swift grey tenebrous shape he knew,
Like a thing of smoke it crossed the sky,
The witch! he said. And he heard a cry,
And another came, and another came,
And one, grown duskily red with blood,
Floated an instant across the moon,
Hung like a dull fantastic flame . . .
The earth has veins: they throb to-night,
The earth swells warm beneath my feet,
The tips of the trees grow red and bright,
The leaves are swollen, I feel them beat,
They press together, they push and sigh,
They listen to hear the great bat cry,
The great red bat with the woman's face . . .
Hurry! he said. And pace for pace
That other, who trod the dark with him,
Crushed the live leaves, reached out white hands
And closed her eyes, the better to see
The priests with claws, the lovers with hooves,
The fire-lit rock, the sarabands.
I am here! she said. The bough he broke—
Was it the snapping bough that spoke?
I am here! she said. The white thigh gleamed
Cold in starlight among dark leaves,
The head thrown backward as he had dreamed,
The shadowy red deep jasper mouth;
And the lifted hands, and the virgin breasts,
Passed beside him, and vanished away.
I am here! she cried. He answered 'Stay!'
And laughter arose, and near and far
Answering laughter rose and died . . .
Who is there? in the dark? he cried.
He stood in terror, and heard a sound
Of terrible hooves on the hollow ground;
They rushed, were still; a silence fell;
And he heard deep tollings of a bell.

Titel: Re: Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: Lorelei op 3-01-2004, 00:38:06

* * * * *
Look beloved! Why do you hide your face?
Look, in the centre there, above the fire,
They are bearing the boy who blasphemed love!
They are playing a piercing music upon him
With a bow of living wire! . . .
The virgin harlot sings,
She leans above the beautiful anguished body,
And draws slow music from those strings.
They dance around him, they fling red roses upon him,
They trample him with their naked feet,
His cries are lost in laughter,
Their feet grow dark with his blood, they beat and
beat,
They dance upon him, until he cries no more . . .
Have we not heard that cry before?
Somewhere, somewhere,
Beside a sea, in the green evening,
Beneath green clouds, in a copper sky . . .
Was it you? was it I?
They have quenched the fires, they dance in the darkness,
The satyrs have run among them to seize and tear,
Look! he has caught one by the hair,
She screams and falls, he bears her away with him,
And the night grows full of whistling wings.
Far off, one voice, serene and sweet,
Rises and sings . . .
'By the clear waters where once I died,
In the calm evening bright with stars. . . .'
Where have I heard these words? Was it you who sang them?
It was long ago.
Let us hurry, beloved! the hard hooves trample;
The treetops tremble and glow.
In the clear dark, on silent wings,
The red bat hovers beneath her moon;
She drops through the fragrant night, and clings
Fast in the shadow, with hands like claws,
With soft eyes closed and mouth that feeds,
To the young white flesh that warmly bleeds.
The maidens circle in dance, and raise
From lifting throats, a soft-sung praise;
Their knees and breasts are white and bare,
They have hung pale roses in their hair,
Each of them as she dances by
Peers at the blood with a narrowed eye.
See how the red wing wraps him round,
See how the white youth struggles in vain!
The weak arms writhe in a soundless pain;
He writhes in the soft red veiny wings,
But still she whispers upon him and clings. . . .
This is the secret feast of love,
Look well, look well, before it dies,
See how the red one trembles above,
See how quiet the white one lies! . . . .
Wind through the trees. . . .and a voice is heard
Singing far off. The dead leaves fall. . . .
'By the clear waters where once I died,
In the calm evening bright with stars,
One among numberless avatars,
I wedded a mortal, a mortal bride,
And lay on the stones and gave my flesh,
And entered the hunger of him I loved.
How shall I ever escape this mesh
Or be from my lover's body removed?'
Dead leaves stream through the hurrying air
And the maenads dance with flying hair.
* * * * *
The priests with hooves, the lovers with horns,
Rise in the starlight, one by one,
They draw their knives on the spurting throats,
They smear the column with blood of goats,
They dabble the blood on hair and lips
And wait like stones for the moon's eclipse.
They stand like stones and stare at the sky
Where the moon leers down like a half-closed eye. . .
In the green moonlight still they stand
While wind flows over the darkened sand
And brood on the soft forgotten things
That filled their shadowy yesterdays. . . .
Where are the breasts, the scarlet wings? . . . .
They gaze at each other with troubled gaze. . . .
And then, as the shadow closes the moon,
Shout, and strike with their hooves the ground,
And rush through the dark, and fill the night
With a slowly dying clamor of sound.
There, where the great walls crowd the stars,
There, by the black wind-riven walls,
In a grove of twisted leafless trees. . . .
Who are these pilgrims, who are these,
These three, the one of whom stands upright,
While one lies weeping and one of them crawls?
The face that he turned was a wounded face,
I heard the dripping of blood on stones. . . .
Hooves had trampled and torn this place,
And the leaves were strewn with blood and bones.
Sometimes, I think, beneath my feet,
The warm earth stretches herself and sighs. . . .
Listen! I heard the slow heart beat. . . .
I will lie on this grass as a lover lies
And reach to the north and reach to the south
And seek in the darkness for her mouth.

Titel: Re: Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: Lorelei op 3-01-2004, 00:38:35

*******************
Beloved, beloved, where the slow waves of the wind
Shatter pale foam among great trees,
Under the hurrying stars, under the heaving arches,
Like one whirled down under shadowy seas,
I run to find you, I run and cry,
Where are you? Where are you? It is I. It is I.
It is your eyes I seek, it is your windy hair,
Your starlight body that breathes in the darkness there.
Under the darkness I feel you stirring. . . .
Is this you? Is this you?
Bats in this air go whirring. . . .
And this soft mouth that darkly meets my mouth,
Is this the soft mouth I knew?
Darkness, and wind in the tortured trees;
And the patter of dew.
* * * * *
Dance! Dance! Dance! Dance!
Dance till the brain is red with speed!
Dance till you fall! Lift your torches!
Kiss your lovers until they bleed!
Backward I draw your anguished hair
Until your eyes are stretched with pain;
Backward I press you until you cry,
Your lips grow white, I kiss you again,
I will take a torch and set you afire,
I will break your body and fling it away. . . .
Look, you are trembling. . . .Lie still, beloved!
Lock your hands in my hair, and say
Darling! darling! darling! darling!
All night long till the break of day.
Is it your heart I hear beneath me. . . .
Or the far tolling of that tower?
The voices are still that cried around us. . . .
The woods grow still for the sacred hour.
Rise, white lover! the day draws near.
The grey trees lean to the east in fear.
'By the clear waters where once I died . . . .'
Beloved, whose voice was this that cried?
'By the clear waters that reach the sun
By the clear waves that starward run. . . .
I found love's body and lost his soul,
And crumbled in flame that should have annealed. . .
How shall I ever again be whole,
By what dark waters shall I be healed?'
Silence. . . .the red leaves, one by one,
Fall. Far off, the maenads run.
Silence. Beneath my naked feet
The veins of the red earth swell and beat.
The dead leaves sigh on the troubled air,
Far off the maenads bind their hair. . . .
Hurry, beloved! the day comes soon.
The fire is drawn from the heart of the moon.
* * * * *
The great bell cracks and falls at last.
The moon whirls out. The sky grows still.
Look, how the white cloud crosses the stars
And suddenly drops behind the hill!
Your eyes are placid, you smile at me,
We sit in the room by candle-light.
We peer in each other's veins and see
No sign of the things we saw this night.
Only, a song is in your ears,
A song you have heard, you think, in dream:
The song which only the demon hears,
In the dark forest where maenads scream . . .
'By the clear waters where once I died . . .
In the calm evening bright with stars . . . '
What do the strange words mean? you say,—
And touch my hand, and turn away.

Titel: Re: Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: Lorelei op 3-01-2004, 00:40:32

The Ballad Of The Black Fox Skin - Robert Service

I
There was Claw-fingered Kitty and Windy Ike living the life of shame,
When unto them in the Long, Long Night came the man-who-had-no-name;
Bearing his prize of a black fox pelt, out of the Wild he came.
His cheeks were blanched as the flume-head foam when the brown spring freshets flow;
Deep in their dark, sin-calcined pits were his sombre eyes aglow;
They knew him far for the fitful man who spat forth blood on the snow.
"Did ever you see such a skin?" quoth he; "there's nought in the world so fine--
Such fullness of fur as black as the night, such lustre, such size, such shine;
It's life to a one-lunged man like me; it's London, it's women, it's wine.
"The Moose-hides called it the devil-fox, and swore that no man could kill;
That he who hunted it, soon or late, must surely suffer some ill;
But I laughed at them and their old squaw-tales. Ha! Ha! I'm laughing still.
"For look ye, the skin--it's as smooth as sin, and black as the core of the Pit.
By gun or by trap, whatever the hap, I swore I would capture it;
By star and by star afield and afar, I hunted and would not quit.
"For the devil-fox, it was swift and sly, and it seemed to fleer at me;
I would wake in fright by the camp-fire light, hearing its evil glee;
Into my dream its eyes would gleam, and its shadow would I see.
"It sniffed and ran from the ptarmigan I had poisoned to excess;
Unharmed it sped from my wrathful lead ('twas as if I shot by guess);
Yet it came by night in the stark moonlight to mock at my weariness.
"I tracked it up where the mountains hunch like the vertebrae of the world;
I tracked it down to the death-still pits where the avalanche is hurled;
From the glooms to the sacerdotal snows, where the carded clouds are curled.
"From the vastitudes where the world protrudes through clouds like seas up-shoaled,
I held its track till it led me back to the land I had left of old--
The land I had looted many moons. I was weary and sick and cold.
"I was sick, soul-sick, of the futile chase, and there and then I swore
The foul fiend fox might scathless go, for I would hunt no more;
Then I rubbed mine eyes in a vast surprise--it stood by my cabin door.
"A rifle raised in the wraith-like gloom, and a vengeful shot that sped;
A howl that would thrill a cream-faced corpse-- and the demon fox lay dead. . . .
Yet there was never a sign of wound, and never a drop he bled.
"So that was the end of the great black fox, and here is the prize I've won;
And now for a drink to cheer me up--I've mushed since the early sun;
We'll drink a toast to the sorry ghost of the fox whose race is run."

II

Now Claw-fingered Kitty and Windy Ike, bad as the worst were they;
In their road-house down by the river-trail they waited and watched for prey;
With wine and song they joyed night long, and they slept like swine by day.
For things were done in the Midnight Sun that no tongue will ever tell;
And men there be who walk earth-free, but whose names are writ in hell--
Are writ in flames with the guilty names of Fournier and Labelle.
Put not your trust in a poke of dust would ye sleep the sleep of sin;
For there be those who would rob your clothes ere yet the dawn comes in;
And a prize likewise in a woman's eyes is a peerless black fox skin.
Put your faith in the mountain cat if you lie within his lair;
Trust the fangs of the mother-wolf, and the claws of the lead-ripped bear;
But oh, of the wiles and the gold-tooth smiles of a dance-hall wench beware!
Wherefore it was beyond all laws that lusts of man restrain,
A man drank deep and sank to sleep never to wake again;
And the Yukon swallowed through a hole the cold corpse of the slain.

Titel: Re: Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: Lorelei op 3-01-2004, 00:42:13

III

The black fox skin a shadow cast from the roof nigh to the floor;
And sleek it seemed and soft it gleamed, and the woman stroked it o'er;
And the man stood by with a brooding eye, and gnashed his teeth and swore.
When thieves and thugs fall out and fight there's fell arrears to pay;
And soon or late sin meets its fate, and so it fell one day
That Claw-fingered Kitty and Windy Ike fanged up like dogs at bay.
"The skin is mine, all mine," she cried; "I did the deed alone."
"It's share and share with a guilt-yoked pair", he hissed in a pregnant tone;
And so they snarled like malamutes over a mildewed bone.
And so they fought, by fear untaught, till haply it befell
One dawn of day she slipped away to Dawson town to sell
The fruit of sin, this black fox skin that had made their lives a hell.
She slipped away as still he lay, she clutched the wondrous fur;
Her pulses beat, her foot was fleet, her fear was as a spur;
She laughed with glee, she did not see him rise and follow her.
The bluffs uprear and grimly peer far over Dawson town;
They see its lights a blaze o' nights and harshly they look down;
They mock the plan and plot of man with grim, ironic frown.
The trail was steep; 'twas at the time when swiftly sinks the snow;
All honey-combed, the river ice was rotting down below;
The river chafed beneath its rind with many a mighty throe.
And up the swift and oozy drift a woman climbed in fear,
Clutching to her a black fox fur as if she held it dear;
And hard she pressed it to her breast--then Windy Ike drew near.
She made no moan--her heart was stone--she read his smiling face,
And like a dream flashed all her life's dark horror and disgrace;
A moment only--with a snarl he hurled her into space.
She rolled for nigh an hundred feet; she bounded like a ball;
From crag to crag she carromed down through snow and timber fall; . . .
A hole gaped in the river ice; the spray flashed--that was all.
A bird sang for the joy of spring, so piercing sweet and frail;
And blinding bright the land was dight in gay and glittering mail;
And with a wondrous black fox skin a man slid down the trail.

IV

A wedge-faced man there was who ran along the river bank,
Who stumbled through each drift and slough, and ever slipped and sank,
And ever cursed his Maker's name, and ever "hooch" he drank.
He travelled like a hunted thing, hard harried, sore distrest;
The old grandmother moon crept out from her cloud-quilted nest;
The aged mountains mocked at him in their primeval rest.
Grim shadows diapered the snow; the air was strangely mild;
The valley's girth was dumb with mirth, the laughter of the wild;
The still, sardonic laughter of an ogre o'er a child.
The river writhed beneath the ice; it groaned like one in pain,
And yawning chasms opened wide, and closed and yawned again;
And sheets of silver heaved on high until they split in twain.
From out the road-house by the trail they saw a man afar
Make for the narrow river-reach where the swift cross-currents are;
Where, frail and worn, the ice is torn and the angry waters jar.
But they did not see him crash and sink into the icy flow;
They did not see him clinging there, gripped by the undertow,
Clawing with bleeding finger-nails at the jagged ice and snow.
They found a note beside the hole where he had stumbled in:
"Here met his fate by evil luck a man who lived in sin,
And to the one who loves me least I leave this black fox skin."
And strange it is; for, though they searched the river all around,
No trace or sign of black fox skin was ever after found;
Though one man said he saw the tread of HOOFS deep in the ground.

Titel: Re: Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: Lorelei op 3-01-2004, 17:32:18

De Doodgraver - Flip de Bruijn

Een nijvere doodgraver in Dieren
Zou zijn duizendste uitvaart gaan vieren
Er ontbrak er maar één
Doch hij ging zelf heen
Nu is het slechts feest bij de pieren

Titel: Re: Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: Lorelei op 3-01-2004, 17:34:29

Beangstigende uren - Holy Birman

De film - nog maar net begonnen -
maakte zich meester van mijn brein
durfde nauwelijks nog te kijken
wat het volgende fragment zou zijn

Het onsmakelijk ogend gedrocht
benauwde mij meer en meer
en zijn door zwavel aangetaste stem
deed mijn oren zeer

Veegde mijn klamme handen droog
- wilde mijn angst niet laten blijken -
naar des duivels list en bedrog
zat ik huiverend te kijken

De maker van deze film
was duidelijk in zijn opzet geslaagd
want de bloedstollende fragmenten
hadden mij de stuipen op het lijf gejaagd

Heb nachtenlang niet meer geslapen
- durfde niet naar bed te gaan -
ook de herhaling van de film
durfde ik - zelfs jaren later- niet meer aan

Titel: Re: Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: Lorelei op 3-01-2004, 17:40:55

Russisch roulette - Wally de Gooier

De revolver paraat
En ik lach nog eens lief
Lopen dat niet meer gaat
Tot zijn volle gerief

Ik praat op hem in
Niets dat meer lukt
Hij heeft nu zijn zin
Ik hoop dat ie bukt

Bijt 'm wellicht
Ben alras te laat
Tegen zo'n zwaargewicht
Dat 't hart niet meer slaat

Ooit kameraden
Soldaten met revetten
De revolvers geladen
Russisch roulette

Titel: Re: Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: Nemesis op 7-01-2004, 18:56:51

The Rider at the Gate -- John Masefield

A windy night was blowing on Rome,
The cressets guttered on Caesar's home,
The fish-boats, moored at the bridge, were breaking
The rush of the river to yellow foam.

The hinges whined to the shutters shaking,
When clip-clop-clep came a horse-hoof raking
The stones of the road at Caesar's gate;
The spear-butts jarred at the guard's awaking.

'Who goes there?' said the guard at the gate.
'What is the news, that you ride so late?'
'News most pressing, that must be spoken
To Caesar alone, and that cannot wait.'

'The Caesar sleeps; you must show a token
That the news suffice that he be awoken.
What is the news, and whence do you come?
For no light cause may his sleep be broken.'

'Out of the dark of the sands I come,
From the dark of death, with news for Rome.
A word so fell that it must be uttered
Though it strike the soul of the Caesar dumb.'

Caesar turned in his bed and muttered,
With a struggle for breath the lamp-flame guttered;
Calpurnia heard her husband moan:
'The house is falling,
The beaten men come into their own.'

'Speak your word,' said the guard at the gate;
'Yes, but bear it to Caesar straight,
Say, "Your murderers' knives are honing,
Your killers' gang is lying in wait."

'Out of the wind that is blowing and moaning,
Through the city palace and the country loaning,
I cry, "For the world's sake, Caesar, beware,
And take this warning as my atoning.

'"Beware of the Court, of the palace stair,
Of the downcast friend who speaks so fair,
Keep from the Senate, for Death is going
on many men's feet to meet you there."

'I, who am dead, have ways of knowing
Of the crop of death that the quick are sowing.
I, who was Pompey, cry it aloud
From the dark of death, from the wind blowing.

'I, who was Pompey, once was proud,
Now I lie in the sand without a shroud;
I cry to Caesar out of my pain,
"Caesar beware, your death is vowed."'

The light grew grey on the window-pane,
The windcocks swung in a burst of rain,
The window of Caesar flung unshuttered,
The horse-hoofs died into wind again.

Caesar turned in his bed and muttered,
With a struggle for breath the lamp-flame guttered;
Calpurnia heard her husband moan:
'The house is falling,
The beaten men come into their own.'

Titel: Re: Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: Lorelei op 15-02-2004, 19:05:51

WEZENS - Katja Bruning

In een kring
om de maan
zijn wezens gegaan

Zij daalden
en zijn om ons heen
gaan staan

Duisternis
heeft de maan
verslonden

Zwart
stroomt het bloed
langs de lucht
uit haar wonden

Zie
zij likken het op
hun snuit is beroet

Ze zien ons aan
In de grot
van hun ogen

heerst koude
verlatenheid
wanhoop en logen

Rond hun tanden
spoelt zuur
het lekt
op hun handen

vreet gaten die gapen
Zij laten het vreten

In een kring
om de maan
zijn wezens gegaan

Zij daalden
en zijn om ons heen
gaan staan

Zij staren ons aan
met ijskoude ogen

Waarom heb je mij
verraden
bedrogen?

Titel: Re: Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: Lorelei op 15-02-2004, 19:13:15

Op het duivelsbal was 't een geschuifel.
De nectar ontbrak naast de zuivel.
Ten strengste verboden
was drank van de goden;
Men schonk advocaat van de duivel.

Titel: Re: Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: Lorelei op 15-02-2004, 19:19:03

De Mensenvanger - Arend Victorie

Dansen, zingen.
Mensen, sluiten aan
en vormen rijen.
Romeo,
die loopt vooraan.
Hij speelt de fluit,
danst het ritme
Ver, heel ver voor uit.
De rijen volgen,
ze zijn niet te stoppen
volgen het ritme
in een trance.
Naar de vuurzee,
op de heuvel,
Smachtend,
Lonkend,
de hel van Dante
Eén voor één,
door het vuur verzwolgen.
Geen schreeuw,
of aarzeling.
Geen één bleef staan

Titel: Re: Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: Lorelei op 15-02-2004, 21:50:57

Der Zauberlehrling

Hat der alte Hexenmeister
Sich doch einmal wegbegeben!
Und nun sollen seine Geister
Auch nach meinem Willen leben.
Seine Wort und Werke
Merkt ich und den Brauch,
Und mit Geistesstärke
Tu ich Wunder auch.

Walle! walle
Manche Strecke,
Daß, zum Zwecke,
Wasser fließe
Und mit reichem, vollem Schwalle
Zu dem Bade sich ergieße.

Und nun komm, du alter Besen,
Nimm die schlechten Lumpenhüllen!
Bist schon lange Knecht gewesen:
Nun erfülle meinen Willen!
Auf zwei Beinen stehe,
Oben sei ein Kopf,
Eile nun und gehe
Mit dem Wassertopf!

Walle! Walle!
Manche Strecke,
Daß, zum Zwecke,
Wasser fließe
Und mit reichem, vollem Schwalle
Zu dem Bade sich ergieße!

Seht, er läuft zum Ufer nieder;
Wahrlich! ist schon an dem Flusse,
Und mit Blitzesschnelle wieder
Ist er hier mit raschem Gusse.
Schon zum zweiten Male!
Wie das Becken schwillt!
Wie sich jede Schale
Voll mit Wasser füllt!

Stehe! stehe!
Denn wir haben
Deiner Gaben
Vollgemessen! -
Ach, ich merk es! Wehe! wehe!
Hab ich doch das Wort vergessen!

Ach, das Wort, worauf am Ende
Er das wird, was er gewesen!
Ach, er läuft und bringt behende!
Wärst du doch der alte Besen!
Immer neue Güsse
Bringt er schnell herein,
Ach, und hundert Flüsse
Stürzen auf mich ein!

Nein, nicht länger
Kann ichs lassen:
Will ihn fassen!
Das ist Tücke!
Ach, nun wird mir immer bänger!
Welche Miene! welche Blicke!

O, du Ausgeburt der Hölle!
Soll das ganze Haus ersaufen?
Seh ich über jede Schwelle
Doch schon Wasserströme laufen.
Ein verruchter Besen,
Der nicht hören will!
Stock, der du gewesen,
Steh doch wieder still!

Willst's am Ende
Gar nicht lassen?
Will dich fassen,
Will dich halten
Und das alte Holz behende
Mit dem scharfen Beile spalten!

Seht, da kommt er schleppend wieder!
Wie ich mich nur auf dich werfe,
Gleich, o Kobold, liegst du nieder;
Krachend trifft die glatte Schärfe.
Wahrlich! brav getroffen!
Seht, er ist entzwei!
Und nun kann ich hoffen,
Und ich atme frei!

Wehe! wehe!
Beide Teile
Stehn in Eile
Schon als Knechte
Völlig fertig in die Höhe!
Helft mir, ach! ihr hohen Mächte!

Und sie laufen! Naß und nässer
Wirds im Saal und auf den Stufen:
Welch entsetzliches Gewässer!
Herr und Meister, hör mich rufen! -
Ach, da kommt der Meister!
Herr, die Not ist groß!
Die ich rief, die Geister,
Werd ich nun nicht los.

"In die Ecke,
Besen! Besen!
Seids gewesen!
Denn als Geister
Ruft euch nur, zu seinem Zwecke,
Erst hervor der alte Meister."

Johann Wolfgang von Goethe (1749-1832)

Titel: Re: Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: Lorelei op 15-02-2004, 21:59:15

Franz Kafka - Die Verwandlung
" Was ist mit mir geschehen? Wenn ich den Kopf ein wenig hebe, sehe ich meinen gewölbten, braunen, von bogenförmigen Versteifungen geteilten Bauch, auf dem sich die Bettdecke kaum noch halten kann, und viele klägliche dünne Beinchen lugen darunter hervor, geradezu hilflos flimmern sie einem vor den Augen, auch scheint es, dass ich auf einem panzerartig harten Rücken liege, alles in allem könnte man meinen, dass ich mich in ein ungeheures Ungeziefer verwandelt hätte ..."

Titel: Re: Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: lebon simon op 21-02-2004, 13:23:13

Mary Shelley's Frankenstein

Chapter V

It was on a dreary night of November that I beheld the accomplishment of my toils. With an anxiety that almost amounted to agony, I collected the instruments of life around me, that I might infuse a spark of being into the lifeless thing that lay at my feet. It was already one in the morning; the rain pattered dismally against the panes, and my candle was nearly burnt out, when, by the glimmer of the half-extinguished light, I saw the dull yellow eye of the creature open; it breathed hard, and a convulsive motion agitated its limbs.

How can I describe my emotions at this catastrophe, or how delineate the wretch whom with such infinite pains and care I had endeavoured to form? His limbs were in proportion, and I had selected his features as beautiful. Beautiful! Great God! His yellow skin scarcely covered the work of muscles and arteries beneath; his hair was of a lustrous black, and flowing; his teeth of a pearly whiteness; but these luxuriances only formed a more horrid contrast with his watery eyes, that seemed almost of the same colour as the dun-white sockets in which they were set, his shrivelled complexion and straight black lips.

The different accidents of life are not so changeable as the feelings of human nature. I had worked hard for nearly two years, for the sole purpose of infusing life into an inanimate body. For this I had deprived myself of rest and health. I had desired it with an ardour that far exceeded moderation; but now that I had finished, the beauty of the dream vanished, and breathless horror and disgust filled my heart. Unable to endure the aspect of the being I had created, I rushed out of the room and continued a long time traversing my bedchamber, unable to compose my mind to sleep. At length lassitude succeeded to the tumult I had before endured, and I threw myself on the bed in my clothes, endeavouring to seek a few moments of forgetfulness. But it was in vain; I slept, indeed, but I was disturbed by the wildest dreams. I thought I saw Elizabeth, in the bloom of health, walking in the streets of Ingolstadt. Delighted and surprised, I embraced her, but as I imprinted the first kiss on her lips, they became livid with the hue of death; her features appeared to change, and I thought that I held the corpse of my dead mother in my arms; a shroud enveloped her form, and I saw the grave-worms crawling in the folds of the flannel. I started from my sleep with horror; a cold dew covered my forehead, my teeth chattered, and every limb became convulsed; when, by the dim and yellow light of the moon as it forced its way through the window shutters, I beheld the wretch -- the miserable monster whom I had created. He held up the curtain of the bed; and his eyes, if eyes they may be called, were fixed on me. His jaws opened, and he muttered some inarticulate sounds, while a grin wrinkled his cheeks. He might have spoken, but I did not hear; one hand was stretched out, seemingly to detain me, but I escaped and rushed downstairs. I took refuge in the courtyard belonging to the house which I inhabited, where I remained during the rest of the night, walking up and down in the greatest agitation, listening attentively, catching and fearing each sound as if it were to announce the approach of the demoniacal corpse to which I had so miserably given life.

Oh! No mortal could support the horror of that countenance. A mummy again endued with animation could not he so hideous as that wretch. I had gazed on him while unfinished; he was ugly then, but when those muscles and joints were rendered capable of motion, it became a thing such as even Dante could not have conceived.

* http://home-1.worldonline.nl/~hamberg/
* http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0021884/

Titel: Re: Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: Lorelei op 22-02-2004, 17:02:58

_{Hey Sam! :D Mooie toevoeging !!! ::ok::}

Dreamland - Edgar Allan Poe

By a route obscure and lonely,
Haunted by ill angels only,
Where an Eidolon, named NIGHT,
On a black throne reigns upright,
I have reached these lands but newly
From an ultimate dim Thule-
From a wild clime that lieth, sublime,
Out of SPACE- out of TIME.

Bottomless vales and boundless floods,
And chasms, and caves, and Titan woods,
With forms that no man can discover
For the tears that drip all over;
Mountains toppling evermore
Into seas without a shore;
Seas that restlessly aspire,
Surging, unto skies of fire;
Lakes that endlessly outspread
Their lone waters- lone and dead,-
Their still waters- still and chilly
With the snows of the lolling lily.

By the lakes that thus outspread
Their lone waters, lone and dead,-
Their sad waters, sad and chilly
With the snows of the lolling lily,-
By the mountains- near the river
Murmuring lowly, murmuring ever,-
By the grey woods,- by the swamp
Where the toad and the newt encamp-
By the dismal tarns and pools
Where dwell the Ghouls,-
By each spot the most unholy-
In each nook most melancholy-
There the traveller meets aghast
Sheeted Memories of the Past-
Shrouded forms that start and sigh
As they pass the wanderer by-
White-robed forms of friends long given,
In agony, to the Earth- and Heaven.

For the heart whose woes are legion
'Tis a peaceful, soothing region-
For the spirit that walks in shadow
'Tis- oh, 'tis an Eldorado!
But the traveller, travelling through it,
May not- dare not openly view it!
Never its mysteries are exposed
To the weak human eye unclosed;
So wills its King, who hath forbid
The uplifting of the fringed lid;
And thus the sad Soul that here passes
Beholds it but through darkened glasses.

By a route obscure and lonely,
Haunted by ill angels only,
Where an Eidolon, named NIGHT,
On a black throne reigns upright,
I have wandered home but newly
From this ultimate dim Thule.

Titel: Re: Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: Lorelei op 22-02-2004, 23:24:16

Wraith - Edna St. Vincent Millay

"Thin Rain, whom are you haunting,
That you haunt my door?"
—Surely it is not I she's wanting;
Someone living here before—
"Nobody's in the house but me:
You may come in if you like and see."

Thin as thread, with exquisite fingers,—
Have you seen her, any of you?—
Grey shawl, and leaning on the wind,
And the garden showing through?

Glimmering eyes,—and silent, mostly,
Sort of a whisper, sort of a purr,
Asking something, asking it over,
If you get a sound from her.—

Ever see her, any of you?—
Strangest thing I've ever known,—
Every night since I moved in,
And I came to be alone.

"Thin Rain, hush with your knocking!
You may not come in!
This is I that you hear rocking;
Nobody's with me, nor has been!"

Curious, how she tried the window,—
Odd, the way she tries the door,—
Wonder just what sort of people
Could have had this house before . . .

Titel: Re: Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: Anubis op 23-02-2004, 12:00:00

Aww.. :\'( Life can be cruel sometimes..

Tomaatje Pommiedoor - Barbara Matenkerk

Tomaatje Pommiedoor zat in de bak
Met zijn vrienden van dezelfde tak
Ze zaten flink in de puree
En Pommie zat daar best wel mee
Zijn naam werd al een beetje krom
Verbasterd tot tomaatje pommiedom
Hij had het net te laat gesnopen
Hun plan was in de soep gelopen
De laatste vluchtpoging falikant mislukt
Ruw waren ze van het veld geplukt
Allen gepakt voor hetzelfde vergrijp
Voor hen was de tijd nu rijp
En al zat hij nog zo fout
Pommie nam het allemaal met een korreltje zout

Daar viel pommie dan van de troon
Een scherpe punt wipte zijn kroon
Waar was nou die rode blos
Van toen hij nog de baas was over zijn tros
En toen het mes sneed diep in zijn vlees
Werden terstond vijftien kerstomaatjes wees

Titel: Re: Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: Lorelei op 24-02-2004, 09:24:10

hehe ;D

Economy cruise - Aubrey van Amstel

Hij reisde per goedkope boot.
Uit speakers klonk: 'Wees op uw hoede;
de kans op schipbreuk wordt te groot.
Wilt u zich naar de sloepen spoeden?'

De dreun, die volgde was enorm.
Hij was volledig buiten zinnen.
Met superkrachten blies een storm
hem over zee een woning binnen.

Zo leek het. Hij was stapelgek,
maar ongedeerd terechtgekomen,
waar in een soort van slaapvertrek
in 't licht een dame lag te dromen.

Het dekbed was bezaaid met stront
en slijm en duizend trage slakken,
de wand met spinnen en de grond
krioelde van de kakkerlakken.

Verbaasd vroeg hij zich af, in wat
voor licht hij stond. Het scheen zo fel.
Een heer, die net naarbinnentrad,
zei: 'Welkom in 'De Kleine Hel'.

In deze villa wordt getest,
in welke van de grote hellen,
waarin vakkundig wordt gepest,
we u het beste kunnen kwellen.'

Hij ging dus bij die schipbreuk dood,
zo concludeerde hij verbolgen.
De heer negeerde al z'n nood
en vroeg: 'Wilt u me nu maar volgen?'

Hij bracht hem naar een schoon vertrek.
Daar lag op bed de mooiste stoot
die hij zich wensen kon - te gek!
Ze zei: 'Kom hier, maar nét zo bloot.'

De heer verliet hen zeer discreet.
Nog nimmer had-ie zich zo gauw
met 't oog op minnespel ontkleed.
Verdomd, wat mooi was deze vrouw!

Hij had zich bij de stoot gevoegd.
Ze voelden reeds elkanders monden.
Op dat moment riep zij misnoegd:
'Zeg viezerik, verlaat m'n sponde!'

Hoe gaarne was-ie toch verwend
door die verduiveld mooie slet.
'Ik zie nu, dat je lelijk bent,'
zei zij en schopte hem uit bed.

Vernederd, daar hij voor die hoer
z'n nette broek had laten zakken,
lag hij daar eensklaps op de vloer
naast twee geschrokken kakkerlakken.

Daar lag de stakker, maar hij stond
versteld: weer in z'n hut terecht!
De man ontwaakte op de grond.
De kakkerlakken waren echt.

Titel: Re: Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: lebon simon op 26-02-2004, 21:51:42

THOMAS DOLBY - I SCARE MYSELF

I scare myself just thinking about you
I scare myself when I'm without you
I scare myself the moment that you're going
I scare myself when I let my thoughts run
and when they're running
I keep thinking of you
and when they're running
what can I do?

I scare myself, and I don't mean lightly
I scare myself, it can get frightening
I scare myself, to think what I could do
I scare myself it's some kind of voodoo...
and with that voodoo
I keep thinking of you
and with that voodoo
what can I do?

but it's so so very different when we're together
and I'm so so much calmer; I feel better
'cause the stars already crossed our paths forever
and the sooner that you realise it the better
and then I'll be with you and I won't scare myself
and I'll know what to do and I won't scare myself
and my thoughts will run and I won't scare myself
and I'll think of you and I won't scare myself

Titel: Re: Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: Gone op 26-02-2004, 22:03:28

Jagerslied

Ik ging een dag uit jagen
Al met mijn schietgeweer
Ik ging een dag uit jagen
Met mijn hoedje met een veer

Aldus zou ik gaan jagen
Gaan jagen op het land
Maar toen kwamen er twee haasjes aan
Die beten in mijn hand

Toen kwam er nog een eekhoorn
Die trok me aan mijn haar
Van overal van overal
Loerde het gevaar

Het leven van een jagersman
Is beslist geen grap
Vanuit het dichte struikgewas
Gaf een hertje me een trap

Ik zit vol met blauwe plekken
En hier en daar een bult
Met wilde woeste dieren
Is de natuur gevuld

Ik ging een dag uit jagen
Maar ik doe het nooit weer
In een stil en donker hoekje
Hangt het hoedje met de veer

Hans Dorrestijn

Titel: Re: Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: Lorelei op 27-02-2004, 00:28:42

::tandpastasmiley:: poetic justice...

He Sammy wat leuk je hier te zien !!! :D

Mooie post !! ::ok:: ::ok:: :)

Titel: Re: Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: Lorelei op 28-02-2004, 11:42:39

Misdaad - Omar Vanca

waarom geen misdaad
plegen op een mens
waarom word ik
geen moordenaar

ik denk
de straf bevangt
ze schenkt fobie
de schrik voor claustro
klem in het gevang

want straf verplicht
allicht tot celcompanen
geeft lawaai van buren
het geklik van boeien
slaan met ketens enzovoort

bang voor zulke hetze
wil ik misdaad niet begaan
want alle heisa herbegint
toch weer van voor af aan

Titel: Re: Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: Lorelei op 28-02-2004, 11:46:53

Coma - Arend Victorie

Een hartslag,
nog een.

Daarna, stilte…

Verdwaald,
in wartaal, hersenschimmen.

Stem.

Herkenbaar?
kan niet plaatsen.

Oogopslag.

Verloren,
in vergeten dingen.

Titel: Re: Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: Lorelei op 28-02-2004, 11:53:22

graf - Erik Lelieveld

het is droevig
van dichtbij
het behang
te observeren
hier rust mug
1989
ik weet het
want daarvoor
heb ik gewit
in de vakantie
met de roller

Titel: Re: Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: lebon simon op 28-02-2004, 14:13:37

Mary Shelley's Frankenstein

Chapter XVII

The being finished speaking and fixed his looks upon me in the expectation of a reply. But I was bewildered, perplexed, and unable to arrange my ideas sufficiently to understand the full extent of his proposition. He continued,--

"You must create a female for me with whom I can live in the interchange of those sympathies necessary for my being. This you alone can do, and I demand it of you as a right which you must not refuse to concede."

The latter part of his tale had kindled anew in me the anger that had died away while he narrated his peaceful life among the cottagers, and as he said this I could no longer suppress the rage that burned within me.

"I do refuse it," I replied; "and no torture shall ever extort a consent from me. You may render me the most miserable of men, but you shall never make me base in my own eyes. Shall I create another like yourself, whose joint wickedness might desolate the world. Begone! I have answered you; you may torture me, but I will never consent."

"You are in the wrong," replied the fiend; "and instead of threatening, I am content to reason with you. I am malicious because I am miserable. Am I not shunned and hated by all mankind? You, my creator, would tear me to pieces and triumph; remember that, and tell me why I should pity man more than he pities me? You would not call it murder if you could precipitate me into one of those ice-rifts and destroy my frame, the work of your own hands. Shall I respect man when he condemns me? Let him live with me in the interchange of kindness, and instead of injury I would bestow every benefit upon him with tears of gratitude at his acceptance. But that cannot be; the human senses are insurmountable barriers to our union. Yet mine shall not be the submission of abject slavery. I will revenge my injuries; if I cannot inspire love, I will cause fear, and chiefly towards you my arch-enemy, because my creator, do I swear inextinguishable hatred. Have a care; I will work at your destruction, nor finish until I desolate your heart, so that you shall curse the hour of your birth."

A fiendish rage animated him as he said this; his face was wrinkled into contortions too horrible for human eyes to behold; but presently he calmed himself and proceeded,--

"I intended to reason. This passion is detrimental to me, for you do not reflect that you are the cause of its excess. If any being felt emotions of benevolence towards me, I should return them a hundred and a hundredfold; for that one creature's sake I would make peace with the whole kind! But I now indulge in dreams of bliss that cannot be realized. What I ask of you is reasonable and moderate; I demand a creature of another sex, but as hideous as myself; the gratification is small, but it is all that I can receive, and it shall content me. It is true, we shall be monsters, cut off from all the world; but on that account we shall be more attached to one another. Our lives will not be happy, but they will be harmless and free from the misery I now feel. Oh! My creator, make me happy; let me feel gratitude towards you for one benefit! Let me see that I excite the sympathy of some existing thing; do not deny me my request!"

* http://home-1.worldonline.nl/~hamberg/
* http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0026138/

Titel: Re: Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: Lorelei op 2-03-2004, 08:43:30

Schaduwgrens - Rudi J.P. Lejaeghere

Een kraai vliegt langs
en krast
de kantjes van de dag
in avond af.
De nacht wiekt zwart
van boom naar boom,
zijn grens is schaduw,
zijn nest is graf.

Een kraai vliegt langs
en krast
de restjes slaap
naar wakker weg.
Het donker spiegelt angst
in open en gesloten ogen,
tot 's morgens,
bij het eerste kraaien,
de geesten weer vervagen.

Titel: Re: Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: lebon simon op 4-03-2004, 23:05:44

Dracula - Bram Stoker

Chapter 2

By this time I had finished my supper, and by my host's desire had drawn up a chair by the fire and begun to smoke a cigar which he offered me, at the same time excusing himself that he did not smoke. I had now an opportunity of observing him, and found him of a very marked physiognomy.

His face was a strong, a very strong, aquiline, with high bridge of the thin nose and peculiarly arched nostrils, with lofty domed forehead, and hair growing scantily round the temples but profusely elsewhere. His eyebrows were very massive, almost meeting over the nose, and with bushy hair that seemed to curl in its own profusion. The mouth, so far as I could see it under the heavy moustache, was fixed and rather cruel-looking, with peculiarly sharp white teeth. These protruded over the lips, whose remarkable ruddiness showed astonishing vitality in a man of his years. For the rest, his ears were pale, and at the tops extremely pointed. The chin was broad and strong, and the cheeks firm though thin. The general effect was one of extraordinary pallor.

Hitherto I had noticed the backs of his hands as they lay on his knees in the firelight, and they had seemed rather white and fine. But seeing them now close to me, I could not but notice that they were rather coarse, broad, with squat fingers. Strange to say, there were hairs in the centre of the palm. The nails were long and fine, and cut to a sharp point. As the Count leaned over me and his hands touched me, I could not repress a shudder. It may have been that his breath was rank, but a horrible feeling of nausea came over me, which, do what I would, I could not conceal.

The Count, evidently noticing it, drew back. And with a grim sort of smile, which showed more than he had yet done his protruberant teeth, sat himself down again on his own side of the fireplace. We were both silent for a while, and as I looked towards the window I saw the first dim streak of the coming dawn. There seemed a strange stillness over everything. But as I listened, I heard as if from down below in the valley the howling of many wolves. The Count's eyes gleamed, and he said.

"Listen to them, the children of the night. What music they make!" Seeing, I suppose, some expression in my face strange to him, he added,"Ah, sir, you dwellers in the city cannot enter into the feelings of the hunter." Then he rose and said.

"But you must be tired. Your bedroom is all ready, and tomorrow you shall sleep as late as you will. I have to be away till the afternoon, so sleep well and dream well!" With a courteous bow, he opened for me himself the door to the octagonal room, and I entered my bedroom.

I am all in a sea of wonders. I doubt. I fear. I think strange things, which I dare not confess to my own soul. God keep me, if only for the sake of those dear to me!

* http://www.literature.org/authors/stoker-bram/dracula
* http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0021814/

Titel: Re: Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: Lorelei op 5-03-2004, 01:14:21

Brrr.. Mooi Sam ! ::ok::

Titel: Re: Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: Lorelei op 6-03-2004, 20:10:46

a clown's smirk in the skull of a baboon... (LI)

a clown's smirk in the skull of a baboon
(where once good lips stalked or eyes firmly stirred)
my mirror gives me,on this afternoon;
i am a shape that can but eat and turd
ere with the dirt death shall him vastly gird,
a coward waiting clumsily to cease
whom every perfect thing meanwhile doth miss;
a hand's impression in an empty glove,
a soon forgotten tune,a house for lease.
I have never loved you dear as now i love

e.e. cummings

Titel: Re: Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: Lorelei op 6-03-2004, 21:21:00

Two Views of a Cadaver Room - Sylvia Plath

1
The day she visited the dissecting room
They had four men laid out, black as burnt turkey,
Already half unstrung. A vinegary fume
Of the death vats clung to them;
The white-smocked boys started working.
The head of his cadaver had caved in,
And she could scarcely make out anything
In that rubble of skull plates and old leather.
A sallow piece of string held it together.

In their jars the snail-nosed babies moon and glow.
He hands her the cut-out heart like a cracked heirloom.

2
In Brueghel's panorama of smoke and slaughter
Two people only are blind to the carrion army:
He, afloat in the sea of her blue satin
Skirts, sings in the direction
Of her bare shoulder, while she bends,
Finger a leaflet of music, over him,
Both of them deaf to the fiddle in the hands
Of the death's-head shadowing their song.
These Flemish lovers flourish;not for long.
Yet desolation, stalled in paint, spares the little country
Foolish, delicate, in the lower right hand corner

Titel: Re: Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: Lorelei op 6-03-2004, 21:34:29

Ballad: Phrenology - WS Gilbert

"COME, collar this bad man -
Around the throat he knotted me
Till I to choke began -
In point of fact, garotted me!"

So spake SIR HERBERT WRITE
To JAMES, Policeman Thirty-two -
All ruffled with his fight
SIR HERBERT was, and dirty too.

Policeman nothing said
(Though he had much to say on it),
But from the bad man's head
He took the cap that lay on it.

"No, great SIR HERBERT WHITE -
Impossible to take him up.
This man is honest quite -
Wherever did you rake him up?

"For Burglars, Thieves, and Co.,
Indeed, I'm no apologist,
But I, some years ago,
Assisted a Phrenologist.

"Observe his various bumps,
His head as I uncover it:
His morals lie in lumps
All round about and over it."

"Now take him," said SIR WHITE,
"Or you will soon be rueing it;
Bless me! I must be right, -
I caught the fellow doing it!"

Policeman calmly smiled,
"Indeed you are mistaken, sir,
You're agitated - riled -
And very badly shaken, sir.

"Sit down, and I'll explain
My system of Phrenology,
A second, please, remain" -
(A second is horology).

Policeman left his beat -
(The Bart., no longer furious,
Sat down upon a seat,
Observing, "This is curious!")

"Oh, surely, here are signs
Should soften your rigidity:
This gentleman combines
Politeness with timidity.

"Of Shyness here's a lump -
A hole for Animosity -
And like my fist his bump
Of Impecuniosity.

"Just here the bump appears
Of Innocent Hilarity,
And just behind his ears
Are Faith, and Hope, and Charity.

He of true Christian ways
As bright example sent us is -
This maxim he obeys,
'SORTE TUA CONTENTUS SIS.'

"There, let him go his ways,
He needs no stern admonishing."
The Bart., in blank amaze,
Exclaimed, "This is astonishing!

"I MUST have made a mull,
This matter I've been blind in it:
Examine, please, MY skull,
And tell me what you find in it."

That Crusher looked, and said,
With unimpaired urbanity,
"SIR HERBERT, you've a head
That teems with inhumanity.

"Here's Murder, Envy, Strife
(Propensity to kill any),
And Lies as large as life,
And heaps of Social Villany.

"Here's Love of Brand-New Clothes,
Embezzling - Arson - Deism -
A taste for Slang and Oaths,
And Fraudulent Trusteeism.

"Here's Love of Groundless Charge -
Here's Malice, too, and Trickery,
Unusually large
Your bump of Pocket-Pickery - "

"Stop!" said the Bart., "my cup
Is full - I'm worse than him in all;
Policeman, take me up -
No doubt I am some criminal!"

That Pleeceman's scorn grew large
(Phrenology had nettled it),
He took that Bart. in charge -
I don't know how they settled it.

Titel: Re: Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: lebon simon op 27-03-2004, 17:29:26

Vampirella

Je sprak me zachtjes aan
Geen woord kon ik verstaan
Verstoord kwam ik naderbij
Je sprak opnieuw, je zei

In een bieb fluister je toch
Kom wat dichterbij
Ik heb jou zo lang gezocht
en nu ben jij van mij

De kus die jij toen gaf
Die blijft mij eeuwig bij
Zelfs voorbij het graf
Die kus is nu van mij

Stanislaus Jaworski

Titel: Re: Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: Lorelei op 12-05-2004, 22:57:15

Listen... - Ogden Nash

There is a knocking in the skull,
An endless silent shout
Of something beating on a wall,
And crying, “Let me out!”
That solitary prisoner
Will never hear reply.
No comrade in eternity
Can hear the frantic cry.
No heart can share the terror
That haunts his monstrous dark.
The light that filters through the chinks
No other eye can mark.
When flesh is linked with eager flesh,
And words run warm and full,
I think that he is loneliest then,
The captive in the skull.
Caught in a mesh of living veins,
In cell of padded bone,
He loneliest is when he pretends
That he is not alone.
We’d free the incarcerate race of man
That such a doom endures
Could only you unlock my skull,
Or I creep into yours.

Titel: Re: Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: Nemesis op 10-06-2004, 12:07:07

hello ;)

Cinderella - Roald Dahl

I guess you think you know this story.
You don't. The real one's much more gory.
The phoney one, the one you know,
Was cooked up years and years ago,
And made to sound all soft and sappy
just to keep the children happy.
Mind you, they got the first bit right,
The bit where, in the dead of night,
The Ugly Sisters, jewels and all,
Departed for the Palace Ball,
While darling little Cinderella
Was locked up in a slimy cellar,
Where rats who wanted things to eat,
Began to nibble at her feet.

She bellowed 'Help!' and 'Let me out!
The Magic Fairy heard her shout.
Appearing in a blaze of light,
She said: 'My dear, are you all right?'
'All right?' cried Cindy .'Can't you see
'I feel as rotten as can be!'
She beat her fist against the wall,
And shouted, 'Get me to the Ball!
'There is a Disco at the Palace!
'The rest have gone and 1 am jalous!
'I want a dress! I want a coach!
'And earrings and a diamond brooch!
'And silver slippers, two of those!
'And lovely nylon panty hose!
'Done up like that I'll guarantee
'The handsome Prince will fall for me!'
The Fairy said, 'Hang on a tick.'
She gave her wand a mighty flick
And quickly, in no time at all,
Cindy was at the Palace Ball!

It made the Ugly Sisters wince
To see her dancing with the Prince.
She held him very tight and pressed
herself against his manly chest.
The Prince himself was turned to pulp,
All he could do was gasp and gulp.
Then midnight struck. She shouted,'Heck!
Ive got to run to save my neck!'
The Prince cried, 'No! Alas! Alack!'
He grabbed her dress to hold her back.
As Cindy shouted, 'Let me go!'
The dress was ripped from head to toe.

She ran out in her underwear,
And lost one slipper on the stair.
The Prince was on it like a dart,
He pressed it to his pounding heart,
'The girl this slipper fits,' he cried,
'Tomorrow morn shall be my bride!
I'll visit every house in town
'Until I've tracked the maiden down!'
Then rather carelessly, I fear,
He placed it on a crate of beer.

At once, one of the Ugly Sisters,
(The one whose face was blotched with blisters)
Sneaked up and grabbed the dainty shoe,
And quickly flushed it down the loo.
Then in its place she calmly put
The slipper from her own left foot.
Ah ha, you see, the plot grows thicker,
And Cindy's luck starts looking sicker.

Next day, the Prince went charging down
To knock on all the doors in town.
In every house, the tension grew.
Who was the owner of the shoe?
The shoe was long and very wide.
(A normal foot got lost inside.)
Also it smelled a wee bit icky.
(The owner's feet were hot and sticky.)
Thousands of eager people came
To try it on, but all in vain.
Now came the Ugly Sisters' go.
One tried it on. The Prince screamed, 'No!'
But she screamed, 'Yes! It fits! Whoopee!
'So now you've got to marry me!'
The Prince went white from ear to ear.
He muttered, 'Let me out of here.'
'Oh no you don't! You made a vow!
'There's no way you can back out now!'
'Off with her head!'The Prince roared back.
They chopped it off with one big whack.
This pleased the Prince. He smiled and said,
'She's prettier without her head.'
Then up came Sister Number Two,
Who yelled, 'Now I will try the shoe!'
'Try this instead!' the Prince yelled back.
He swung his trusty sword and smack
Her head went crashing to the ground.
It bounced a bit and rolled around.
In the kitchen, peeling spuds,
Cinderella heard the thuds
Of bouncing heads upon the floor,
And poked her own head round the door.
'What's all the racket? 'Cindy cried.
'Mind your own bizz,' the Prince replied.
Poor Cindy's heart was torn to shreds.
My Prince! she thought. He chops off heads!
How could I marry anyone
Who does that sort of thing for fun?

The Prince cried, 'Who's this dirty slut?
'Off with her nut! Off with her nut!'
Just then, all in a blaze of light,
The Magic Fairy hove in sight,
Her Magic Wand went swoosh and swish!
'Cindy! 'she cried, 'come make a wish!
'Wish anything and have no doubt
'That I will make it come about!'
Cindy answered, 'Oh kind Fairy,
'This time I shall be more wary.
'No more Princes, no more money.
'I have had my taste of honey.
I'm wishing for a decent man.
'They're hard to find. D'you think you can?'
Within a minute, Cinderella
Was married to a lovely feller,
A simple jam maker by trade,
Who sold good home-made marmalade.
Their house was filled with smiles and laughter
And they were happy ever after.

Titel: Re: Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: Lorelei op 7-07-2004, 04:45:55

Nem´sis!!! ::bravo:: Good to see thee!!

A Tale Of The Thirteenth Floor - Ogden Nash

The hands of the clock were reaching high
In an old midtown hotel;
I name no name, but its sordid fame
Is table talk in hell.
I name no name, but hell's own flame
Illumes the lobby garish,
A gilded snare just off Times Square
For the maidens of the parish.

The revolving door swept the grimy floor
Like a crinoline grotesque,
And a lowly bum from an ancient slum
Crept furtively past the desk.
His footsteps sift into the lift
As a knife in the sheath is slipped,
Stealthy and swift into the lift
As a vampire into a crypt.

Old Maxie, the elevator boy,
Was reading an ode by Shelley,
But he dropped the ode as it were a toad
When the gun jammed into his belly.
There came a whisper as soft as mud
In the bed of an old canal:
"Take me up to the suite of Pinball Pete,
The rat who betrayed my gal."

The lift doth rise with groans and sighs
Like a duchess for the waltz,
Then in middle shaft, like a duchess daft,
It changes its mind and halts.
The bum bites lip as the landlocked ship
Doth neither fall nor rise,
But Maxie the elevator boy
Regards him with burning eyes.
"First, to explore the thirteenth floor,"
Says Maxie, "would be wise."

Quoth the bum, "There is moss on your double cross,
I have been this way before,
I have cased the joint at every point,
And there is no thirteenth floor.
The architect he skipped direct
From twelve unto fourteen,
There is twelve below and fourteen above,
And nothing in between,
For the vermin who dwell in this hotel
Could never abide thirteen."

Said Max, "Thirteen, that floor obscene,
Is hidden from human sight;
But once a year it doth appear,
On this Walpurgis Night.
Ere you peril your soul in murderer's role,
Heed those who sinned of yore;
The path they trod led away from God,
And onto the thirteenth floor,
Where those they slew, a grisly crew,
Reproach them forevermore.

Titel: Re: Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: Lorelei op 7-07-2004, 04:47:40

"We are higher than twelve and below fourteen,"
Said Maxie to the bum,
"And the sickening draft that taints the shaft
Is a whiff of kingdom come.
The sickening draft that taints the shaft
Blows through the devil's door!"
And he squashed the latch like a fungus patch,
And revealed the thirteenth floor.

It was cheap cigars like lurid scars
That glowed in the rancid gloom,
The murk was a-boil with fusel oil
And the reek of stale perfume.
And round and round there dragged and wound
A loathsome conga chain,
The square and the hep in slow lock step,
The slayer and the slain.
(For the souls of the victims ascend on high,
But their bodies below remain.)

The clean souls fly to their home in the sky,
But their bodies remain below
To pursue the Cain who each has slain
And harry him to and fro.
When life is extinct each corpse is linked
To its gibbering murderer,
As a chicken is bound with wire around
The neck of a killer cur.

Handcuffed to Hate come Doctor Waite
(He tastes the poison now),
And Ruth and Judd and a head of blood
With horns upon its brow.
Up sashays Nan with her feathery fan
From Floradora bright;
She never hung for Caesar Young
But she's dancing with him tonight.

Here's the bulging hip and the foam-flecked lip
Of the mad dog, Vincent Coll,
And over there that ill-met pair,
Becker and Rosenthal,
Here's Legs and Dutch and a dozen such
Of braggart bullies and brutes,
And each one bends 'neath the weight of friends
Who are wearing concrete suits.

Now the damned make way for the double-damned
Who emerge with shuffling pace
From the nightmare zone of persons unknown,
With neither name nor face.
And poor Dot King to one doth cling,
Joined in a ghastly jig,
While Elwell doth jape at a goblin shape
And tickle it with his wig.

See Rothstein pass like breath on a glass,
The original Black Sox kid;
He riffles the pack, riding piggyback
On the killer whose name he hid.
And smeared like brine on a slavering swine,
Starr Faithful, once so fair,
Drawn from the sea to her debauchee,
With the salt sand in her hair.

And still they come, and from the bum
The icy sweat doth spray;
His white lips scream as in a dream,
"For God's sake, let's away!
If ever I meet with Pinball Pete
I will not seek his gore,
Lest a treadmill grim I must trudge with him
On the hideous thirteenth floor."

"For you I rejoice," said Maxie's voice,
"And I bid you go in peace,
But I am late for a dancing date
That nevermore will cease.
So remember, friend, as your way you wend,
That it would have happened to you,
But I turned the heat on Pinball Pete;
You see - I had a daughter, too!"

The bum reached out and he tried to shout,
But the door in his face was slammed,
And silent as stone he rode down alone
From the floor of the double-damned.

Titel: Re: Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: Lorelei op 8-07-2004, 06:47:04

Helse straf - Aubrey van Amstel

De rijke duivelsadvocaat
wordt plotseling onwel.
Hij blijkt vermoord te zijn en gaat
nu rechtstreeks naar de hel.

Daar speelt de band een helse wijs.
Macaber is de geest.
Verboden is de godenspijs.
De duivels vieren feest.

De magen blijven geenszins leeg.
Hun eetlust is een grote.
Ze krijgen koek van eigen deeg
en eten bokkenpoten.

Ze consumeren duivelsvoer
in plaats van spijs voor goden
en liggen dronken op de vloer.
De nectar is verboden.

Ze klinken met een helse klank.
In kennelijke staat
gebruiken zij geen godendrank,
maar duivelsadvocaat.

De pleiter, die - verbod ten spijt -
toch nectar heeft genomen,
hetgeen de helbaas hem verwijt,
moet op het matje komen.

Hij hoort, terwijl z'n bloeddruk stijgt:
'Omdat je dat niet mag,
verdien je 'n fikse straf: je krijgt
op staande voet ontslag.'

Hij wordt nog niet op straat gezet:
gedwongen krijgt-ie heel
veel duivelsadvocaatjes met
ontslagroom door z'n keel.

Titel: Re: Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: Lorelei op 8-07-2004, 06:49:51

Ik, de waarzegger - Aubrey van Amstel ;D

Dat ik weet, wat u doet, zal bij deze
met zekerheid worden bewezen.
Ik zeg u gewis,
wat uw bezigheid is:
deze slotregel bent u aan 't lezen.

Titel: Re: Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: Lorelei op 13-07-2004, 06:49:33

Beulenfestival - Aubrey van Amstel

Op het feest van de beulen in Mook
werd men brandstapelgek van de rook.
Een succes was voor velen
het feestvierendelen.
(D' elektrische stoelendans ook.)

Het gevangeniswezen-in-nood,
dat voldoende gelegenheid bood
voor de beulenpartij,
gaf gevangenen vrij,
want het cellentekort werd te groot.

Een beul had, voor 't feest was begonnen,
een tempobeulwedstrijd verzonnen.
Een slagman uit Zwolle
liet koppen snel rollen
en heeft de onthoofdprijs gewonnen.

Een hangpartij moest men verdagen.
Ze gingen vrijwilligers vragen
voor 'n slachtofferquiz
en de prijswinnaar is
aan het kruis van verdienste geslagen.

Een beul met een gloeiende tang,
die nog blaakte van wandadendrang
en 't beschouwde als sport,
vond het feest veel te kort.
Voor de slachtoffers was 't levenslang.

Titel: Re: Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: Lorelei op 16-07-2004, 04:49:51

We suck young blood - Radiohead

Are you hungry?
Are you sick?
Are you begging for a break?
Are you sweet?
Are you fresh?
Are you strung up by the wrists?
We want the young blood
Are you fracturing?
Are you torn at the seams?
Would you do anything?
Fleabitten motheaten?
We suck young blood
We suck young blood
Woah woah
Won't let the creeping ivy
Won't let the nervous bury me
Our veins are thin
Our rivers poisoned
We want the sweet meat
We want the young blood

Titel: Re: Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: Lorelei op 20-07-2004, 20:28:10

The gloaming - Radiohead

Genie let out of the bottle
It is now the witching hour

Murderers, you're murderers
We are not the same as you
Genie let out of the bottle
Funny haha, funny how
When the walls bend
With your breathing

They will suck you down to the other side
To the shadows blue and red
Your alarm bells
They should be ringing
This is the gloaming

And the walls bend
With your breathing

This is the gloaming

Titel: Re: Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: lebon simon op 16-10-2004, 00:25:56

Heropgevist ! ::tandpastasmiley::
Vorige week 3 DVD's gekocht (echt geschikt voor dit topic) ::jaja:: ... en vanavond 1tje bekeken...

Dracula ::jaja:: - the original uit 1931 ! ::bravo::

(http://www.vampyrbibliothek.de/jpg_bmpdateien/bela-portrait.png)

Was natuurlijk m'n hele leven al fan, maarre.. zo heerlijk om terug te zien!
En de extra's op DVD... ::bravo::

^{jammer dat ik er slechts 3 heb gekocht, morgen op zoek naar méér...} ;)

... Hmm... beetje veel enthousiasme/sunshiny feelings voor 't spookslot, bedenk ik nu :-[
Dus ter compensatie... >:D >:D

Titel: Re: Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: Lorelei op 6-11-2004, 05:12:11

Helaas..immer actueel.. ::ohno:: _{heksenjachten blijven populair..}

Brandstapelgekte - Aubrey van Amstel

Geslagen was de heks d'r laatste uurtje.
De stapel hout, waarop ze stond, moest branden.
Een lucifer bleek echter niet voorhanden
en daarom vroeg de beul 'r om een vuurtje.

Ze zei: 'Helaas, ik ben gestopt met roken.
Wat naar, dat jij je werk nu niet kunt doen.'
Ter compensatie gaf ze hem een zoen.
De beul, die bloosde, bleef van vuur verstoken.

De ramptoeristen werden ongeduldig,
doordat het leedvermaak hun werd onthouden.
De beul was in hun ogen onzorgvuldig.

Toch zagen zij een aangestoken vrouw.
De uitgejouwde beul was snipverkouden
en daardoor vatte zij geen vlam, maar kou.

Titel: Re: Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: Firefoot op 3-06-2005, 22:03:01

Heel veel mooie verhalen hier, jammer dat ik geen tijd heb om ze allemaal te lezen. Griezelen vind ik heerlijk namelijk! ;D Ik zal ook eens pogen een duit in het zakje te doen. ;)

Devil & The Deep Dark Ocean

A snowy owl above the haunted waters
Poet of ancient gods
Cries to tell the neverending story
Prophecy of becoming floods

An aura of mystery surrounds her
The lady in brightest white
Soon the incarnate shall be born
The Creator of the Night

Deep dark is His Majesty's kingdom
A portent of tomorrow's world
There shall the liquid give Him power
The red-eyed unborn lord

Fatal embrace of the bloodred waters
The cradle of infinite gloom
The spell to master this Earth
Carven on an infant's tomb

"I will die for the love of the mermaid
Her seduction beauty and scorn
Welcome to the end of your life
- Hail the Oceanborn!"

"Disgraced is my virginity
Death has woven my wedding dress
Oh Great Blue breathe the morning dew
For you are the cradle of the image of god"

"Brave now long rest is sweet
With me here in the deep"

"I prayed for pleasure wished for love
Prayed for your - "

"Never pray for me!"

"Who the hell are you for me
But a mortal dream to see?"

"This apathetic life must drown
Forever just for me"

"Leave me be
Leave me be
Leave me be...ee...eeee"

"From cradle to coffin
Shall my wickedness be your passion"

We shall come to set the dolphins free
We shall wash the darkened bloodred sea
Our songs will echo over the mountains and seas
The eternity will begin once again in peace

^Nightwish

Titel: Re: Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: Lorelei op 3-06-2005, 22:39:34

Spookslot!!!!! :D :D ;D ;D

Long time no see ;) ::bravo:: ::bravo::

Mooie bijdrage vuurvoetje :-* ::ok::

Titel: Re: Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: Firefoot op 3-06-2005, 22:42:24

Ja, langer dan 120 dagen iig... ;)

Dank je wel! :)

Titel: Re: Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: Lorelei op 5-06-2005, 19:54:18

The Labyrinth - WH Auden

Anthropos apteros for days
Walked whistling round and round the Maze,
Relying happily upon
His temperment for getting on.

The hundreth time he sighted, though,
A bush he left an hour ago,
He halted where four alleys crossed,
And recognized that he was lost.

"Where am I?" Metaphysics says
No question can be asked unless
It has an answer, so I can
Assume this maze has got a plan.

If theologians are correct,
A Plan implies an Architect:
A God-built maze would be, I'm sure,
The Universe in minature.

Are data from the world of Sense,
In that case, valid evidence?
What in the universe I know
Can give directions how to go?

All Mathematics would suggest
A steady straight line as the best,
But left and right alternately
Is consonant with History.

Aesthetics, though, believes all Art
Intends to gratify the heart:
Rejecting disciplines like these,
Must I, then, go which way I please?

Such reasoning is only true
If we accept the classic view,
Which we have no right to assert,
According to the Introvert.

His absolute pre-supposition
Is - Man creates his own condition:
This maze was not divinely built,
But is secreted by my guilt.

The centre that I cannot find
Is known to my unconscious Mind;
I have no reason to despair
Because I am already there.

My problem is how not to will;
They move most quickly who stand still;
I'm only lost until I see
I'm lost because I want to be.

If this should fail, perhaps I should,
As certain educators would,
Content myself with the conclusion;
In theory there is no solution.

All statements about what I feel,
Like I-am-lost, are quite unreal:
My knowledge ends where it began;
A hedge is taller than a man."

Anthropos apteros, perplexed
To know which turning to take next,
Looked up and wished he were a bird
To whom such doubts must seem absurd.

Titel: Re: Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: Firefoot op 7-06-2005, 22:03:11

Within Temptation - Caged

These are the darkest clouds
They have surrounded me
Now I find my self alone caught in a cage
There's no flower I can find in here
Not withering
Or pale to me
Everyone with a friendly face
Seems to hide some secret inside

He told me he loved me
While he laughed in my face
He just led me astray
He took my virtue
I feel so cold inside
Sorrow has frozen my mind

My heart is covered
With thoughts entangled
How could it ever have felt so real?
Is there a place more lonely than I feel within?
Could I have seen?
Could I have known?
I just took it as the truth
Everyone with a friendly face
Seems to hide some secret inside

He told me he loved me
While he laughed in my face
He just led me astray
He took my virtue
I feel so cold inside
Sorrow has frozen my mind

Always there to remind me
It keeps me from believing
That someone might be there
Who'll free me and never ever leave me

Titel: Re: Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: Lorelei op 3-07-2005, 03:44:41

Tussen kippevel en ontroering - lethargie, dissociatie & pathos.. :\'(

Garbage- Bleed Like Me

Avalanche is sullen and too thin
She starves herself to rid herself of sin
And the kick is so divine when she sees bones beneath her skin
And she says:
Hey baby can you bleed like me?
C'mon baby can you bleed like me?

Chris is all dressed up and acting coy
Painted like a brand new Christmas toy
He's trying to figure out if he's a girl or he's a boy
He says:
Hey baby can you bleed like me?
C'mon baby can you bleed like me?

Doodle takes dad's scissors to her skin
And when she does relief comes setting in
While she hides the scars she's making underneath her pretty clothes
She sings:
Hey baby can you bleed like me?
C'mon baby can you bleed like me?

Therapy is Speedie's brand new drug
Dancing with the devil's past has never been too fun
It's better off than trying to take a bullet from a gun
And she cries:
Hey baby can you bleed like me?
C'mon baby can you bleed like me?

JT gets all fucked up in some karaoke bar
After two drinks he's a loser after three drinks he's a star
Getting all nostalgic as he sings "I Will Survive"
Hey baby can you bleed like me?
C'mon baby can you bleed like me?
Hey baby can you bleed like me?
C'mon baby can you bleed like me?

You should see my scars
You should see my scars
You should see my scars
You should see my scars
Try to comprehend that which you'll never comprehend

Titel: Re: Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: Lorelei op 12-07-2005, 16:18:52

maggie and milly and molly and may - E. E. Cummings

maggie and milly and molly and may
went down to the beach(to play one day)

and maggie discovered a shell that sang
so sweetly she couldn't remember her troubles,and

milly befriended a stranded star
whose rays five languid fingers were;

and molly was chased by a horrible thing
which raced sideways while blowing bubbles:and

may came home with a smooth round stone
as small as a world and as large as alone.

For whatever we lose(like a you or a me)
it's always ourselves we find in the sea

Titel: Re: Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: Firefoot op 18-07-2005, 21:28:24

The Gathering - Like Fountains

A scar inside
For such a long time
I'll do it all over again
Can't face the wounds
Have to go on
Stop remembering
Time by time shades reach the surface
A mental breakdown, they provide
Accept, clear up, clean up, go on
and soon I'll show some pride
There's enough to go on further
Don't force to forget
Till the day I'm done with the shades
The rage I create towards myself, the hate
To claim the blame that I feel
To damage the dreams I need
Facing uncertainty
Facing the truth
Got to get on through
Blaming myself
Blame at last
...And please forget

Titel: Re: Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: Firefoot op 23-07-2005, 21:22:55

After Forever - Eccentric

What do they see
when they look at me?
Who are they, to judge me, if they never spoke with me, never looked without laughing, never tried to see, see me

I can't believe that it's only me, the person to hate, the only left out
I can't believe how they can be so mean
if they could feel the brutal stings of their words
and the bitter cold when they laugh
once more, I'm

Running, running away -I must hide-
Can't take anymore,
A fight ,to free me from an endless struggle with life
Running, tell me how far should I go if they're all the same

This fight, I'm fighting my way trough

I don't really want to be like them,
the way they behave,
the way that they live
I don't really need someone, no people like that
But someone in a world with warmth and respect
A world without the feeling I must be

Running,running away -I must hide-
Can't take anymore,
A fight, to free me,from an endless struggle with life
Running, tell me how far should I go, if they're all the same
This fight, I am fighting my way trough

Titel: Re: Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: Firefoot op 31-07-2005, 21:57:54

Iron Maiden - Dance Of Death

Let me tell you a story to chill the bones
About a thing that I saw
One night wandering in the everglades
I'd one drink but no more

I was rambling, enjoying the bright moonlight
Gazing up at the stars
Not aware of a presence so near to me
Watching my every move

Feeling scared and I fell to my knees
As something rushed me from the trees
Took me to an unholy place
And that is where I fell from grace

Then they summoned me over to join in with them
To the dance of the dead
Into the circle of fire I followed them
Into the middle I was led

As if time had stopped still I was numb with fear
But still I wanted to go
And the blaze of the fire did no hurt upon me
As I walked onto the coals

And I felt I was in a trance
And my spirit was lifted from me
And if only someone had the chance
To witness what happened to me

And I danced and I pranced and I sang with them
All had death in their eyes
Lifeless figures they were undead all of them
They had ascended from hell

As I danced with the dead
My free spirit was laughing and howling down at me
Below my undead body
Just danced the circle of dead

Until the time came to reunite us both
My spirit came back down to me
I didn't know if I was alive or dead
As the others all joined in with me

By luck then a skirmish started
And took the attention away from me
When they took their gaze from me
Was the moment that I fled

I ran like hell faster than the wind
But behind I did not glance
One thing that I did not dare
Was to look just straight ahead

When you know that your time has come around
You know you'll be prepared for it
Say your last goodbyes to everyone
Drink and say a prayer for it

When you're lying in your sleep, when you're lying in your bed
And you wake from your dreams to go dancing with the dead
When you're lying in your sleep, when you're lying in your bed
And you wake from your dreams to go dancing with the dead

To this day I guess I'll never know
Just why they let me go
But I'll never go dancing no more
'Til I dance with the dead

Titel: Re: Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: Firefoot op 14-08-2005, 16:43:32

Metallica - Memory Remains

Fortune, fame
Mirror vain
Gone insane
But the memory remains
Heavy rings on fingers wave
Another star denies the grave
See the nowhere crowd, cry the nowhere tears of honor
Like twisted vines that grow
That hide and swallow mansions whole
And dim the light of an already faded prima donna

Fortune, fame
Mirror vain
Gone insane...
Fortune, fame
Mirror vain
Gone insane...
But the memory remains
Heavy rings hold cigarettes
Up to lips that time forgets
While the Hollywood sun sets behind your back
And can't the band play on?
Just listen, they play my song
Ash to ash
Dust to dust
Fade to black

Fortune, fame
Mirror vain
Gone insane...
Fortune, fame
Mirror vain
Gone insane...
Dance little tin goddess
na-na-na
Drift away
Fade away
Little tin goddess
Ash to ash
Dust to dust
Fade to black

Fortune, fame
Mirror vain
Gone insane...
Fortune, fame
Mirror vain
Gone insane...
But the memory remains
Ash to ash Dust to dust Fade to black... But the memory remains
Faded prima donna
Dance little tin goddess dance

Titel: Re: Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: Firefoot op 24-09-2005, 23:18:18

After Forever - Beyond Me

I know I'm alone, but somebody's watching me
Follows me everywhere I go
A cold flow surprised me again, I shiver
The presence of something, I can hear it's breathing

Leave me alone, wherever you came from
Hearing so much voices, no one's talking

Leave me alone

Leave me alone, wherever you came from
Hearing so much voices, no one's talking

Running for something, nothing, in the black of the night
Creeps around you, the invisible force that makes you crazy
I can't remember how it feels to be warm, to be alone...
Without that fear deep inside

Icons of death float on beyond me
Whispering my name and breathing it out

The menace of insanity
Inner voices cry out for action
Defenceless as I am
Lost in the alleged paradise

I'm not sure if I am here or elsewhere
Searching for satisfaction
Beyond the frontiers of my comprehension

Leave me alone, wherever you came from
Hearing so much voices, no one's talking

Leave me alone, wherever you came from
Hearing so much voices, no one's talking

Leave me alone

Titel: Re: Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: Lorelei op 30-10-2005, 15:14:05

Titel: Re: Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: Firefoot op 14-11-2005, 23:00:13

Rammstein - Zerstören

Meine Sachen will ich pflegen
Den Rest in Schutt und Asche legen
Zerreißen zerschmeißen
Zerdrücken zerpflücken
Ich geh am Gartenzaun entlang
Wieder spür ich diesen Drang
Ich muss zerstören
Doch es darf nicht mir gehören
Ich muss zerstören
Doch es darf nicht mir gehören

Nein

Ich nehme eure Siebensachen
Werde sie zunichte machen
Zersägen zerlegen
Nicht fragen zerschlagen
Und jetzt die Königsdisziplin
Ein Köpfchen von der Puppe ziehen
Verletzen zerfetzen zersetzen
Zerstören
Doch es darf nicht mir gehören
Ich muss zerstören

Nein

Ich würde gern etwas zerstören
Doch es darf nicht mir gehören
Ich will ein guter Junge sein
Doch das Verlangen holt mich ein
Ich muss zerstören
Doch es darf nicht mir gehören

Nein

Zerreißen zerschmeißen
Zerdrücken zerpflücken
Zerhauen und klauen
Nicht fragen zerschlagen
Zerfetzen verletzen
Zerbrennen dann rennen
Zersägen zerlegen
Zerbrechen sich rächen

Er traf ein Mädchen, das war blind
Geteiltes Leid und gleichgesinnt
Sah einen Stern vom Himmel gehen
Und wünschte sich sie könnte sehn

Sie hat die Augen aufgemacht
Verließ ihn noch zur selben Nacht

Titel: Re: Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: Lorelei op 21-11-2005, 11:47:58

"It was about this time that the pigs suddenly moved into the farmhouse and
took up their residence there. Again the animals seemed to remember that a
resolution against this had been passed in the early days, and again
Squealer was able to convince them that this was not the case. It was
absolutely necessary, he said, that the pigs, who were the brains of the
farm, should have a quiet place to work in. It was also more suited to the
dignity of the Leader (for of late he had taken to speaking of Napoleon
under the title of "Leader") to live in a house than in a mere sty.
Nevertheless, some of the animals were disturbed when they heard that the
pigs not only took their meals in the kitchen and used the drawing-room
as a recreation room, but also slept in the beds. Boxer passed it off as
usual with "Napoleon is always right!", but Clover, who thought she
remembered a definite ruling against beds, went to the end of the barn and
tried to puzzle out the Seven Commandments which were inscribed there.
Finding herself unable to read more than individual letters, she fetched
Muriel.

"Muriel," she said, "read me the Fourth Commandment. Does it not say
something about never sleeping in a bed?"

With some difficulty Muriel spelt it out.

"It says, 'No animal shall sleep in a bed with sheets,"' she announced
finally.

Curiously enough, Clover had not remembered that the Fourth Commandment
mentioned sheets; but as it was there on the wall, it must have done so.
And Squealer, who happened to be passing at this moment, attended by two
or three dogs, was able to put the whole matter in its proper perspective."

Titel: Re: Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: Lorelei op 26-11-2005, 08:22:22

Winston sank his arms to his sides and slowly refilled his lungs with air. His mind slid away into the labyrinthine world of doublethink. To know and not to know, to be conscious of complete truthfulness while telling carefully constructed lies, to hold simultaneously two opinions which cancelled out, knowing them to be contradictory and believing in both of them, to use logic against logic, to repudiate morality while laying claim to it, to believe that democracy was impossible and that the Party was the guardian of democracy, to forget whatever it was necessary to forget, then to draw it back into memory again at the moment when it was needed, and then promptly to forget it again: and above all, to apply the same process to the process itself. That was the ultimate subtlety: consciously to induce unconsciousness, and then, once again, to become unconscious of the act of hypnosis you had just performed. Even to understand the word 'doublethink' involved the use of doublethink.

The instructress had called them to attention again. 'And now let's see which of us can touch our toes!' she said enthusiastically. 'Right over from the hips, please, comrades. One-two! One- two! ...'

Winston loathed this exercise, which sent shooting pains all the way from his heels to his buttocks and often ended by bringing on another coughing fit. The half-pleasant quality went out of his meditations. The past, he reflected, had not merely been altered, it had been actually destroyed. For how could you establish even the most obvious fact when there existed no record outside your own memory? He tried to remember in what year he had first heard mention of Big Brother. He thought it must have been at some time in the sixties, but it was impossible to be certain. In the Party histories, of course, Big Brother figured as the leader and guardian of the Revolution since its very earliest days. His exploits had been gradually pushed backwards in time until already they extended into the fabulous world of the forties and the thirties, when the capitalists in their strange cylindrical hats still rode through the streets of London in great gleaming motor-cars or horse carriages with glass sides. There was no knowing how much of this legend was true and how much invented. Winston could not even remember at what date the Party itself had come into existence. He did not believe he had ever heard the word Ingsoc before 1960, but it was possible that in its Oldspeak form -- 'English Socialism', that is to say -- it had been current earlier. Everything melted into mist. Sometimes, indeed, you could put your finger on a definite lie. It was not true, for example, as was claimed in the Party history books, that the Party had invented aeroplanes. He remembered aeroplanes since his earliest childhood. But you could prove nothing. There was never any evidence. Just once in his whole life he had held in his hands unmistakable documentary proof of the falsification of an historical fact. And on that occasion --

'Smith!' screamed the shrewish voice from the telescreen. '6079 Smith W.! Yes, you! Bend lower, please! You can do better than that. You're not trying. Lower, please! That's better, comrade. Now stand at ease, the whole squad, and watch me.'

Titel: Re: Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: Lorelei op 2-12-2005, 21:32:48

(http://www.martynbainbridge.co.uk/chamberofhorrors3jpg.jpg)

>:D

Titel: Re: Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: Firefoot op 6-12-2005, 20:44:06

Have you ever felt the future is the past, but you don’t know how...?
A reflected dream of a captured time, is it really now, is it really happening?

Don’t know why I feel this way, have I dreamt this time, this place?
Something vivid comes again into my mind
And I think I’ve seen your face, seen this room, been in this place
Something vivid comes again into my mind

All my hopes and expectations, looking for an explanation
Have I found my destination? I just can’t take no more

The dream is true, the dream is true
The dream is true, the dream is true

Think I’ve heard your voice before, think I’ve said these words before
Something makes me feel I just might lose my mind
Am I still inside my dream? is this a new reality
Something makes me feel that I have lost my mind

All my hopes and expectations, looking for an explanation
Coming to the realization that I can’t see for sure

I only dream in black and white, I only dream cause I’m alive
I only dream in black and white, to save me from myself
I only dream in black and white, I only dream cause I’m alive
I only dream in black and white, please save me from myself

The dream is true, the dream is true
The dream is true, the dream is true

I get up put on the light, dreading the oncoming night
Scared to fall asleep and dream the dream again
Nothing that I contemplate, nothing that I can compare
To letting loose the demons deep inside my head

Dread to think what might be stirring, that my dream is reoccurring
Got to keep away from drifting, saving me from myself

I only dream in black and white, I only dream cause I’m alive
I only dream in black and white, to save me from myself
I only dream in black and white, I only dream cause I’m alive
I only dream in black and white, to save me from myself

Lost in a dream of mirrors, lost in a paradox
Lost and time is spinning, lost a nightmare I retrace
Lost a hell that I revisit, lost another time and place
Lost a parallel existence, lost a nightmare I retrace

I only dream in black and white, I only dream cause I’m alive
I only dream in black and white, to save me from myself
I only dream in black and white, I only dream cause I’m alive
I only dream in black and white, to save me from myself

I only dream in black and white, I only dream cause I’m alive
I only dream in black and white, to save me from myself
I only dream in black and white, I only dream cause I’m alive
I only dream in black and white, to save me from myself

The dream is true, the dream is true
The dream is true, the dream is true

_{Iron Maiden - Dream of Mirrors}

Titel: Re: Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: Lorelei op 16-12-2005, 02:12:05

because i love you)last night - ee cummings

clothed in sealace
appeared to me
your mind drifting
with chuckling rubbish
of pearl weed coral and stones;

lifted,and(before my
eyes sinking)inward,fled;softly
your face smile breasts gargled
by death:drowned only

again carefully through deepness to rise
these your wrists
thighs feet hands

poising
to again utterly disappear;
rushing gently swiftly creeping
through my dreams last
night,all of your
body with its spirit floated
(clothed only in

the tide's acute weaving murmur

Titel: Re: Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: Firefoot op 23-12-2005, 23:39:15

System Of A Down - Attack

Grieving each others lives
Holding this in mind
That if we fall, we all fall
And we fall alone

The calming sincerity of steel machines
Have consumed our euphoria
Transforming us into muted dreams
Dreaming of the day that

We attack
Attack, attack our fetal servitude
We attack
Attack, attack with pesticide
We attack
All the years of propaganda
We shall attack!

Bombs illustrate what we already know
Candles cry towards the sky
Bracing your plants of a polluted coast
Dreaming of the day that

We attack
Attack, attack our fetal servitude
We attack
Attack, attack with pesticide
We attack
All the years of propaganda
We shall attack!

Attack! (Attack!)

Grieving each others lives
Holding this in mind
That if we fall, we all fall
And we fall alone

Grieving each others lives
Holding this in mind
That if we fall, we all fall
And we fall alone

Was the philosophy of displaced minds
The bombing of all homes and villages?
Truth is the only sort we demise
Pleading till the day that

We attack
Attack, attack our fetal servitude
We attack
Attack, attack with pesticide
We attack
All the years of propaganda
We shall attack!

Attack all the homes and villages
Attack all the schools and hospitals
You have attacked all the innocent villages
We shall attack!

We shall attack!

Titel: Re: Spookslot: Dance Macabre!
Bericht door: koekoe op 25-12-2005, 11:30:35

eentje voor kertsmis ::tandpastasmiley::

Hell, evil, Satan's curse
From the sky it falls
Metal burns my fucking brain
Satan took the fall
Deceased men from hell and hatred
Pollution to mankind
Antichrist my son from hell
I will make you mine

You'll die there's no time to run from hell
You lied the witch has cast her spell
Your sins will be paid for and sacrificed
This is the price - Satan's curse

Sin, hate, eternal death
Decayed my flesh I rot
Running below Satan's home
Lord of Hell he's not
Lust for evil, son of Hell
Beneath the smoke I rise
Flames torch my body
A sinner's solar eyes

Sacrifice your soul will be doomed
Your evil friends who have deceived you
Satan's curse enters your soul
Beneath you'll burn - Satan's curse

Sky fades to black
As the heavens diminish
Evil takes over
The world is finished

Hell, evil, Satan's curse
From the sky it falls
Metal burns my fucking brain
Satan took the fall
Deceased men from hell and hatred
Pollution to mankind
Antichrist my son from hell
I will make you mine

You'll die there's no time to run from hell
You lied the witch has cast her spell
Your sins will be paid for and sacrificed
This is the price - Satan's curse

Realitynet - Realitynet.org

Off topic => Relaxhoek => Topic gestart door: rougekappje op 6-10-2003, 02:00:21