By Andriana Minou They say The Sphinx was a giant mosquito Sucking the peasants’ blood all night Digesting it all day. Oedipus had a little think There was no swatter Big enough to get her. Enter Tiresias The blind prophet With his legendary breasts – aka Mr National Boobs – Whispering in Oedipus’ ear. Oedipus got so horny He forgot his own name. He ran to his mama And she slept with him Like any good old mama Rescuing him from Mr National Boobs’ claws. But in the morning Oed

By Sister Chain Standing at the duty-free shop with a dad who didn’t care on our final holiday together I ask him to recommend a bottle of whisky, “for who?” “a friend” “If it’s a good friend, then this one’s best,” he regally points to a smoky 12-year-old single malt that’s way above the budget of an English major, and does not offer to add it to his cart. Nor do I ask. I bring the fancy bottle in a cab tracing the embossment to avoid the driver and try not to make a big dea

By Bill Homewood Once upon a never-dreamt-of time The strangest-ever truth appeared to me ; It manifested in so great a rhyme That all the world must hear it urgently. I chose a leather chair and took a pen, Turned my notebook to an empty page: This would change the lives of other men, Would make them richer, blessèd in old age! I penned the opening line with trembling hand— Who would have thought I could be quite as wise!— “An idea so important and so grand In verse this mor

By Kevin Sandefur I never knew there were so many lilacs out here on the outskirts. I guess we never spent all that much time at the graveyard. We didn't dream that it ever would come out here, not in our wildest. We were immune from that. It was a city thing, surely. Out in the open air, germs can't be transmitted. Who needed face masks? Big skies meant freedom and choosing our own paths to follow. If you're afraid, then stay home, but don't tell me what I can or can't do. I

By Dodie Green He whispered to me “use me” so, I did. I split open his skin peeled it off gently set aside for later use. I cut out his spine (it might be useful, one never knows.) I cracked him open, revealing his fragile insides they gleamed softly in the light, he was tattooed with words from beginning to end. But I, destructive as I am, tore him apart trying to understand the mysteries of his heart. Though I rustled and leafed through every page of him, in the end I could

By Jin Tian I see them as equal. The urge to Release the monstrous unease. Perfect job on earth: being a porn star under daylight, yet when night arrives, burning pages in the fireplace. Porn and poem – you pay to watch one, have to pay to get the other read. When you speak those lines to me, I know I’m naked. What kind of undergarments are you putting on me in your wandering mind? Those artificial intelligences, without real flesh – how are they facing an internet flooded wi

By Lindsey Jay Are you looking for someone with a fragile sense of self? Introducing “All The Feels” Barbie: the borderline beauty riddled with emotional instability. Delicately packaged in extreme sensitivity and fears of abandonment, this lovely lady comes complete with inner turmoil, mascara smears from crying uncontrollably, and scars from self-inflicted harm that once helped numb the pain. Accessories include: a wardrobe of black, bottles of mood stabilizers and antidepr

By J. Rohr No clue whose bones Feed the forget me nots Rumors whisper Of a hangman’s knot A penniless pauper In a rich man’s plot An angel owed What the devil got Yet though victims are a loss The guilty remain Strung upon the cross By barbed wire cord Leaking ruby rivers Pilgrims merrily ford To pull meat off the buffet Hallelujah hurray One heaven stretched hand at a time Because sacrificial screaming Is a dinner bell divine #DarkPoetsClub #DarkHumourBitterIrony

By Ping Yi Your RHR (Resting Heart Rate) is Elevated, 19% above average, a Yellow Recovery, your Doom capitalised by late capitalism, your guilt and shame acronymised for neuro-linguistically programmed action: yer gonna pop it, lose it, miss all the nice things ya flogged yer life for, like this wristbound earthbound tricorder, sighcorder telling ya yer health sucks, telling ya life sucks… I know my health: no time, excessive work and food, zero sleep, my metrics winning int

By Angela Wye Feet quietly trespassing to night-fire the gun. The moonlight tracking the bullet to the prey. Then the death throws halted with a whack from a stick. Food to go, raw and real, cooked crudely, unmatched to the pages of a recipe book stained from the past endeavours of fancy gluttony. #DarkPoetsClub #DarkHumourBitterIrony

By The Menopausal Poet Vampires are neurodivergent. Photosensitive, restricted diet, prefers enclosed spaces, sleeps somewhere quiet. Hyper responsive to certain smells, garlic for one. Avoids bathing. Certain water causes sensory pain. Religiously against. Eye and physical contact on their terms. Fleeting or overly intense. Stands close. No awareness of personal space. Prefers to keep teeth and hair long. Dislikes dentists and hairdressing salons. Eschews change. Prefers wea

By Rhian Elizabeth thanks to my teenage daughter, if you dare me to sing you every single song taylor swift has ever written, i could easily do it, lyric perfect too. in our house taylor’s name is sacred, her face repeated on our walls like the image of our blessed lady mary, and i feel i ought to make the sign of the cross each time i pass it, even though i am not a practising catholic. i once asked my daughter who she would save if we were both drowning, me or taylor (she c

By Steve Shepherdson He slowed down, waved the man across the road, then ran him over under the cloud spattered moon. The man had nodded gratefully when crossing, never expecting the growl of death to arrive so soon after the polite exchange. The driver had planned it all. He would tell the police the man just stepped out. ‘Unavoidable’ is the word he would use when asked. Pulling his cab over, he exited and began to shout, making a scene for the blinking CCTV above. His face

By Romany Patton Gaston burned Belle’s books today, I watched her chase charred pages as they blew away. She was meant for more— a scholar, not this provincial life. Now she walks past the baker, face buried in a story to hide her eye. Gaston boasts in the tavern, singing nightly, ten pints deep, that he has biceps to spare. No one says no to Gaston— it’s written all over Belle. The town sleeps. Except them. One punch too many. The handsome brute finally caused her to crack.

By Cat London Oh! I thought your eye was shot The veins were bulged The blood was clot And dear! Sincere apologies I thought your silky brains were cream! Of course, I would have had you for tea. See I thought you were dead And couldn’t join me, So I planned to use your bones as platters Skin as placemats Tongue for batter Scones of scapula Tendons for toast And nail-beds for flavor A hot bottom roast! Apologies! Truly! The plans weren’t set, I would have had you for tea, But

By Helen Grant At work in the now vacated hotel room, I see a newspaper left behind and put it in my bag on the linen trolley. Back home, I bundle pages into the hungry stove and I burn The Sun. #DarkPoetsClub #DarkHumourBitterIrony

By Murray Eiland Looking down I see a dead cat, In front of an apartment building, In finance, they speak of a dead cat bounce, A small glimmer of hope in a sea of decline. Did the cat jump from a great height, Seeking excitement, seeking adventure? Or did it simply slip and fall, Taking a risk, paying the price? No matter how long I stare, I see no bounce, no recovery, While a broker may see potential, I see only loss. #DarkPoetsClub #DarkHumourBitterIrony

By Giles Constable First evidence of the campaign came at dawn. Early risers found bouquets of carefully matched flowers laid softly at their doors. The trials of the citizens were to continue throughout the day. Inspirational music was widely piped across suburbs and divisions of dancers blocked essential thoroughfares. Disputed footage shows a man violently hugged by a clown. We most fear the poetry, a young father said, There are rumours of recitals. And if that begins, h

By Johnathan Nilsen Factions and fractions In religious interactions; Reforming through warnings Adorning a dawning mourning On theocratic doors. Schisms and divisions Erupt from envisioned missions. Legions with precision March to the beat Of an ordained king. Ringing and singing With apostles bringing Hostile clinging To immutable laws Claiming soul authority. Chasms and spasms Between sects: a phantasm Of enthusiasm for Derision Superstition And mythical permission To divi

By Bob W Christian I’ve learned to grin where the ground coughed fire. The shockwave a violent handshake Where night stitched shrapnel into our sleep. Not because it was easier, But because the dark pressed harder. Out there, laughter was contraband. We smuggled it between heartbeats; Called the crater a pool with a view… Rated incoming rounds for their customer service; Gave the Grim Reaper a nickname so he felt less like family. My jokes were tourniquets - Crude, necessary,