Connor Kyle

Horror Poetry!

Just in time for Halloween, here's another one of my poems, made especially for a good friend of mine to go with his music. He liked it very much, and I hope you will too. Happy Halloween.

"The Machine"


Pumping, pistons pound with pressure,
Grinding gears eat metal shells.
And yet you stand there at your leisure,
Assure your masters all works well.

Push the button, flick the switch.
Make my teeming turbines twitch.
Perfect products on the shelf.
But I can't do this by myself.

Just take your time
I think there's something stuck inside me
please reach inside
and let me feel your skin beside me

Bloody sinews scream in anguish!
Clenching jaws break brittle bone
Don't you see, with you inside me
I could do the work alone.

Like a knot, we won't be parted.
Man and metal, minds twofold.
Though your soul may have departed,
The unity we forged will hold.


Frank Aiden Ryan
  • Current Music
    Marilyn Manson - This is Halloween
Connor Kyle

Horror Poerty, volume 6

Heh, I'm on a roll today! I *LOVE* this poem. I hope you guys do, too.


The Obsession


I've loved you more than life itself
and now, the life I had is lost.
The body you knew is no more,
rotting away beneath the frost.

I missed you terribly, and thus
My spirit never left this place
At moonlit nights I watch you sleep
Beneath your sheets with satin lace.

With all the memories we shared
I cannot bring myself to part.
As long as you breathe, I remain
If out of sight - means out of heart.

And my heart broke the day I saw
You and that other one, that crone.
I somehow assumed you would grieve
your days away, and die alone.

I can no longer stand to watch
Her run those fingers through your hairs
She won't be smiling so cute when
I'll make that whore fall down the stairs.

And do not think I didn't cause
The shivers of unease at night
As my cold breath blows on your skin
And sets your neckhairs all upright.

My very purpose has become
To cause you pain and misery!
And those loud knocking sounds you hear
When clocks strike twelve? That's also me.

And then one morning, you'll wake up
and find that you can take no more
Of nightly noises, rattling chains
Of silent whispers, slamming doors.

If I can't have you for myself
I'd rather not have you at all.
If only I could LEAVE this place -
I would attend your funeral.


Frank Aiden Ryan
  • Current Music
    Ishahn - The Pain Is Still Mine
Connor Kyle

More dark poetry!

The Monster

I have become quite popular
With all the visits to my lake
In an attempt to capture me
Or seeking proof that I am fake.

I am alone in all the world.
There's only one of me on Earth.
And thus greatly desirable.
Please tell me what my life is worth

The tourist agencies do thrive
So please, let's keep my myth alive.

The sceptics have the loudest voice.
An argument 'tween me and them -
Where I just want my solitude,
They'll settle for my postmortem.

Forgive me if I don't indulge
and keep my visage to myself.
It's better off beneath the waves
Than in a jar, upon a shelf.

I'll vanish now, into the mist.
Haven't you heard? I don't exist.

Frank Aiden Ryan
  • Current Music
    Ishahn - Called by the Fire
Connor Kyle

Queensday!!!

Aah, Queensday. To my opinion there is no such thing as Queensday anywhere in the world, and I've gathered that a lot of my foreign buddies have NO idea what it actually is or means. So here, for your reading pleasure, is my List Of Things The Dutch Do On Queensday.

- Queensday is a national holiday. Everyone's off.
- We celebrate the Queen's Birthday.
- Though not actually THIS Queen's birthday. The birthday of her mum.
- We celebrate Queensday on April 30th.
- Unless April 30th is a Sunday. It can never be a Sunday.
- Therefore this year, we celebrate it on April 29th.
- The royal family is protestant. So y'know, no party on a Sunday.
- In the morning all grammar/elementary schools (even on a saturday) Get their pupils to sing songs to the Queen.
- This is done in every town, city and capital city.
- In front of City Hall.
- Even though the Queen isn't there.
- Everywhere churchbells chime and people proudly display the Dutch national flag.
- Everyone dresses in Orange.
- Luckily this is not compulsory.
- Orange is the national colour. House of Orange, get it?
- Aside from numerous games and activities organised, the entire country becomes one big flea market.
- That's right, in honor of the Queen the Dutch are allowed to pawn off anything and everything. Like a huge garage sale.
- Every musician is allowed to busk.
- Public drinking is allowed.
- All bars and cafes are open on Queensday.
- The whole population gets pissed because of this.
- All the bars and cafes charge more for their beer on Queensday.
- Because of this, many younger drinkers get their own stash.
- Because of this, many supermarkets choose to be open on Queensday.
- Also, people are allowed to have barbeques in public and sell their charred food.
- Because of this, the National Health service has to check thoroughly if the quality of the meat's up to specs.
- Usually a couple arrests and impounds are made for breaking the Health Code.
- At night the party continues nationwide and more and more people get drunk.
- The bigger cities become an absolute mess in terms of litter.
- Special teams stand by to clean the cities after two am.
- In the bigger cities the whole thing actually starts on the night before.
- This night is appropriately named Queensnight.
- Queensnight starts at six in the evening. The night before Queensday.
- So the entirety of Queensday lasts from six in the evening to two am of the next night.
- This is all just to honor our Royal Family.
- In reality, it's a wonderful day to get totally pissed.

And I'm so going!
Frank Aiden Ryan
  • Current Music
    Gamma Ray - It's a Sin
Connor Kyle

I wouldn't call this one "Horror Poetry"...

.....but I'd call it poetry, nonetheless. Enjoy!


*untitled*

If I had it my way
Pigs - would surely fly.
If I had it my way, then
We all could touch the sky.

The night would hold such beauty
The day would be for sleep
And if I cut my wrist tonight,
No blood from it would seep.

All lightbulbs would be candles,
Nobody would feel need.
And instead of a car, I'd have
A Wyvern be my steed.

Toadstools would not be poisonous,
All pistols would be knives.
And those who loved and lost - Rejoice,
Their loves would be alive.

Copyright, Frank Aiden Ryan
  • Current Music
    Notre Dame - Dusk
Connor Kyle

Shelley-inspired horror ficlet

I wrote this little horror story some years back. A somewhat modern swing to the classic Mary Shelley tale.

"The Post-Modern Prometheus"

Mary-Jane Walton walked down the cold corridor. She had just vomited in the women´s bathroom. The sterile white and chrome colours of the hospital-like corridor only added to the nausiating sensation in her stomach. Even though her miscarriage had happened a while ago, her body was still dazed and confused. She felt that it was ironic that a scientist who was trying to recreate life could not even give birth to a child.
Mary-Jane herself was the daughter of two working class parents. She had grown up in Liverpool and her parents had enough money to send her to University. Mary-Jane followed her dream and studied physics and chemistry. Headhunters for the American government had spotted her and asked her to join the ´Sixth Day Project´ in Washington, D.C. Ambtious as she was, she gladly accepted.
It was that very ambition that silenty coerced her to set her moral objections aside. The same ambition that had her working on the controversial project for hours on end, until the light of the inevitable dawn peered through the small office windows once more. That is, if she were in her office. In the final stages of the project´s completion, she hardly ever was.
Now, the result of ´Project Sixth Day´ was waiting for the governement officials in the containment chamber. Yes, the project had been a succes. Mary-Jane suspected to feel joy, pride perhaps, that the project had been in fact more succesful than anyone could have ever hoped. Her name was to be on the lips of everyone in the science business. Her name would be on the cover of every prestigious science magazine. But Mary-Jane felt nothing. Nothing but nausea.
Mary-Jane ignored her turning stomach and proceeded down the cold metal stairway to once again confront herself with the horror she had ´created´. For Project Sixth Day´s goal was not a project that eventually would make the world a better place - far from it, in fact. The defence budget over the last few decades had been cut dramatically and the Military was undermanned. New recruits were scarcer than ever. The U.S government was slowly losing its status as military superpower and her enemies knew this. A drastic and controversial suggestion was made, approved under heavy protest by some, but nevertheless realised. Under the direction of her husband David, Mary-Jane had begun her work and it was because of her innovating line of thinking that the project had any chance of succeeding.
Because of her, that thing was waiting in the containment chamber.
David had been so proud of her. That was typical of him, she thought. Always trying to look out for her, trying to protect her. He loved her, yes, as she did him, but he never could see her as an adult. He always had to have the final say. Just like with this project, she thought. Perhaps, if HE had not been director of the project she would have...
Would have, could have, should have. Those things were in the past now.
She neared the containment chamber, with that...thing...inside it. The military had come up with a way overcome the shortage of defence budget and manpower by turning science ficton into science fact: To create an army of Supersoldiers. Electronically enhanced cyborgs. Human bodies with cybernetic inplants to increase efficiency, stamina, and sheer power in battle. The source of these Supersoldiers would be abundant, and perpetual. For as David had put it so eloquently: Tanks and jets cost money. The Dead cost nothing.
She had revitalised a dead human body with the use of modern electronics. The result should have been a fully programmable human body that would take orders and execute them without questioning or complaning. Without care for his personal life, for he had none. There was to be no personality present within the creature´s mind, just as there is no sentient being present in a personal computer.
It was that notion that prooved faulty.
For the creation in the contaiment chamber was truly alive. It spoke. It howled. It screamed. It moved without ever receiving orders. In fact, most of the software it was to receive wasn´t even written yet. And yet somehow, the creature had a concienceness. The only wise thing to do, she had thought, was to terminate it.
She had told David so before she had to leave for the bathroom to vomit. The thought alone made her sick.
Suddenly - there was gunfire. Screaming. More gunfire. Mary-Jane hesitated, frozen by sudden fear. Then, she started running.
She headed around the corner to find the door to the containment chamber hanging loosely on it hinges. The two guardsmen slain - their broken bodies lay in a bloody pile in the containment chamber. Other than that, the chamber was empty. The modern day Monster of Frankenstein had escaped.
Thoughts shot through her mind. She had to get to David. Where did she leave her gun? This entire facility had to be quarantained! If this thing ever got out..the public would -
More screams. From upstairs now.
Mary-Jane ran upstairs, past David´s empty office. Down the hall to her own office. She would get her gun out of her drawer, then she would use her phone to call David´s mobile and tell him to get the hell out of here.
She approached the door to her office and threw it open, her heart racing in her heaving chest. When she saw the inside of her office, her heart stopped.
She saw her creation - a bulging, sewn-together monstrocity seated in her chair. Blackened blood pouring out of several bullet wounds and around the edges of newly-implanted cybernetics. An unnatural look of intelligence in its watery eyes. In its trembling right hand, it held the severed head of David, red blood gushing everywhere. Slowly, the miscreant's crumpled lips opened and heaved the word that would echo in her ears for the rest of her life:

`Why...?´


Frank Aiden Ryan
  • Current Music
    Moonspell - Mephisto
Connor Kyle

(no subject)

So. I just watched the first part of 'Tipping the Velvet', a BBC/HBO productions about girls who like girls.

Hmm. Well, it wasn't bad. I honestly like same sex couplings as I'm bisexual myself, but I have to be honest and say - since one girl worked as an oystergirl - if I see one more sexually implicit scene with oysters I'm gonna throw up. The title was implicit enough. Or am I just the only one who 'got'the metaphor the first time and after another five gratuitous scenes involving licking, sucking and caressing oysters thought "ENOUGH! or too much."

Hey, I'm all for cunnilingus. And I must say, it's refreshing to see an honest love story about girls liking girls on telly and not some fake Jenna Jameson-ish charade of flirtatious plastic-fantastic all American smutfest. You know, Lavey wrote that men who are fetishistically turned on by lesbians are actually closeted homosexuals, because the idea of a same sex coupling turns them on so much, they see in two women what they can't have. And seeing how especially the American adult industry is literally bursting at the seems with scenes imported directly from Lesbania itself, I'm beginning to agree with him there. The fact that he wrote this halfway through the 80's goes to show. Gratuitous lesbian behavior nowadays is something of a household brand. "Buy this pack of laundry detergent and get a free lesbian."

...

I'm probably just jealous I don't get a free gay boy with MY detergent.
  • Current Music
    Garbage - Only Happy When it Rains
Connor Kyle

Twenty Reasons why Valentine's sucks.

1. Cards and flowers are less expensive on ANY other day.

2. Murphy's Law. Something WILL go wrong despite all your planning.

3. Your partner might get used to being spoiled. Don't give him ideas.

4. Sex is still just sex, with or without rose petals, dude.

5.Boxers with hearts on them don't do wonders for your masculinity.

6. What if it rains? Kiss your rented tux goodbye.

7. 20 million other couples got married on Valentine's. Be original!

8. Classy french restaurants still can't beat beer and pizza.

9. Which costs decicively less, I might add.

10. *Renting* that limo won't impress anybody. You still drive a crappy car every other day.

11. Forget hotels. The beds are always horrible.

12. What's that smell? Froofy soap and perfume? What are you, female?

13. Romantic comedies? Suck.

14. TRY getting a seat at the movies on Februry 14th. I dare ya.

15 Same for theaters. Although theaters do not suck, you could always go on February 16th.

16. By putting out on ONE day of the year you'll make it seem like an obligation to your partner.

17. Going against Captalism is totally hip, man!

18. Pink is the colour of Evil. It will clash with everything.

19. Sex and food do not mix. If you're of a different opinion, you can clean my bedsheets when I'm done.

20. Poetry? I've yet to see one Valentine's poem that wasn't tripe.Yes, love rhymes with dove. Wahey. It also rhymes with shove.


Copyright, Frank Aiden Ryan
Connor Kyle

Horror Poetry, Volume 5

Aah, but the other poems were tame compared to this one. Took me two and a half hours to write this in one single session, and weak-stomached readers be warned, it gets bloody. That, and it's only poetry. Meant to scare. Ooh yeah.



"The Scream"

What thing runs screeching through the night?
What causes me this chilling fright?
What terror hath my slumber woken?
A small child, with its fingers broken.

What lust hath kindled the desire
What twisted whim hath dared inspire
And what fell deed did follow suit
That mutilated unripe fruit?

When other men would mercy feel
My own perverted mind did reel
To join the culprit in the fray
And cut, maim, hurt, inflict, and slay.

With glee, I did let out a sigh,
As the screams did intensify
Which meant the little brat was caught,
And all its screams would be for naught.

The faint moonlight outside did show
Small drops of blood, red in the snow
With ease, I followed this clear trail
As the child began to wail.

I followed the blood to a field,
which did, upon inspection, yield
more gruesome findings hid therein:
A lock of hair, attached to skin.

A moment later I had found
An object, lying on the ground
A finger, pointing towards a farm
Lay there beside a severed arm.

The screams still echoed through the dark
When in the distance I saw a spark
Which kindled, clearly, a fell light
Illuminating the thick night.

More clearly now I saw the way
In which the fiend had dragged its prey.
For scattered there, upon the frost
Were eyes and teeth the child had lost.

When I approached the wooden door
Abruptly, the child screamed no more.
As if all life from it was wrung
And Death did silence the child's tongue.

I opened up the door, and gazed
A silhouette, its arms were raised
And with an axe, forcefully hew'd
The lifeless body into two.

Then silently, without a sound
The killer slowly turned around
And something dreadful I did see:
The man who slew the child was me!

I looked upon my own face, and
The bloodied axe was in my hand
"We are the same.", my own mouth spoke
And at that instant, I awoke.


I knew at once what I would do.
The visage in my dream spoke true.
No longer be a peaceful man,
I shall hear children scream again!!


Copyright and such, Frank Aiden Ryan
  • Current Music
    Anorexia Nervosa