Buried talent

Rated NFG (No Fucks Given)

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21st August 2014

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Tagged: dark matterspoempoetryspilled inkmy poetry

4th May 2014

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By Christopher Courtley

When I first saw you, you were alone

Alone, but happy

Happy, but incomplete

Incomplete, but not broken

And all that I ever wanted

Was to be that missing piece

To make you feel complete

To make you feel less alone

I didn’t mean to make you unhappy

I didn’t mean to leave you broken

Tagged: brokenpoemmy poetryspilled ink

10th April 2014


Tagged: deathpoempoem about deathoriginal poetrydeath poem

21st April 2013

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For more of my poetry, download my latest FREE ebook, Thirteen Black Roses!

For more of my poetry, download my latest FREE ebook, Thirteen Black Roses!

Tagged: poetryGothicromanticpoemmoonChristopher Courtleyspilled ink

13th February 2013

Quote reblogged from Nequams with 7,060 notes

So wherever you are, I hope you’re happy,
I really do.

I hope the stars are kissing your cheeks tonight.
I hope you finally found a way to quit smoking.
I hope your lungs are open and breathing your life.
I hope there’s a kite in your hand
that’s flying all the way up to Orion
and you still got a thousand yards of string to let out.
I hope you’re smiling
like god is pulling at the corners of your mouth.

‘Cause I might be naked and lonely,
shaking branches for bones,
but I’m still time zones away
from who I was the day before we met.
You were the first mile
where my heart broke a sweat.
And I wish you were here
I wish you’d never left.

— Andrea Gibson (via -moonshine-)

Tagged: poempoetry

18th October 2012

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I built a fortress formed of words:
Four walls reached endless up and down.
Hell yawned at its base and heaven formed its crown…

~Christopher Courtley

Tagged: poetrypoemspilled inkFortress of WordsChristopher Courtleyrecitalpoetry readingTower of BabelPieter Bruegel the Elderprimacy of experiencewordstowerBabylonlanguage

11th October 2012

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The Briar Rose

By Christopher Courtley

Old Father Time will tell this tale again

And yet again in his senility:

Brave knights and princes ever rise and fall.

But in my dreams the story changes when

I hold you in my arms triumphantly

Beyond the high enchanted briar-wall

That spells eternal winter on your lair

With claws that catch your champions and rend

Your would-be conquerors, and hold them fast,

Like bone-white twigs entangled in your hair.

Against such charms, what armour can defend?

I strip myself, and naked of the past

Advance upon your bower without fear

For I am one with every fool who keeps

His faith in dreams, whose passing no one mourns

Because he walks alone, year after year

Into the wild wood where Beauty sleeps,

To die a hundred times upon her thorns.

Copyright 2011 by Christopher Courtley. All Rights Reserved.

Tagged: briar rosefairy talepoemspilled inkChristopher Courtleypoetrybeautysleeping beautyenchantment

7th October 2012

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Me reading aloud my poem “Troll Stew” from my Kindle book TROLL STEW: A STRANGE BREW OF DARK FAIRY TALES & POEMS FOR ADULTS

Tagged: Christopher CourtleyTroll Stewfairy talespoemspoetrypoemrecitalpoetry readingtrollsnursery rhymesfaeriefantasysicktwistedhumor

1st September 2012

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Witch Hunt

Witch Hunt

By Christopher Courtley

The groaning of the oaken doors

Announce my swift-approaching death

On feet that pound these hallowed floors

I cling to with abated breath.

I’ll find no sanctuary here

From this unholy war they wage.

I try to calm my growing fear

As I endure their shouts of rage.

The angry mob is led by one

Whose daughter lately did succumb

To fever, and by one whose son

By means unknown was stricken dumb.

They will not hear my arguments—

The preacher looks on with a sneer

As I protest my innocence;

He says my guilt is all too clear.

The mob now having found their witch

Beseech of him a remedy;

He tells them they must smear with pitch

My body and put flame to me.

They seize me then, with irons bind

My wrists, and then my dress they tear

And chaining fast my hands behind

My back, proceed to strip me bare.

Men force me down between the pews

And each in turn does what he will.

They yank my hair, my breasts they bruise,

Till every one has had his fill.

Then gagged that I may cast no spell,

With prayers that their Lord may save

My soul from all the pains of hell,

They send me to my fiery grave.


But now on Hallows Eve a sign

Against the waning gibbous moon,

A scudding shadow shaped like mine

Foretells my bloody vengeance soon

To fall on those who did me wrong!

The preacher leads his flock into

The chapel, thinking himself strong

In Christ—as if I cannot do

What I have come to do within

That desecrated church where he

Stood o’er me with a leering grin

While twelve men had their way with me—

Yet now the groaning oaken doors

Swing open, letting in the night

As shadows sweep across the floors

Within the fading candlelight.

The flames burn blue and then go out—

The faithful huddle close in fear—

For now they see the ghost of doubt

Upon the preacher’s face appear!

But loudly he begins to pray

To God and all His angels, as

If they will intervene to stay

My righteous hand, which never has

In life or death committed sins

So black as his. But still unbound,

My shadow in the darkness spins

A cloak of fallen leaves around

Its pitch-soaked form—and now they run—

The guilty twelve beg God to save

Their lives as I hunt down each one

And send him swiftly to his grave.


The preacher’s wily prey, and fast

But I am wilier and faster—

Yet ne’er should I have left for last

This thirteenth morsel for the Master!

My vengeful spate must end at morn

And now I fear he will escape

My wrath, and I will be forsworn—

For with hell’s fiends that long to rape

His soul for all eternity

I bartered for my brief return

Its sure and swift delivery.

Which failing, my poor shade will burn

Forever in the lake of fire!

But then at last I see him—lo!

The object of my dark desire

In the dawn’s first feeble glow!

Still cowering on hallowed ground—

How foolishly he clings to faith!

But sensing now that he’s been found,

He turns to flee my fearsome wraith.

I overtake him quickly, shed

His blood as he repents his deeds

But without mercy are the dead

And now the earth on which he bleeds

Begins to quake and then to rock,

And then yawns wide to swallow him—

And by the crowing of the cock

I know that I must follow him.

But looking my last on the sky

I see that angels ride the wind!

They’ve come to bear my soul on high

Which ere this night had barely sinned!

Copyright 2012 by Christopher Courtley. All Rights Reserved.

Tagged: poempoetryspilled inkChristopher Courtleygothicdark poemdark poetrygothic poetrywitchcraftwitcheswitch huntmoonshadowwraithghostvengeancerevengedeathhauntingspookycreepyscaryhorrorsamhainhalloweenhallows eveall hallowsfolklorewitchburning times

20th July 2012

Photo reblogged from My Elven Kingdom with 900 notes

Tagged: tolkienpoemlotrquote

Source: mymagicaljourney