Dark Poetry
Poetry by Kelly Glover, Juan Manuel Perez and Marc Carver
To read other short stories,
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These Little Men
          By Marc Carver

I don't care about the people who have lied to me,
all little people, trying to hold onto the little that they have in life that they think is a lot.
People are happy to lie to you when they think you are on top because they want to be where you are
even happier as they watch you fall, even wave at you on the way down.
But it is the most interesting place, the fall.
Then the realization that you can go no lower,
the impact,
the crying that turns to laughter and seeing those fools at the top knowing they will be with you soon
but they will take it much worse than you.
But I won't lie to those little men.
Only one man I regret lying to
Something For Everyone
               By Kelly Glover

Sex and money
Siamese twins
Real and raw
Two of the oldest sins
A home for all of life's abuses
Runaway, addicted, need to feed a child
All sadly valid excuses
Commercial copulation
Janes, Johns, marks, and tricks
A young mother imagines what's for dinner
As she eats a random dick
Hogtied behind a truck stop
Chained and gagged behind closed doors
Remnants from the sex trade
Whores that are nevermore
Brothels and Tinder give choices
Hooker heels clicking on the street
Lend a fresh sense of danger
To a limp piece of meat
Lesbian golden showers and donkey shows in Mexico
You can proudly rent a hunky beefcake gigolo
Or a happy ending massage from a Thai lady boy
The red light district, select your favorite toy
There is something for everyone
From the depraved to the devout
Sex will always be on sale
From the church to the boy scouts
An industry for making ends meet
Humans crave the quick and discreet
Stockings, condoms, whips, and lingerie
Tools of the night trade forever on display
About Kelly Glover

Kelly Glover is a single mother
and supreme leader of three kids,
two cats, and one failed marriage.
Her writing touches on the darker
aspects of life that we all go
through, but few talk about. Find
her work on Amazon and follow
along on Instagram
For poetry by Kelly Glover,
Juan Manuel Perez and Marc
Carver, click here
By Kelly Glover

Since Daddy went to prison
Things just ain't been the same
Too many drug deals caught up
Long time 'fore we see him again
For a while Momma and Grandpaw
Took care of me and my sister
'till Momma got pregnant with Grandpaw's kid
An my inbred brother came into the picture
Since Daddy done been gone so long
Momma found her a new boyfriend, John Thomas
He liked to check my panties to make sure they were clean
And look in all my holes for stuff he wanted to see
Momma worshipped her new found man
Like Jesus done returned
She wore more blue eye makeup
One of the many tricks she learned
She hid his hits with sunglasses
Cigarette burns on eyelids
Singed her long lashes
He watched everything she did
She cooked and cleaned but it was never enough
John Thomas always wanted what she didn't give
Momma tried to make him happy everything she did
But he just made her feel like she didn't wanna live
At night when Momma finished her wine
Started snoring watching the T.V.
I pretended to sleep deep
When John Thomas came to see me
He would make his fingers disappear
In the caverns of my body
He said, "That's where the good juice is"
As he stuck his tongue inside me
The years flew by with Daddy in the pen
Momma got so angry, abused, and depressed
She found it hard to get up and get dressed
The pills she took left her a sloppy mess
Took care of my younger sis and cousins
John Thomas used my lil baby brother
As his favorite moving target
Hittin' the boy every day, one right after another
Except one day he hit him too hard
Brother started shakin'
Teeth chatterin' eyes buggin' out
I couldn't get him to waken
John Thomas didn't care
But he musta been pretty worried
'cuz he dumped the boy in the river
After cutting him to pieces in a hurry
Then John took my mom and sis
Guess he forgot about me
Put a bullet under each of their chins
Blows his own brains out finishing the evil deed
Now Daddy's lil girl is all growed up
Found myself my very own man
That likes to bruise my thighs and black my eyes
I just wanna make him happy as I can
A Sonnet For Elvira, Mistress of the Macabre: No. 18
                                                       By Juan Manuel Perez

Thoughts on Elvira…
Dark, yet funny creature
Halloween surely on her mind
Monster with so much sex appeal
Not ugly at all; actually, very beautiful
Exotic, cold, fancy-white flesh

More thoughts on Elvira…
There is only one in the world
She will last like that forever in photos
This stupid, endless search is over
It is hard to focus on anything else
Dying by her in a black, sweet death

Oh, this might not mean anything to anyone else
Just listing thoughts of poetic muses… like her
About Juan Manuel Perez

Juan Manuel Perez, a Mexican-
American poet of indigenous
descent and the current Poet
Laureate for Corpus Christi,
Texas (2019-20200, is the author
of Another Menudo Sunday
(2007), O’Dark Heaven: a
Response of Suzette Haden
Elgin’s Definition of Horror
(2009), WUI: Written Under the
Influence of Trinidad Sanchez,
Jr. (2011), Live From La Pryor,
The Poetry of Juan Manuel
Perez: A Zavala Country Native
Son, Volume 1 (2014), and Sex
Lies, and Chupacabras (2015),
as well as, the co-editor of The
Call of the Chupacabra (2018).
By Juan Manuel Perez

“¡Los muertos viven!” in broken Spanish
Finally taking the effort to learn it
A language you never wanted to speak
Your “agenda” placed you way above it
Remember you said it was beneath you
Look at you now in this disturbing age

Problem though; it don’t matter anymore
Fear sounds the same in any damned language
The undead don’t care how you speak to them
Or how sweet this speech now appears to you
You know it’s all about “brain-love” with “them”
Plus, Spanish-speaking locals are smiling

It only takes one to distract the hordes
Guess who they’re saying they’re knocking down first?
Finding Negan
By Juan Manuel Perez

(when Negan escapes from jail: The Walking Dead #153)

Where o’ where is this evil-heart, Negan?
Where o’ where could he ever gone too?
Follow the corpses that lay at your feet
Follow the path that is clearest to you

Where o’ where is this nasty-mind, Negan?
Where o’ where? Will your chances be slim?
Follow the puddle and rivers of blood
Follow the evil that leads you to him

Where o’ where is this stealthy-swift, Negan?
Where o’ where will there be such an end?
Follow your heart as he tears it apart
Follow your mind as he bashes it in

If you can’t find him, don’t beat yourself blue
For somewhere is Negan looking for you
About Marc Carver