The Beast

Among towering, dark pine tree
in the horror of the blackest forest
the creature moved a claw.
Its cavernous mouth gaped wide.
Yellowing fangs glowed in the night
like sharp, serrated saws.
Rotting remains of flesh hung from the jaws
as carcasses from a butcher’s steel hook.
Ropes of bulging veins criss-crossed
beneath thinly stretched skin.
As its fearful feet rustled dead leaves,
the forest moaned in a cruel east wind, 
the trees whispered in trembling fear.

It opened the graveyard gate.
A skeleton moon sailed
from behind a dark cloud.
Mounds of newly dug graves 
shone in the ghostly light.
With deadly intent it dug, dug deep.
A body wrapped in a shroud
was dragged into the air again
the head held in the cavernous mouth.
Back into the forest it lumbered and lurched
to enjoy its horrific feast
the savagery of the beast
satisfied for one day, at least

Post Stoker

He sat in the humid jungle; 
his heart drained,
cold, frozen beyond ice.
No pulse, no beat responded,
even to his own hand.
The cave in its darkness
offered deeper darkness,
a savage blackness:
fur, pelt, claw, tooth.
Deeper, ever deeper,
they were there 
these, his kin, his familiars,
hanging, closely, bloated
processing the last feed.
                                            
                                       
                                      Night rolls inside;
                                      he feels the vampires,
                                      restless, weak, seeking
                                      reviving transfusion. 
                                      One by one, gathering,
                                      swarming, they fly.
                                      Dark coated, snub nosed,
                                      his wings now spreading,
                                      his thumbs transforming-
                                       tiny, stubby wing digits
                                       to climb the sleeping prey.
                                       Cattle lying, agents of revival;
                                       the colony descends.
                                       He climbs, claw thumbs grappling.
                                       Sharp incisors puncture
                                       the tough skin. His tongue
                                        long, viper-like drinks, 
                                        lapping the dark red stream