Devil (2010) Review by EloquentSkyscrapers, literature
Literature
Devil (2010) Review
There seems to be, as of late, a renewed interest in making films involving the devil. Whether people are being possessed by him, as shown in the less-said-about-it-the-better rubbish of The Devil Inside, or the devil disguising himself as a face in a crowd, which is the focus of the claustrophobic horror/thriller Devil. (On a side-note, could they not have come up with a catchier title? Like The Elevator To Hell, or One of These Things is Not Like the Other? Just saying.) Clocking in with a running time of 80 minutes, the action very rarely lets up once it gets going, but even then it doesn't really deliver on the frights.
With a story by M
'Brief Candle' - Chapter One by EloquentSkyscrapers, literature
Literature
'Brief Candle' - Chapter One
CHAPTER ONE
The Night They Came
The night they came for the cultural elite the air was filled with the laughing, cheering and joyous singing of those assembled in Lord Wentworth's mansion on the outskirts of a humble town. The large forest that surrounded the mansion was dense, thick and dark. A film of fog slithered amongst the gnarled trees and dirty-brown, Autumnal leaves. Such a forest as this, undoubtedly, led to many stories being told in hushed whispers. Tales of lurking monsters, crazed people and creatures of unknown, otherworldly origins populating the darkest regions of the forest were rampant. The stories always had travelle
I Killed Christopher Marlowe by EloquentSkyscrapers, literature
Literature
I Killed Christopher Marlowe
I killed Christopher Marlowe. My job was to kill people at the behest of the more powerful figures who have deep pockets and immense personal wealth. It is an art; a deadly art that takes years of practice, determination, confidence and a mild amount of luck to survive doing it for as long as I had up to this point. While I was not tied down to one individual person or group of people, I did prefer to work with the same people as those that would pay good money to end some poor soul's life are, most likely, to not blink twice at offing an assassin to save themselves their blood money. Having a sense of familiarity with someone of that p
The Painted Painter Paints by EloquentSkyscrapers, literature
Literature
The Painted Painter Paints
Down a poor street in the poorest part of town, an artist stands in the middle of a poor, dusty office space she had stumbled across one drunken night. The outside was rather unassuming; the inside even more so, yet to her it was home, a place for her mind to be open and free. Well, that would be true if she could get into the zone once again. Her mind shoots back to her first day at Art School. She remembers walking into her class for the first time and seeing a neat row of pristine easels and clear, inviting canvases. Behind all but one stood fellow artists, smiles aplenty and excitement abound. She took her place at the rear of the class,
Don't talk, just dance.
Your brown hair floats,
Your smile illuminates
And your hands,
Your silken, smooth hands,
Touch with unrivalled feeling.
Our waltz should persist
For it is real and true
And so full of love and lust
That the floor is just for us,
Lovers of fanciful art
And visions of brand new worlds
That are just ours.
The pace quickens and you sink,
Sink into me and I into you,
Wilfully and gracefully intertwined
Our dance dances on.
Spins and turns and smiles
Are all we now know;
You, me and our centre-stage waltz.
Moment Such as it Was. by EloquentSkyscrapers, literature
Literature
Moment Such as it Was.
A moment, a glance,
Hooked and addicted,
Possessed and dreaming of a face
A beautiful face
Such as that of my lady,
My fleeting moment princess.
Few words were audible,
Thousands more whispered by sight
And stance and posture open
With smiles and loose hands.
Signs point to attraction
Whilst brain disbelieves that assertion
Of instant connection.
But yet I wonder how poetic,
How beautiful simple in form
Such a love- if that this be -
Truly can be with so little knowledge
Of paths travelled
And rocky waters bridged over.
Alas, my brain does think feverishly
To bed, I retire,
Your countenance my drif
Mister Fly, pt.2 by EloquentSkyscrapers, literature
Literature
Mister Fly, pt.2
Hello again, Mister Fly,
Why are we here?
Pray tell for I see no troubles
Upon your minute brow!
Dearest Mister Fly
Is it really that bad?
You come and you go,
You fly solo, so tell me
Why you're feeling so low?
Is that it, Mister Fly?
Is that all that bothers?
My dearest, Mister Fly,
You have no just cause!
You see, Mister Fly,
I can see with my eye
You just need a friend!
To have and to hold,
To marvel and behold,
To raise you up sky high!
Mister Fly, you are lucky
To have wings and can fly.
You can be here or be there
Or resting soundly anywhere
Yet here you perch,
Forlorn and quite numb!
Mister Fly, don't you see
Man - the Necro by EloquentSkyscrapers, literature
Literature
Man - the Necro
Naked she lay,
Alluring, enticing,
Beguiling masculinity to rise
At attention and ready
To consummate her wedding.
The groom is gone,
Bereft of life by my hands,
Just like this image,
This vision of Heaven mortalised
As a fine, young woman
With golden hair and light complexion.
Ne'er more beautiful did she look
In any hour,
In any moment of existence
Than she does here and now
In death and darkness.
The weapon that slew drops and clangs
Upon the cold, marble floor.
Locks upon the door
Keep this infidelity secret,
Hidden from ignorant eyes
Of those mongrel, bastard people
That do not know of my love and life
With she wh
The edge of my land,
Trainquil and serene
Is home to just me.
My land. My ocean.
I am the master and slave
To my ocean and land.
My waves do rock;
Ne'er violent nor stormy
But always welcoming and free.
The boats, my life,
And though they do sway
Never faulter shall they
For my mind, my grip,
Is tight, honed and Godly.
But lonely this solitude is.
Devoid of companionship,
My spirit shall stay strong and afloat
O'er a sea of azure diamonds,
Awaiting the one Goddess
That deserves the gift
Of this ocean and land.
Fall of the Poet by EloquentSkyscrapers, literature
Literature
Fall of the Poet
A former poet stands, timid and erect,
At the edge of this glorious ball.
His eyes gazed upon beauty unseen
And ears fixed upon beauty unheard
But little falls from quivered lips
that cannot of beauty speak.
His heart tells him of jealous angels,
Of sad cherubs and lovelorn pixies,
Whenever his eyes do catch
a glimpse of her smooth, satin face.
That is all it shall ever be,
Thoughts and feelings and nothing more
That could possibly be uttered
Or be, with pure devotion, bindingly muttered
Before a crowd of guests, beaming and misty-eyed.
So, a coffin does this poet see;
A coffin not for the body nor soul
But for his still-be