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Category Archive: Poetry

Mar 21 2015

Ballet of Death

Blustery Day seamless tile.

Blustery Day

Enjoy the above Blustery Day seamless tile.


Poetry by Buckobeck

An organic freefall, helter skelter
to supply the living with warmth and shelter
Spiraling downward to meet their mother
she reigns supreme there is no other
She takes them lifeless, then gives them birth
It is she, and her name is Earth
Issuing from their lofty perch to alight
with barley perceptive sound
Choreographed chaos of wingless flight
to kiss the frigid ground
Releasing their grip upon the dying
yellow, brown, orange, and red
Carpeting her stark figure with
the colored vessels of their dead.
Exposing naked skeletons of twisted
wooden bone
Until void of any vestiges that hint of life
at one time known
Sentinels dark and bare, a silent army waiting
For a signal or a sign to reward anticipating
To be awakened, in a sense reborn, more magnificent
than once before
Regenerated, rejuvenated, a natural phenomena that’s
hard to ignore

A bit of Gods magic, that takes ones breath
This life giving dance, this ballet of death

Mar 15 2015

45 Skulls from Buckobecks


45 free png skulls to download from are coming soon. Keep an eye out here on the blog for more on when.

Apr 21 2012



 Digital art and poetry by Mark Beckemeyer


When technological wonders have become so commonplace

That with the natural world they assimilate and interlace

Organic life and electronic circuitry will share a common face

When the wires and silicon chips have taken on features of their own

And cutting edge developments take us places previously unknown

Will we bask in the glory of our accomplishments and marvel at how we’ve grown?

Or will we pay the dearest price for the carelessness and ignorance that we’ve shown?

As motherboards with processors begin to do our thinking

And automated  robots perform the physical labor

Guided by the electronic memory banks to which they’re linking

Will we have more time to think, more moments in life to savor?

Or will our muscles twist in atrophy as our brains start shrinking?

Do you think you will rejoice at our artificial wonders

And the God like way to which our creations a semblance of life we gave

Or will our great endeavors become regretful  blunders

Mechanical inventions to turn against us , and to which we become slave

The day intelligent machines do all the work and make our decisions

And plastic and metal entities have acquired second nature

They will in all of their infinite wisdom decide mankind is in need of revisions

Stripping us of our humanity and assigning  us new nomenclature

Then the world their wired minds will try to make a better place

Without the meddling of men, flesh and blood ,no emotions, not a trace

But their efforts too are doomed to fail and will end in utter disgrace

Because their existence is flawed, something so terribly wrong it can’t be a plus

You see, they had forgotten, everything they knew and were was acquired from us

When  man becomes conceited with his God like emulation

The world is bound to end in perfectly complete devastation

Mar 23 2012



Blind Faith

Blind Faith


 Poetry and artwork by Buckobeck

Back when the days of my life were long
Mama told me that real monsters didn’t exist
But well meaning mother was terribly wrong
And in their vile, putrid existence I fully insist

It was not the hideous creature under the bed
Or the demon in the closet with long pointy teeth
Not the oozing brain eating grave risen undead
Nor the dark silent evil in the basement beneath

The things behind the trees on a moonless night
A soul collecting black figure with a scythe
Spooky sounds that emit from corners with no light
No, What I speak of is more unsettling than this

Half human mutants in a blood splattered hall
Smiling while they dine on moist rotting entrails
Muttering unintelligibly as your name they call
Carting the gelled innards away in old rusty pails

You say nothing could be worse, sitting in disbelief
But I saw it on the national news, just today
And in your silent denial you will find no relief
Around your neighborhoods and next door they play

Unspeakable sickness beyond my meager depictions
More indescribable disgust than anyone should feel
Even beyond my extremely graphical descriptions
Scenes that should make the coldest of hearts congeal

Mothers who sever their blood given child’s arms
Catholic priests that molest innocent young boys
Folks murdered for money and buried under farms
Hookers mutilated for a sick bastards personal joys

Husbands that show their love with clenched fist
Uncles that insist their nieces have a seat on their lap
Are you seeing the picture? Are you getting the gist?
Fathers who fondle children while they innocently nap

John Wayne Gacy luring children, disguised as a clown
Ed Gein eats people at the command of his mother
That bastard Ted Bundy out for a night on the town
One who butchers an ex because there should be no other

World leaders that declare war under false pretenses
Son of Sam slaughters on the orders of a dog
Murderous mother fuckers protected by insanity defenses
94 percent do without, because 6 percent hog

So go ahead, tell your kids monsters don’t live, lie to future generations
They’re only humans who made mistakes and should be forgiven
Don’t allow them to believe in man kinds grotesquely twisted imaginations
Just lull them with your vision of the world so peacefully driven

OK, monsters still don’t exist, I respect your belief
Your final decision, based on morals. It is truly a relief

And of your mothers words, to which you’ve conceded
I find them very relaxing and so extremely handy
My destination remains undeterred, my goal unimpeded
Jump in the car little girl, I’ve got some nice candy.



Feb 26 2012

The Last Fairy


Story and artwork by Mark Beckemeyer

I was much younger when I started my butterfly collection. Back before I decided that photographing them was a better way to enjoy their beauty at my leisure. I often headed out early in the morning while the butterflies were still moving about slowly from the cool night air. They were much easier to catch that way, one of the tricks of the trade whether netting, or shooting them with a camera.

All the proper equipment was in my possession, the net, drying boards, thin flexible pins, clean white strips of paper to hold their wings down in the proper position while drying, and the killing jar. I used large glass gallon jars for mine, and filled the bottoms with plaster of Paris. When the plaster hardened it was porous and would readily soak up the quick acting poison. It had to be quick so the butterflies wouldn’t tear up their wings in the throes of death. Pop had taught me well. An interest in insects is something we always had in common.

My collection was a nice one. Butterflies large and small, brightly colored and drab, a good variety. I kept their bodies in 20″ x 16″ black boxes with shiny brass hinges and bleached white foam beds on which to mount my trophies. They stood out like a colorful scarf dropped on a pristine blanket of snow. I was proud of my work, but I was always looking for something new and different and this was a good day for a hunt, so I grabbed my gear and headed out in search of Lepidoptera.

It was a perfect dawn for collecting, the air was crisp and my quarry was still stiff and not quick to evade capture. The warming sun was sending wisps of water vapor rising from the grass that lazily swirled into the air, and as I walked into the heart of the meadow drops of dew fell at my feet like tiny jewels.

Time moved quickly and before long my jars were near their capacities. Deciding that my catches had been good enough I packed my gear into the shoulder bag and started making my way back through the ocean of wildflowers…, and that’s when it happened. Something so unbelievable, so insanely crazy, that I thought I had lost my mind. I fell to my knees numb and dizzy with disbelief, staring me straight in the face., was a fairy.

“It’s a hallucination” I thought.

Then she spoke. In a tiny, barely audible voice. Almost a buzz.

“Hello” she said.

And then it all began.


She was dancing around a flower playing with a butterfly

Against clouds of fluffy cotton floating in a bright blue sky

She said that she was lonely for she was the last of her kind

And asked that I spend some time with her, if I didn’t mind

We talked and touched for hours while she sat upon my finger

And when she flapped her wings the smell of Lavender would linger

She said she felt comfortable with me and flew to my ear to say

Would you come with me to my magic place and in the forest lay

I said that would be lovely and rose up knocking my bag over

And a giant glass jar full of butterfly bodies rolled onto the clover

You’re a monster and you can’t be with me I heard her tiny voice say

And she fluttered and she sputtered as she tried in vain to fly away

I couldn’t let her go, and the magical little beauty didn’t get far

Because I snagged her in my fine mesh net and put her in the killing jar

I flew into a violent rage and she was dead because of my transgression

And to further my insanity I dried her and pinned her in my collection

Then I awoke in my bed with a terrible start, had it all been a bad dream

Yes I thought, the horrible events were a frightening nightmare it would seem

I lit a smoke, and rubbed my eyes, and fumbled for my socks

I froze with fear when I saw it sitting on the nightstand, a casket-like black box

It can’t really have happened, surely not in that box is hid

The body of the worlds last fairy, evidence of the evil I did

Slowly and shakily, with fear and self loathing in my heart, I lifted up the lid.

The Last Fairy.

The Last Fairy.





Feb 25 2012

And The Darkness Comes



The sun is stealing away with her riot of colors, the last traces of light bathing the clouds and the contrails of mighty metal birds in soft pastels.
Glowing gently as she slowly sinks into the earth.
Taking with her the promise of a new day and the explosion of activity that her coming brings.
Leaving the landscape featureless and black. Cold and still.  And with her departure, a certain sadness.
But the darkness has a purpose, and a beauty too.
The moon rises from the ebbing blues and pinks, bringing with her a billion points of flickering light that shine from the farthest reaches of heaven.  Shimmering, twinkling sisters of the sun that are never seen with her.
Bestowing upon you her quiet calmness, yet denying you the detail of a tree.
Pale and serene, distinctly different from her blazing opposite.
The quiet misunderstood one,  bathing the world in a her soft  reflection of  borrowed  light.
Alone, even though surrounded by a billion tiny suns.


Full Missouri Moon.

Full Missouri Moon.