The Gybroch

THE GYBROCH: A sex demon; a real entity of the hellworlds, a type of incubus or succubus who often assumes human form and eventually devours its caged victims after raping them a thousand times.

As I walked by the Sea of Longing,
The lost sea of Kasmere,
The gybroch flew to my shoulder
And gibbered in my ear.

My blood ran cold when I saw her,
Her long hair lank with brine,
Her wintry eyes like sunless seas,
Her mouth a thin red line.

The moon swooned sickly in heaven
As she bound me to her breast
And turned her wild smoke-pistol eyes
To the Isles of the Unblest.

Her wings spread wide and up we flew
Into the black abyss.
Her grip was hard, her claws were cold,
Her breath a leper’s kiss.

Terror and vertigo! and then—
Down to her wailing castle
On the island of Lalára
In the Lake of Ice Crystal.

She kept me in a hanging cage
Bound with a rubied chain
And brought me strange white breads to eat
And goblets of rare rain.

I will not let you go, she growled,
Until you learn to dream
Of me alone, and be my slave
In the City of the Scream!

I shall keep you here forever
In the queendom of my crime,
My puppet and my plaything
Until the end of time!

You will learn to find a pleasure
In the deepest pits of pain
Till there’s nothing but a howling
Hole of darkness in your brain!

She climbed into my raging cage
And scourged me with her hair
And flung me the blood red rose
Of her cruel mouth to wear

And proffered the poisoned apples
Of her breasts with silken sighs
And turned on the pleasure fountains
Between her feathered thighs,

Until the bubble in her burst
Like a brain round a pistol
On the island of Lalára
In the Lake of Ice Crystal.

Now the moon hangs high in heaven—
Or else it hangs in hell!—
Like the moon in a madman’s painting
Seen from a padded cell.

About Montecristo

John Scott Montecristo is the editor of this website. He is Lasha Darkmoon's cousin.

View all posts by Montecristo →

This entry was posted in Poems. Bookmark the permalink.

7 Responses to The Gybroch

lobro says:

December 5, 2011 at 4:53 am

thanks to yakob klein (or his puppeteer) for pointing me to this poem.
though a professed ignoramus in the field (until now, i thought that gybroch was some kind of drywall compound), it is a damn fine effort.

too, the name lalara rings an ever more interesting bell.
take care in your travels, because hell is not judenfrei.

- Darkmoon says:
  
  December 5, 2011 at 9:19 am
  
  Lobro, dear Mentor of Madness, greetings!
  
  Thank you for your kind comments about my poem. Owing to your timely ruminations on this matter, you have inspired me to change the spelling of “gibroch” to “gybroch”.
  
  That ‘Y’ makes all the difference. It adds a touch of gothic menace, mystery and madness. It’s the difference between “vampire” and “vampyr”. Too subtle for me to explain or even comprehend, but there it is…
  
  I don’t think anyone is going to confuse “gybroch” with plasterboard or drywall compound! I checked that word out—the first time I’ve heard it— and it is spelt with a “p”: gyproch, not gybroch.
  
  THE GYBROCH
  http://www.darkmoon.me/2010/bird-woman/
  
  - lobro says:
    
    December 5, 2011 at 5:53 pm
    
    understand totally, also without full comprehension (don’t even know the difference between “understanding” and “comprehension” but i assume there is one).
    
    for example, the diaphanous lady in the picture will never condescend to pronounce “vampire” instead of “vampyr”.
    the former sounds like kansas, the latter has this trapped, moaning sound of wind in the bushes of transylvanian night.
    
    as for mentoring madness, it is a welcome revelation, even though i was always aware of certain antagonism to normalcy.
    
Marwinsing says:

December 8, 2011 at 7:52 pm

Nice poem – and illi. Gybroch, she’s my kinda gal. Damn, even the hairlip and nosejob looks sexy. Got a number or e-mail addie for her?

Gilbert Huntly says:

November 10, 2012 at 12:47 am

Though a sensually haunting piece of poetry, I would hate to see this poetess in such a fix! Must have been a nightmare she wrote about (and related it so well!).

Dear lady, this Christian knight will protect you from such as the gybroch! These bitches have no power over me.

Paulo Henrique says:

January 11, 2013 at 12:54 pm

Garbage

- Ruth Bernstein says:
  
  January 11, 2013 at 5:49 pm
  
  I agree. I could write a better poem than this. Anyone could. The poem is basically unchaste. It makes too much of sex. And it is sadomasochistic in a most unwholesome way. It’s a bizarre mismash of Baudelaire, Swinburne, Aleister Crowley, and the Marquis de Sade. In fact, it is a rape fantasy.

The Gybroch

THE GYBROCH: A sex demon; a real entity of the hellworlds, a type of incubus or succubus who often assumes human form and eventually devours its caged victims after raping them a thousand times.

THE GYBROCH: A sex demon; a real entity of the hellworlds, a type of incubus or succubus who often assumes human form and eventually devours its caged victims after raping them a thousand times.

As I walked by the Sea of Longing,
The lost sea of Kasmere,
The gybroch flew to my shoulder
And gibbered in my ear.

My blood ran cold when I saw her,
Her long hair lank with brine,
Her wintry eyes like sunless seas,
Her mouth a thin red line.

The moon swooned sickly in heaven
As she bound me to her breast
And turned her wild smoke-pistol eyes
To the Isles of the Unblest.

Her wings spread wide and up we flew
Into the black abyss.
Her grip was hard, her claws were cold,
Her breath a leper’s kiss.

Terror and vertigo! and then—
Down to her wailing castle
On the island of Lalára
In the Lake of Ice Crystal.

She kept me in a hanging cage
Bound with a rubied chain
And brought me strange white breads to eat
And goblets of rare rain.

I will not let you go, she growled,
Until you learn to dream
Of me alone, and be my slave
In the City of the Scream!

I shall keep you here forever
In the queendom of my crime,
My puppet and my plaything
Until the end of time!

You will learn to find a pleasure
In the deepest pits of pain
Till there’s nothing but a howling
Hole of darkness in your brain!

She climbed into my raging cage
And scourged me with her hair
And flung me the blood red rose
Of her cruel mouth to wear

And proffered the poisoned apples
Of her breasts with silken sighs
And turned on the pleasure fountains
Between her feathered thighs,

Until the bubble in her burst
Like a brain round a pistol
On the island of Lalára
In the Lake of Ice Crystal.

Now the moon hangs high in heaven—
Or else it hangs in hell!—
Like the moon in a madman’s painting
Seen from a padded cell.

About Montecristo

7 Responses to The Gybroch

Leave a Reply Cancel reply

Search Darkmoon

Recent Comments

The Gybroch

THE GYBROCH: A sex demon; a real entity of the hellworlds, a type of incubus or succubus who often assumes human form and eventually devours its caged victims after raping them a thousand times.

THE GYBROCH: A sex demon; a real entity of the hellworlds, a type of incubus or succubus who often assumes human form and eventually devours its caged victims after raping them a thousand times.

As I walked by the Sea of Longing, The lost sea of Kasmere, The gybroch flew to my shoulder And gibbered in my ear.

My blood ran cold when I saw her, Her long hair lank with brine, Her wintry eyes like sunless seas, Her mouth a thin red line.

The moon swooned sickly in heaven As she bound me to her breast And turned her wild smoke-pistol eyes To the Isles of the Unblest.

Her wings spread wide and up we flew Into the black abyss. Her grip was hard, her claws were cold, Her breath a leper’s kiss.

Terror and vertigo! and then— Down to her wailing castle On the island of Lalára In the Lake of Ice Crystal.

She kept me in a hanging cage Bound with a rubied chain And brought me strange white breads to eat And goblets of rare rain.

I will not let you go, she growled, Until you learn to dream Of me alone, and be my slave In the City of the Scream!

I shall keep you here forever In the queendom of my crime, My puppet and my plaything Until the end of time!

You will learn to find a pleasure In the deepest pits of pain Till there’s nothing but a howling Hole of darkness in your brain!

She climbed into my raging cage And scourged me with her hair And flung me the blood red rose Of her cruel mouth to wear

And proffered the poisoned apples Of her breasts with silken sighs And turned on the pleasure fountains Between her feathered thighs,

Until the bubble in her burst Like a brain round a pistol On the island of Lalára In the Lake of Ice Crystal.

Now the moon hangs high in heaven— Or else it hangs in hell!— Like the moon in a madman’s painting Seen from a padded cell.

About Montecristo

7 Responses to The Gybroch

Leave a Reply Cancel reply

Search Darkmoon

Recent Comments

As I walked by the Sea of Longing,
The lost sea of Kasmere,
The gybroch flew to my shoulder
And gibbered in my ear.

My blood ran cold when I saw her,
Her long hair lank with brine,
Her wintry eyes like sunless seas,
Her mouth a thin red line.

The moon swooned sickly in heaven
As she bound me to her breast
And turned her wild smoke-pistol eyes
To the Isles of the Unblest.

Her wings spread wide and up we flew
Into the black abyss.
Her grip was hard, her claws were cold,
Her breath a leper’s kiss.

Terror and vertigo! and then—
Down to her wailing castle
On the island of Lalára
In the Lake of Ice Crystal.

She kept me in a hanging cage
Bound with a rubied chain
And brought me strange white breads to eat
And goblets of rare rain.

I will not let you go, she growled,
Until you learn to dream
Of me alone, and be my slave
In the City of the Scream!

I shall keep you here forever
In the queendom of my crime,
My puppet and my plaything
Until the end of time!

You will learn to find a pleasure
In the deepest pits of pain
Till there’s nothing but a howling
Hole of darkness in your brain!

She climbed into my raging cage
And scourged me with her hair
And flung me the blood red rose
Of her cruel mouth to wear

And proffered the poisoned apples
Of her breasts with silken sighs
And turned on the pleasure fountains
Between her feathered thighs,

Until the bubble in her burst
Like a brain round a pistol
On the island of Lalára
In the Lake of Ice Crystal.

Now the moon hangs high in heaven—
Or else it hangs in hell!—
Like the moon in a madman’s painting
Seen from a padded cell.