Marilyn Hamilton: Guest Blog Feature

From time to time, I post guest pieces by writers I admire from Writing.com, FanStory, and Facebook. Today, I am pleased to feature the writing of Marilyn Hamilton, who hosts a weekly horror fiction and poetry challenge on FanStory called Little House of Horror. I really enjoy her poetic style.

In this edition, I’m honored to showcase the work of Marilyn Hamilton, a master of poetic form and voice. Her poems move effortlessly from playful to profound—inviting readers into a space where imagination, emotion, and craft converge.

Marilyn Hamilton reminds us that poetry doesn’t have to choose between laughter and longing—it can hold both, beautifully and unapologetically. Her work invites us to slow down, listen closely, and rediscover the music of language in all its forms. If a line made you smile, pause, or think a little longer, then this collection has done its work. I encourage you to explore her writing further, share your favorites, and, as always, keep reading, writing, and wondering.

Enjoy.

fan story

Chicken Soup for the Soul Republishes “Dream Girl”

Between the Shadow and the Soul: The Poetry of Marilyn Hamilton

Subtitle: A journey through humor, horror, and heart—featuring the #1 FanStory poet’s playful wit, lyrical depth, and striking imagination.

 

• About the Poet: A Life in Words

Marilyn Hamilton has been a freelance writer for over thirty years. Her favorite genres are humor and horror. She is a member of the writing site FanStory and is currently ranked the number one poet.

She resides in the beautiful state of Maine, where she enjoys a simple life surrounded by nature. She is currently exploring songwriting using AI technology and is enjoying it as a new hobby.  She has a book coming out on Amazon in less than a month titled Some Rhyme, Very Little Reason. It is a collection of humorous limericks and 55-word novels.

• Listen and Connect with Marilyn’s Work

You may listen to her work using the following links:

Poetica | Join me on Suno
Poetic Jukebox – YouTube

Or contact her by email @Marilyn Hamilton: fourpaws4marilyn@yahoo.com

Poetry

• From Limericks to Lament: A Curated Selection of Poems

• On Creativity and Craft: Humor, Horror, and Humanity

  the Vampire’s Kiss of Eternal Life

 

• I saw him across the moonlit terrace. His alabaster skin mocked the white marble pillars that surrounded us. Savage, animal eyes devoured me from a        distance; gnawing at my soul, like a raven stripping  flesh from a fresh kill. I became weakened prey. Stunned. Paralyzed. Yet calm in the knowledge of my fate.   Eager to have my pain ended. Eager to discover a new kind of pain, his kind of pain ~ primitive, perfect pain. His ancient lips parted and exhaled frigid breath, weightless as glacial vapor. It brushed against my skin. Three words he spoke.  “Be mine, forever.” His voice raspy, raw, ravaged from centuries of hot blood as it coursed down his throat. My own voice resigned, rapt,  ravished by his cold, inviting stare as it worked its way into my soul. My arguments disappeared. I longed for the kiss he offered. Coveted it.  Craved it. I was ready to cross death’s boundary into the living darkness for the promise of that kiss. That defiled, foul, bloodied kiss. He kissed me. I sensed his hunger and made no attempt to conceal my own. Sharp incisors pressed firmly against my mouth, my tongue. My passion ebbed and flowed like the blood within my veins. He chiseled a line of deepest crimson from my mouth to my neck. He suckled there until I gave way to Ecstacy!  Lust incarnate. I begged him to open me further. An anxious vein pulsed beneath his jagged, lapping tongue. He entered me with such gentle strength. Sweet sorrow consumed me under a snowfall of stars.             All was black. All was death. He was all. My eyes closed. Life trickled from me in thick, sacred swallows. The dark void held me but an instant, and I was free again. Resurrected. I immediately craved his kiss. For death resides in that kiss. Life revives in that kiss. His night kiss~ His bloody kiss. Only within his fatal kiss can I experience life,  and eternity will end long before my desire.

 

5. Scars

   (Content note: self-harm themes)

I learned to cut upon my skin,
to feel the pain that lay within.
Emotions rise and start to flood,
with stories written in my blood.

To access trauma in my mind,
the area is redefined.
The pain must shift and be obscure,
to gain release that I procure.

Those painful moments hide from view.
Each day I cry as they accrue.
Remembering, I make the slice,
and pain dissolves to paradise.

I use a razor as my pen,
confronting memories again.
Inscribing thoughts that I can keep,
a bedtime tale to help me sleep.

Creating scars upon my flesh,
some over time and others fresh—
a map that helps me find my way
and gets me to another day.

• Featured Forms: Exploring Poetic Styles

 The Shadow and the Soul

(A Golden Shovel poem)

 

Discovering you gave me hope that I
might understand love.

Never had I felt the things you
brought to my life. I became light as

a sunny day, completely certain
that my feelings of drowning in the dark
were gone, replaced by delightful things.
I rejoice in who we are

when we come together. I promise to
grow as one and learn to be
forever loving and loved,

confiding all of my wildest dreams in
you and holding firm to every shared secret.
Our closeness allows nothing between.

Closer than music and melody…
the candle and flickering shadow.
Closer than a rainbow’s colors, and
closer than the
handprint of God imprinted on my soul.

7. The Potter’s Wheel

   (Cyhydedd Fer)

Alone, we work the potter’s wheel,
reshaping both our lives by feel.
The time is now—we’re not too old
to make a change, to shape and mold.
Perfection will not be our goal;
we’ll laugh at every broken bowl.

We pray for time to sculpt each day
and smooth our past mistakes away.
Your hands on mine, held skin to skin;
we’ll watch that wheel proceed to spin.
Together beauty will transpire
and stabilize within our fire.

8. The Moonlight Shines

   (Rondeau)

The moonlight shines upon my breast.
I give my thanks and do attest
to all the love and joy I’ve known
that saved me when I felt alone.
I say a prayer because I’m blessed.

In youth I never could have guessed
that life would lead me on this quest—
to watch the growth of seeds I’d sown.
The moonlight shines.

And now as time becomes compressed,
I pray for guidance through this test.
In death, my sins I will atone,
before I turn to dust and bone
and start my everlasting rest.
The moonlight shines.

9. Waiting for Spring

   (Nonet)

10. 

Park benches wait, covered in snow.
The birds are silent; cold winds blow.
Small creatures all hibernate.
Flowers underground wait
for warm, sunny days
and a new phase.
Birds will sing
and bring
spring.

10. Missing Him

The light within my world is dim.
He went away.
My tears have overflowed the brim,
with casket closed and one last hymn.
I stop and bow my head to pray.

I ask for strength to see me through
a brand-new life, a brand-new day;
as hours accrue,
spent missing him.

11. Daisy Chain

I made a chain of daisies for
my golden, sun-bleached hair.
I wore them like the maids of yore,
attached with ribbons, hung with care.
The petals took flight with the breeze
into the summer air.

I twisted stems with practiced ease,
creating beauty fair.
Then, feeling brave, my voice would tease,
and gentlemen began to gaze.
One gave my heart a gentle squeeze,
reciting sweet poetic praise.

This day became so rare,
with joys that I could seize.
I said a silent prayer
upon my thankful knees.
A chain of daisies gave to me
this moment to be young and free.

12. Come Walk Outside

    (English Ballet)

Come walk outside,
hear nature’s call.
Come view the colored leaves of fall
that topple from the trees so tall.
Come walk outside.

Come walk outside;
with senses keen.
The fragrances, so crisp and clean,
amid this season’s changing scene.
Come walk outside.

Come walk outside,
hear sounds so sweet.
The gentle call of sparrow’s tweet.
The crackle of the year’s first sleet.
Come walk outside.

13. No One Gets Out Alive

    (Classic Triplet)

I may be old, but I’ve got style.
Each disappointment, every trial,
I conquer with a shrug and smile.

Society may think me strange
because I give myself free range,
but that is something I won’t change.

My laughter often masks the pain
when life becomes immersed in rain.
Humor is what keeps me sane.

Call me unusual and queer—
such comments I will never fear;
like the breeze, they disappear.

Perhaps you might attempt to be
less serious, and more like me.
No one gets out alive, you see.

Standard Disclaimer

These writings are entirely my own, the product of an overactive imagination built on 70 years of lived experience. This includes growing up in Berkeley during the 1960s and 1970s; college in the 1970s; Peace Corps service in Korea; teaching ESL and government; graduate study (M.A. in Korean Studies and MPA from the University of Washington); and 27 years in the U.S. State Department as a Foreign Service Officer.

I have lived and worked in multiple locations across the United States and abroad and have traveled extensively to all 50 states, DC and PR, and to over 50 different countries and lived in ten different cities over the years.

Along the way, I married the lady of my dreams and learned Korean, Spanish, and Thai. I retired in 2016 and now split my time between Korea, Oregon, and Washington, D.C.

My writing leans toward neo‑beatnik or outlaw poetry styles, speculative science fiction, and occasional political commentary. Some readers may find parts of my writing provocative, but that is never my intention.

I have used AI tools (such as ChatGPT, Claude, Copilot, and Gemini) for research and for editing grammar and punctuation; however, the words themselves are entirely my own.

 

• Final Reflections

• If you enjoyed this feature, consider subscribing, sharing this post, or leaving a comment with your favorite poem.

 

• the end

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