In the boxed gilded frame exists the residue of
A painter’s vision, of his nightmare placed upon
Locked within the cells of four square,
Lies a view into the ethereal world beyond our
A heckling demon does laugh, at she the white
Gowned maiden of innocence lies slain, as her bloods
Warmth slips silently away, and life's flash memory,
Closes around her for the last time.
Hear the thundering sounding. From the heavy laden hooves,
As hell's white steed, claims the vanquished heart of
The innocent, and riding unto the gates of black ebony,
He does so bare a rare prize, the soul of purist beauty.
Oh so do the angels cry in heaven, weeping in tandem's chorus.
For death's fallen will know the torments hidden in
The mighty halls of hell's keep, for dark has over come
The light, and at it's flickering the last hope of mankind,
Has become one of the a shunned.
Seductions father of evil, takes the white hands of
The maiden of innocence, for one last waltz, as life leaves
Her damaged shell, behind a phantom spirit of betrayal,
Is left at the threshold of the forgotten, and salvation's door
Slams shut unto her; she is suicide's victim of the broken
Hearted, never to know the taste of Eden, or to see the glory
Of Gods kingdom beyond.
Nipping beneath the ladies gown of white, the demon
Chastises her, belittling a life so sacrificed for what
He does so scold; it is a minor thing, this emotion called love.
Tears fall, be you so quite, demon, I've suffered enough, but he
Is the hells jackal, and is her greatest tormentor.
Awaken painter, she pleads from the ethereal realm,
In sweats uneasy slumber, but the artist shields his eyes to late,
And he has seen too much, for a mortal to so easily forget.
Upon the canvas is a dreams vision,
And trapped within, is she the soul of innocence,
Forever encased within this prison, a
Painter's revelation, called the portrait of a
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
From behind the crimson curtain,
The skylark sings within her
Gilded cage of musical notes,
To please her dark lord and master.
Beauty's prisoner of the forsaken,
She raises her voice in clarity's
Beneath crystal chandeliers opulence.
As if a bird taking flight within
This youthful diva sheds
Her physical shackles, released
By a spiritual reclamation, of liberty's
Beyond her earthly form.
This mistress of song captures
Liberation’s heights, beyond freedoms
Escape, to soar high above the heavens.
She is set free, released within the music itself.
In the mind of the phantom, he plays
Along with the orchestra of the dammed.
A pianist of great renowned, with loves
Sweet melody, is inspired by jealousy’s
Conquest, she is his, always and forever.
The dead’s musicians, play on, with their
Instruments precisely in tune,
A delicate balancing, is each textures
Movement, it is harmony's perfection,
A Graceful sounding, carried across the
Stage of this twisted tragedy.
On destiny's piano the grand master sits,
With his candelabra lit, from loves eternal
Flame of desire.
It's light softly flickering, by gentle winds
Breeze, calling her name, Christine.
Oh angels of mercy, here the meadow lark
Singing, beneath the cobbled streets,
And sawyers chambered walls.
Love's prince does slay the beast,
As fire shatters the opera house, leaving
Nothing but ashes residue behind.
Yet in echoes voice, he screams by nights
Breath, her name once more, he calls unto her,
The phantom of the opera, Christen.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
Superstitious, a black cat left unaware, stepping
Lightly in front of thee, I'll side step in the other direction,
If you don't mind, I'm not one to tempt the wicked finger of fate,
Tall is the ladder left unattended, never go underneath
If you wish to come out unscathed on the other side.
Scat cat, that darn pussy-cat not realizing
That she is in the danger zone.
Long and sleek is kitten's pretty tail,
In a nursing home, full of rocking chairs.
Friday the thirteenth, a superstitious holiday,
For the unlucky not to celebrate, never have
I heard one of these poor souls say, Yippee,
On this the unluckiest of days.
Creek, crack don't step on that crack,
Or you'll break your mother's back,
Remember this on mother's day, for her
Heavenly sake alone.
Toward off bad lucks evil spell, toss salt
Over your left shoulder, but always use
The refined version kind my friend, never use
The rock salt variety or you may hurt whom
Ever is right behind thee.
Drop a penny, heads or tails, face up is good,
But tails leave it lie, for its bad mojo, and that's
Superstitious people are we, to believe in all this
Mubo Jumbo, rubbing rabbit foots, and really come on now, do four
Leaf clovers bring good luck, so if this is true, I'll plant a garden of
Them, then I'll play the lotto.
Humanity, we are a funny species, to give credence,
Faith to any of this stuff, but just encase I'll eat an apple
Everyday to keep that nasty doctor away, ok.
Superstitions voodoo woman, rattle them bones, of super natural power.
Up side down horse shoes, bring only misfortune to the cowboy, turn it right side up.
Premonition's foretelling should be marked down not brushed aside.
Esp. is perceptions of things to pass, don't listen, and it's your own fault.
Rituals done wrong can be a big mistake so for heavens sake alone go to church.
Sinister is the wolf that hunts by night, as a silver bullets shot rings out.
Tooth to fang, garlic is just not a vampire’s thing.
Incantations spells of mystery, can get old witchy in a lot of bubbling trouble.
Trick or treat what a feast, remember don't over eat, or you may get a soar tummy.
Icy ghostly images with spots, remind one to take the sheets to the Laundromat.
Optimism is a positive force, against the negative on the supersitionious coarse.
No nonsense about it, I do so like the darker side of Halloween.
Superstitions are a great topic for conversations, especially on Friday the 13TH.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
Superstitions unlucky number is thirteen, a mystical numeral of darkest acclaim,
The Friday that falls on this mystic digit, drives people to stay locked behind
Safety's barred doors, not even to tempt fate, would they answer a knocking,
For helps sake alone!
Long shots chip placed upon this color, is doom to fail, but in Vegas,
What happens there is left unspoken, no one speaks about this losers tail,
Instead he'll be one the wiser, when hedging his bets.
Bad lucks ratio, to the good, on this misunderstood numbers behalf,
I will not laugh, for I do so carry a four leaf clover, with me at all times,
Never shall this little woman walk under a ladder, or let a black cat cross
My unwary path.
Now there is no talisments prevention to protect one fully,
Against this powerful numbers curse, no silver bullets, or
Garlic strains can save thee if thy birthday falls upon this Unluckiest of dates.
Maybe Incantations rhythm of verse, can this most unfortunate
Soul be saved, I'll say a prayer on their behalf just encase, one never
Knows it just might work, I'll keep the faith alive on this person behest.
With wicked perceptions intent, what a great way to freak someone
Out, to use this number in a superstitious prank, Not!
Side stepping with his pot of gold even the tiny little fellow,
The Irish lepercon, does not Challenge the power of this
Number of misfortune.
So beware old mister lottery ticket rubber, and don't buy
That card save your hard working last dollar, put it right back
Into your pocket, and try again some other day when luck Is on thy side.
Now some may say, I'm taking this whole superstition thing
Just a bit to far.
This number thirteen is being given here a bad reputation,
But I'm on the side of prevention, mom always said
It was worth a pound of cure.
Don't challenge the wicked hand of fate is what I'm saying,
Or it just might come back at you and slap you right across
So I'll keep rubbing my lucky rabbits foot, and toss salt
Over my shoulder just encase, call off of work on
That certain unlucky date, just for superstitions sake.
Don't worry I'm going to stay home way safety is assured,
My advise to you my dear friend is to do the same.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
< the ... be ~witch ~ing ~ hour
ghost ~ and ~ gobblings ~ lurking .... for
it's ~ candies ....... bounty
amidst ~ swollen ...... moon
face ~ of ~ wicked ~ witch ..... smiling
bats ~ fly ~ in ....... frenzy
great ~ jack - o - lantern
menacing ~ halloween ~ glow
on ~ darken ......... doorsteps
For Linda Marie's
A prestidigitator I know
graciously agreed to show me
how to make quarters vanish
for small children in costume
on Halloween night.
After insufficient practice
the night came for me to
offer the choice, "trick, or treat".
Few came by to engage in the
uh..."hallowed" American tradition
but that is another trick.
When asked "Do you want the trick, or
do you want the treat?",
everyone, said "treat!", much to my dismay.
The final costumed charges came up,
a probable four-year-old girl
and her younger brother in tow,
mother at the driveway.
I asked her the question, expecting
the previous answer in return, but
to my keen expectation, she answered "trick!"
I proceeded to pull out a quarter
and do a slight bit of slight-of-hand,
somewhat clumsily, but when I opened
my hand to drop the vanished coin
into hers, she looked at her empty
hand for a few perplexed seconds,
then began to giggle uncontrollably
- now that, indeed, is magic to me.
© Goode Guy 2012-11-01
she got the "magic" coin and a big candy bar.
MORE SCARY THAN HALLOWEEN
We spin yarns and tell tall tales
Of warlocks, witches and spooks
And listen as they cast their spells
In countless volumes of books
We hear stories of bells that toll
Black cats, goblins and such
Flickering candles and wandering souls
It really has become too much
I've learned about a different book
Penned by the Hand of God
One day God will take a look
To see where you have trod
If your name isn't found there
For you, it will be too late
You'll be cast into a lake of fire
Beyond the Pearly Gate
He'll close the book, ring the bell
Light a candle for your soul
Eternally, you will burn in hell
And so my story has been told
21 September 2011
Entombed behind isolation walled
A haunting malice trapped me within.
Crouching beneath shadows shroud,
Leering eyes pierce.
Through darkness’s pitch black,
Pacing beast intercepting motions,
Movements, mocking my,
Feeble attempts to evade frenzy's,
Deceptions deceiver, silver tongued,
Weaver, spewing lies deceit.
Intricately aligning it's widow,
Feasting on innocence betrayal.
Heckling, laughter echoes, against,
A chilling appetizing, as if pleased,
At malice’s intent.
Fiendishly, delighting in torturing,
It’s human pet.
A vacant mumbling feeling over,
A deeper anger begins to rage,
Rebelling against hatred’s,
Motivated to survive beyond spectral,
Hear my disgust, creature,
I shall destroy thee.
Leave me alone, screaming aloud,
Sanity's domain gives way.
In musty halls empty hollows,
An odorous stench.
Fills mine senses,
Cease mortal miscreant,
None leave here alive,
Shudders blood runs cold down raw
Veins nerve endings,
A deepening realizations rushes,
The conscious mind,
I'm deaths play thing.
To be pounced upon, a toy mouse,
Caught between claws,
Extracting, retracting at whims invoking.
Invisible hands grasp choking life's,
Feeling every heartbeat slowing,
Stinging painfully ringing at ear,
Oblivion's mute murmurs never part,
Lips tightly closed.
Let mercy's fallen be forgiven,
Beyond hells hidden regions,
A place devoid of spiritual salvation.
Foul demonic spirit haunting,
A madman's kingdom,
It whispers to me in sweet melodies,
Now we begin, and you truly belong to me,
With satisfactions grimace, it smiles.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
< halloween haunting's
black shoe polish foundation
ruby red lipstick
pillow stuffed under big dress
red white bandana for hair
spatula in hand
eggbeater in dress pocket
pillowcase for loot
daddy's boots causing blisters
aunt jemima memories
Halloween Of Tears Past
Tribute To Childhood Memories
< Now hold on there Tex !
Let me get dressed !
Let me saddle up my horse
To trollop around this Halloween course
Got on my chaps
My spurs and cowboy hat
Replica's of forty five's
Riding on my hips very high
With lasso in my hand
This little cowboy has a plan
So all you ghost and goblins
It's candies bounty I'll be coming an robbing
And I'll be taking loot for mummy
And for my daddy who has a bigger tummy
Happy Halloween To All
Especially little tikes who are so cute and small
Halloween Costume Contest
December 18, 2012
Beautiful lies known as little white lies
yet one is no more deceptive than each
The truth is what makes it afraid of light
It's important we practice what we preach
Imagination built on lies destroy
Imagination built on truth create
Conquering evil we try to avoid
Tooth fairy, Halloween, Santa abate
Perceptions and images make it real
Origins of Pagan rituals true
We've wandered down this path for a bum deal
Now more lies are created all brand new
The mask behind a beautiful white lie
is the truth with a constant shield, but why?
Amongst myths and legends shadow realm,
Dwells an ancient evil.
Beneath temples walls, and shattered ruins,
Beware mortals of what lies within the,
Burnt offerings wreckage.
In a hushed stilled silence, a figure lingers,
On the outer edges farthest fringes,
In the dark recess of humanity's night terror,
Lurks a demon a demonic priestess,
Reptilians fork tongue of darkness’s,
Listen not be deaf to her sweet melodies
She slithers side by side as a rattle snake,
Moving in for its killing strike.
A hooded cobra lies behind emerald green eyes,
Laughing with sheer fiendish delights pleasure.
Deadliest of Lucifer's mistresses, she alone.
Waits for her next victim to enter,
This dead mans trap.
Frozen in that last tangible moment of existence,
Life depictions stone guardians, seemingly alive are
Poised in eerie poses.
Cement warriors with swords drawn and
Shields raised remain in battles stance.
A chilling realization is fears last expression,
Daring fools whom see death's reflection
Staring right back at them in the dark.
Fleshes accursed immortalized within
These statues of stone.
Fortune does not favor the foolhardy,
It punishes them by tortuous means.
A doubled edge blade placed in mortal,
Hands does not always yield a hero, or
Step ever so lightly, keep all weapons,
Close at hand.
Heroic deeds deny you this adventurous tail.
For in the hollows depth no spirit escapes,
In her garden most evil,
Beware the wrath of Medusa.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
Poor miss Lizzie, a murderess acquitted,
By a judgment’s ruling of her peers,
Yet command by histories theatrics.
Astound damsel, to the wealth’s elite,
A matron’s old maid, imprisoned by
An unjust fate.
By the falling axes sharpened blade,
Two lives ended, ensuing the public’s
Scandal and out rage.
Does not the rhyme in time not state,
The accusations inquest to her guilt,
Without evidences accuracy to the accused.
Used to frighten the rich and poor
Children alike to behave or else, did this
So go, Lizzie Borden took an ax,
And gave her mother forty whacks,
When she saw what she had done,
She gave her father forty one.
A bloody odes melody, left to
History's swinging hatchet’s,
Rough unsheathed edge.
Rocking, chopping a ticking
Time bomb, of the pasted.
Her story's haunting mystery,
Still intrigues the Sherlock Homes
Detective, in the common man.
Whom did this dirtiest of deed,
The foul plays miscreant, that
Got away with murders perfect
Three ghostly voices scream
For justices revenge, a father,
A step mother and the daughter,
Proclaiming her own innocence.
Lizzie Borden's name, lives on
In Infamies guilty court of the
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
What lies in the dark recess of the human mind,
That place where we dare not travel.
Behind our daily masks of illusions,
To another realm of thought beneath
Outward appearances deceptive delusions.
Here evil intentions are not spoken or
Shown in spite or malice,
But it exists none the same.
Behold good intentions problem child,
Those whom mean well but they become
Lost in empty corners called envy or jealousy.
Dark venues along life’s highway where
Humanities laws are blurred in lights reflections.
Beings lost within themselves, stand alone
On realities jagged cliff.
The candle of hope will not burn here,
Justices winds blow too strongly against
Truths righteous foe.
Laid slain or clipped creature cry out why.
But light has over come the darkness again.
Behold the golden hour approaches and the
Sun shines across heavens once more.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
From fathoms deepest keep, where man,
Shall not dare go, a white toothy giant
Dwells, with hatred's malice, this is a living man
Eater, whom lies at the bottom of the ocean.
In this striking zone, of deadly encounters,
Here where dead men tell no tails, crimson
Currents of the lifeless, float to the top of the food
Chain, and their last breaths of air explode, as
Bubbles above at the surface,
Leaving nothing behind but a bloody residue,
And the wreckage mangled life raft, and one word
Still lingers on the foreboding breeze, as a screams
Echoing drowns into whispers in silences last refrain,
Nay this aquatic Phantom, called Submarine,
Is the gray ghost that stalks within every human
Beings nightmares, just below the waves of our
Subconscious fears, a demon lurks in the darkness,
Of the murky shallows, waiting to take a bite
Out of us.
A thirty-seven foot killing machine, with razor
Blades of jagged ivory's, moving at velocities mega
Speed, heading straight for humanity's beach,
His favorite hunting grounds.
A leviathan of a shark, highly intelligent,
Circling his preferred prey called man,
The hunter is ready to appease his
Insatiable appetite that is never satisfied,
In a carnivores blood bath of mayhem,
Just off shore of paradise.
In hell's kingdom many souls scream from
Below one word that echoes through the
Chum filled surf above, SHARK.
For these are the latest victims, of
The Submarines wrath, and now they do
So warn the living, beware of this sharp
Look into the black eyes of death, take
Notice if he bares the scare of men,
And notches gouge mark on his dorsal fin,
For than thee shall know for sure, if
It is truly the gray ghost,
Known as Submarine.
If thou’ art sure, than say your final prayers unto God,
And inhale one last deep breath of air,
Than swim away, as fast as you can,
For humanity is now on the menu!
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
intreguing white orbs
great for carving or painting
during fall gourding
Happy Halloween All
White Pumpkin Contest
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Donna Golden's Footle Fright