Deep in the earth, a crypt of rock
slumber guarded by casket locked
Lips grope silence ‘ever more
rasping thought, remembers whispered lore
Outstretched palms the roots do clench
tranquility stilled by festered stench
And eyes, sleep caked, are propped ajar
ignites no life, but collapsed star
Burned blades sigh, Winds’ dying gasp
bones brittle snap within her clasp
A lonesome howl the moon does draw
vigil broken, it twists its maw
Upon an arena of endless stone
the granite gates they’ve passed alone
And entered a world of burning eyes
eluded the judge of smoldering cries
A faultless gait, no stumbled draw
a reaping brought by scythe and claw
Opal edge which shrouds a cause
aberrant blade shapes nature’s laws
Dictate a script, the stars can share
an open secret, a language bare
Steps continue, feet are drawn
across gray grass, undying pawn
Bitter by ; being mentally bruised and battered most of my life,
shaken with fright without a single soul to help me
through the troubles unseen horrors of the night,
from an evil source that I fear to strike.
But as the evil forces, who limited my choices
that when I found my stallion horses.
Swiftly it came to my head I can run and I cannot hide,
feeling the Beast closing in on every time I decide to hide.
Tired of running and tired of alluding this
relentless creep as my red bolt eyes weep
feeling rest-less, likes a lonely defeated warrior from his home in retreat
that is when I knew it time to rest, to release my Beast.
But in a fight, I may not win however as I cast out my dirty words sin
I made sure it felt my impact, to the bloody end.
by Keith Kadell
It was a moment in time
a fate of inspiration gifted
I believe I was lifted a destiny in writing
I would vibrantly pursue .
Renting a cottage once in Monterey Bay
this cottage special in some way
The very minute moving.. I felt a presence
giving me no serenity , no rest
feeling I were a quest ~
After desiring this home so
telling the Realtor ~ I made a mistake
She told me be calm ~
many have said this before you
~ this haunt was not a new
For once lived a Writer ~well respected Gent
His cottage a distillery during the time of prohibition.
Many Gents and Ladies came to this cottage
unlawfully gamble & drink through the night
Who would think , Doc Ricketts in Cane & Hat
it was a party by moon light ~
In the back a distillery hidden in a old shed
many Alcoholics were fed ~
The ghost popular quite the Ladies man ~
I was honored while feeling displaced
For those who have not read my poems
~ and this may be new.
This really happened ~
The ghost of John Steinbach rented me his home True
Yvette & The ghost of John Steinbach's , Teamwork 9/14/2013
It was a home on the river we lived .
It was the ghost of a young man whom had taken his own life.
I still remember the vision of him walking by me with a blank stare
We, as a Family of seven , moved into this river house
Panoramic views right out to the river , I should mention
I was home alone as a child , looking out at "The Julia Belle Swan " as she went by .
Upstairs in that room as I saw a figure walking by , with very nice features , auburn hair
I thought he was my older brother , a handsome young guy
Then I realized the young man was not my brother , a apparition he appeared .
He was not there to scare or frighten ,
the message I believe he wanted to shed light on, so clear.
He walked right by ,then disappeared through the window, out to the River .
The Ghost knew I could see him , a gift I have been given
when I was a younger child of five , I had once died for a short time. I was lifted by Jesus in Heaven . Death is not for us to decide .
Later in the years we moved from that home , every home we lived in had a story
or a presence of its own . My Mother had told me later , a young man took his life there .
Keep fighting your way through life and its despair ,
you are important to someone whom cares . If you feel alone and want life to end , Please pick up the phone , call anyone , call for help , call a Friend .
"This is not fiction , it truly is a gift I have been given "
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?
People of my realm,
the dragon realm
But with a Leme spot
The honor to the
His tongue fire and
For your fortune is
You shall let die
and be spared
No generation shall
come to pass
The earth realm, I
Another sweet dragon
shines all through
Unto you shall be my
I will then reward
with piercing mercy
Beware! Is the
goddess you serve?
Stuck inside of a nightmare
lookin' like I might just slight tear
myself from the light there right
barely a knife couldn't share me a slice of the right hare
even if I slice up the bright hair
this rave is still goin' downhill
now will they break away the paint on the brain?
how will they shake the pain?
bow down, to the great
the main reason MrLee awaits mystery
a maze missing me, amazed history
amazing, believe me, relieve me
I need relief to be easy, not so cheesy
Halloween-e, how'd you see me?
it's because the age blistering me
withering me, slithering
to literally killing the literacy
that liberates the chemistry
within the matrix, the realer traces
hearin' say shit with a blade in my clenched fist
for the mistress makin' my breakfast
takin' my senses
breakin' the benches
remaining a mention to sayin' the restless
I rest less, but the best don't sow that much on the mattress
get a match that's gonna match up
get the cash that's gonna stack up
like you're packed up full of mad guns
automatic, automated better on the fantasy adding the Adam, Eve
every ladder we ever thought about climbin'
how about dyin', lyin' for tight things
making what's left just sound bad for the right things
the writings, I write these
don't fight me, I fight free and fiesty
like fireflies in a firefight
gun's and knives, some'll bite
some'll try to like me
other's will be like me
mother's want to rise me
brothers want to raise me
take me to a paradise, sea in paradox
where it stops sharin' all of my careless thoughts
careless pot to grow the pear
this brain to rot what's even there
I might be a demon or a semen
either way, a difference would make a difference
in inference, I interfere with interest
to fit inside this little chest of simpleness
Jane is that person to take the unknown path
Fear is her friend, she knows no other way
Friends and family warned of dangers grave
Told her not to go to the tower, twisting in the forest
A moonless, starless, black clouded night her only guide
She took young Billy with her as a shield
In hopes of engaging him with experience and fear
They climbed 2,000 dusty stairs when they arrived
Billy cried out but only for an hour
Fatigue set in, filled both with anxiety, along the winding way
Monstrous screams came from the unholy spirits top
Blood came flowing from their ears
Each step brought them colder to the ghoulish goal
Lost souls approached in demon forms
Pulled poor Jane and Billy up and out a window
Held them by the throat and screamed
We want to kill you now but that would serve no purpose
They placed chains around their necks
Gave orders to take brooms and mops
To clean the cursed chamber first before the drop
Created on 10/17/14 for Ghost Stories – Poetry Contest