There once was a Dave of my acquaintance:
his demeanour all steady and calm;
his life had a predictable cadence,
a true gentleman whose presence was balm.
Names given our storms such as Arwen or Bram,
being less common leave fewer affected
by weather extremes than for Dave or for Sam.
How would you feel with your name selected?
Choosing a virtue when naming a child
such as Prudence or Joy means taking a chance.
She may grow up to be sorrowful or wild,
with other parents then looking askance.
Here in Appleby with ten years now passed
has there been a boy named Desmond I ask?
I am alone in the house.
This is as it should be.
My hands have become idle in their pursuit for comfort, endlessly reaching for a warmth they will not find.
I am alone in this house.
There is a collection of Bram Stoker's works on my nightstand. The book is from Europe. I have never been.
This is as it should be.
My eyes are dry and unresponsive to the words that flicker across my vision. These words compete for a second of my time, a moment to be observed as they were meant to be. They exist only to me and may disappear entirely if my gaze retreats. They cannot exist without a reader, and I cannot compel myself to entertain the notion of being with another’s voice.
I am alone in this house.
This is as is should be.
YOU HAVE HEARD OF THE WRITER, BRAM STOKER,
HE WROTE ABOUT KILLING, WAS NO JOKER.
HE WOULD GO OUT EVERY NIGHT,
FOR SOME FOOD AND A QUICK BITE.
THEN TAKE SOMEONE HOME JUST, TO POKE HER.
10 10 7 7 10
SYLLABLES CHECKED.
IF I`M WRONG, BITE ME! lol
A female gymnast in Romania
Sweet girl's name is Nadia
Went to a castle passed Brasov
A legendary castle, not of Romanov
Elegant and so cozy
To stay is nonchalant and dozy
Fictional character hailed once
People's world quivered more than once
Nadia kept coming back
In the said castle with a knack
Fell asleep one time waiting
In Bram Stoker's baiting
The night so dim in the scene
As a knight comes out with sheen
But the night crumbled with pangs
Nadia and the knight bitten with fangs
From the bed Nadia dropped on the floor, screaming
... a dream!
I am going to admit right up front
I am not a believer in this “New World Order”
In my opinion, it is a conspiracy theory,
Devised by those who are eager to confront,
Of it, frankly, I am more than somewhat weary.
I have heard blather from right-wing extremists
As far back as 50 years ago of a super-government
Being planned by a powerful cabal of power brokers
Closely aligned with international communists
As hard to nail down as fantasies by Bram Stokers.
In truth, we already live in a global society
And nations of like politics have bonded in kind
But national sovereignty is still the prevailing view
In my way of thinking, freedom is still a priority
Though some leaders are of a different mind.
If the world ever succumbs to a “New World Order”
I shall not be around to be a part of it, I know
In any case, I can tell you it is very slow developing
As I said, 50 years ago it was bantered in the corridor
So, it is not something that has come galloping!
FIRST PLACE WINNER
Written April 8, 2022
for "New World Order" poetry contest
sponsored by Robert James Liguori
It’s Halloween and Winnie the Witch
flies on her broomstick with O’Bramovitch
mid-flight puss acquires a nasty twitch
both his nostrils flare, he begins to itch
his pitiful me-ow rises to fever pitch
shame cat's aren't fitted with an on off switch!
A Halloween black cat, folk may say is kitsch
poor Bram needs help, Winnie flies to Ipswich
landing at the home of a vet named Mitch
Mitch quickly mashes up some roasted flitch
Bram gobbles it all up without any hitch
he says his twitch and itch were just a glitch
Alas, Bram’s pre-flight meal - a Beluga sandwich
was the tasty snack which gave Bram a stitch
Mitch declares that cat caviar is far far too rich
so this Halloween treat Win will now have to ditch
Bram’s irate, caterwauling that Winnie’s a snitch
hissing all the flight back to their home in Bloxwich
Halloween Monorhyme Contest Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Caren Krutsinger
10/26/21
(An Addingham poem)
‘There! Where every curve
injects another memory.’
Analytic beauty that
nestled in verdant valley
allows the mind to review,
where archaic dry-stone walls
enhance the ancestral ghosts,
impeccable trees, nature’s
guardian to one’s heady days,
inscribed when lovers called.
Now historic brows lost
within the village face,
expressive meadows
from a bygone age did
grace now lay in waste,
every thistle upon
throstle nest cut down
and stone barns redundant.
For cement and brick
replace the gathering blooms,
fertile soil lay under macadam
and house numbers
supersede the hawthorn hedge,
and old ‘Bram’ on horse and cart
daily down moor lane
long gone and dead.
Oh. Them old manifestations
embedded, the labour
of many a village son,
where leaf and wood
do part but once a year,
after seasons of regrowth
give way to winter’s ascetic sun
that rolls across Rombald’s moor.
‘Oh. Yes, the sun, one thing
that man has not yet changed.’
© Harry J Horsman 2021
“I am the monster that breathing men would kill. I am Dracula.”
Bram Stoker
The successive pounding of the hammer.
The stake in his heart took my breath away.
Came the bright torches, village clamor,
the successive pounding of the hammer.
Rosin of the vampire, screeching glamour,
tightening of cold hands, recant to pray.
The successive pounding of the hammer.
The stake in his heart took my breath away.
10/28/2020
If you look at ol’ Bram Stoker,
Irish writer of Dracula fame,
it can be quite hard to believe
that any remember his name.
At first just a civil servant,
then he managed a London stage,
doing books for Henry Irving,
a great actor of the age.
Then he somehow writes a novel,
of a distant, cruel vampire,
the critics liked the way he wrote,
but the book hardly inspired.
Sales were steady, but most thought it
a good thriller, nothing more,
if you said it was ‘Literary’
their jaws would’ve hit the floor.
But the book kept going steady,
it has never been out of print,
Hollywood put it on the screen,
and the studios made a mint!
It codified a sub-genre,
has defined the vampire’s ways,
when modern minds think of these fiends
they see Dracula to this day.
Henry Irving is long forgotten,
but Stoker we appreciate,
modern horror is in his debt,
you never know who will be great.
Hail, high denizen of tree,
not one improvident like me,
safe within your arbor's ruts,
there you keep your store of nuts.
Autumnal bunting soon must end.
and winter dearth is round the bend.
When I behold you as you nibble,
what need have I of nymph or Sibyl?
Lavish more verses on some cat!
Eliot and Gray have seen to that.
Browning did not shun the rat,
nor did Bram Stoker spurn the bat.
Is a squirrel, red or grey
a lesser poet's theme than they?
Let no distain those efforts hamper
that turn our thoughts
to those that scamper.
Oh Kate
You never told me
It a grey feeling
Just a dismal hunch
Pretty Kate
Sweet Kate
Always there
Yes Kate
A gift for thee
There for Bram Flakes
There for schmear
There for ersatz food
Yes Kate
You taught me how
To enjoy ersatz food
Without grimacing
You were there.
We scarcely spoke.
I saw you poor
I tried to help you.
Forever high school Kate.
Pink monkeys and lingerie
Forever senior prom
Your eyes on the money.
Yes Kate
I shall miss you.
Texas friend, oh Kate.
Goodbye to the Lone Star.
Surfing and bodyboarding
The great white shark and Kate
Wondered what you did
California Kate the swimsuit lady
I forgave you for the drndls
With the cut outs - you made bikinis
You the confused friend, the lost sister
Kate oh Kate - goodbye.
A MERE HINT OF MALICE
paprikash chicken…
sweet dish...sink your teeth into
...careful of the host
his eyes hypnotize…
delighted to wine and dine
...hungry for Harker*
single baying wolf
under your satin window
...salivating dreams
4/30/2018
*From Bram Stoker’s Dracula
Dracula was in a fix
Blood and sweets just do not mix
The dentist had no doubt
The fangs had to come out
Goodbye to vampire’s tricks.
-------------------------------------
Author: Paul Callus ~ 13th April 2014
Contest: Be Bram Stoker for a day
Sponsor: Darren Watson
Placing: Honorable Mention
She’d thought he was eyeing her rack
as with great charm, he led her out back.
But she realized too late
this would be her last date
as her neck got sucked dry by a Drac!
*For the contest of Darren Watson: Be Bram Stoker for a Day
Coffin is where this creepy fellow sleeps
Other people’s blood he likes to drink
Unique teeth – shiny pointed fangs
Naked necks are his tasty midnight snack
Transylvania is his homeland, its soil gives him strength
Darkness is his only friend he works undercover of the night
Real name is Count Vladislaus Dracula
Always avoids eating garlic in his food
Cannot abide a sunny day
Unless he has a wooden stake through his heart he cannot die
Loves to shapeshift into a bat, wolf, dog or fog
Alucard is his name backwards beware he’s cunningly disguised
Jan Allison
29th March 2014
Written for contest ‘Be Bram Stoker for a day’
Sponsored by Darren Watson
~ Awarded 3rd place ~
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