An ominous water tower
Stands tall in Starin Park
Barricaded by a spiked fence
Iron clads the stained-glass windows
A steel door bolted shut
What secrets lie within its walls?
On the night of a blood moon
Witches shrouded in crimson robes
Conducted a satanic ritual
To call forth a demon from hell.
The ceremony was a success, but at a cost.
Hellborn claws slew the High Witch.
The remaining members stood firm.
Combined their strength to subdue the creature.
Calling forth the spirits of nature,
The witches configured a tower
To confine the bloodthirsty beast
So none shall meet an unfortunate end.
They say on a full moon night,
You can hear otherworldly growls
Echoing throughout the tower
Rattling the bravest of souls
Who'd dare to venture forth
To the Witches Tower.
Categories:
clads, halloween, horror, magic, poetry,
Form: Free verse
Nestled among the shining peaks
of flashing glass and girded steel,
gilded mansions enjoyed by sheiks;
who queue for nearby Ferris wheel;
near Parliament’s Gothic seat,
Shakespeare’s Elizabethan Globe,
It sits, grey, brutal, pure concrete
shameless without a cladded robe.
It’s naked beauty clads itself
around creativeness within.
I am it shouts, I am myself
without a falsifying skin.
With jutting angles, edges hard,
it’s beauty is more honest than
the Pickle, Telephone, or Shard
I will forever be a fan.
Categories:
clads, beauty,
Form: Rhyme
Our Daddy God likes to treat
In lovely sunshine or what we eat.
My love gets huge burgers and chicken wings
I like the ice-cream and onion rings
These special weekly dates
Then we eat off small plates
for the rest of the week.
Sunday worship is the peak;
Our spiritual family of moms and dads,
Children and visitors in our best clads.
To hear the Word and to sing,
To treat our Father by what we bring
Our best love and prayers
He takes away burdens and cares
He is our best Treat,
but His treats have ours beat!
Categories:
clads, christian, inspirational,
Form: Rhyme
I keep my verse in a chest of drawers
each one so very different
Some words for summer, some for winter
and some then most intemperate
I keep the best one’s locked away
for those times when you’re around
To dress each phrase in sunlit fire
with silks and linens found
I fold each poem nice and neat
stacked end to end they lay
To sit and wait, my breath exhaled
until their chosen day
There’s one drawer open every night
in case my dreams conspire
The thickest warmest woolen clads
to wrap the image dire
One day I’ll will this chest of drawers
to my first born oldest son
And hope he wears each line as his
and lets the meanings run
And then to his son, he’ll pass on
when fate calls out his name
The drawers more full than when I left
—this chest without a name
(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2018)
Categories:
clads, poetry, words,
Form: Rhyme
Little People Contest
Sponsor: Shadow Hamilton
Tiny pixies floating over jaded lily pads,
the sunshine brings days of yore to be,
lil’ gnomes dressed in colorful burlap clads,
living in polka-dotted mushrooms raggedy.
A day of celebration brings a party to life,
flowers in little folk’s hair for decoration,
on tiny rainbow colored fairies they fly,
for it’s time for a festival of jubilation.
Inside the mushrooms there lies no beds,
they sleep upside down on a blue branch,
Papa gnomes wear white hats on their heads,
it distinguishes the governors at the ranch.
That’s where they meet to grow mushrooms,
building homes for the gnomes who have none,
inside each room is where one daisy blooms,
it brings good fortune and flourishes great fun.
The day is done and they gather at the hills,
that is where they greet and tell silly jokes,
Mamma gnome makes feasts for tummies to fill,
welcome to the world of the happy little folk’s!
Words used: flowers, fairies, pixies, gnomes, party and sunshine
Date Written: June 26, 2016
Categories:
clads, imagination, silly,
Form: Rhyme
Her fares
Feed my fainting frame.
Her genial gesture
Graces my gut.
Her beauty
Bands my body.
Her care
Clads my clay.
Her spirituality
Spurs my spirit.
Her tender talk
Tickles my thought.
Her conviviality
Is my compliment.
Categories:
clads,
Form: Couplet
PHOTOPHOBIANS RECOIL...
the deal is sealed
and the season
ceases to be
too far from fair
for the foul lair
of Master Bull-
frog frowns open
to reveal rats
who race to ruin
like muddled moles
who prance on polls
they dread to dote
on for fear of
Scale they scorn to
mount because of
loss of weight in
the people's call
caught in its Flame
which clings like curse
to People's Cause
that now is fought
in new vision
of born-again
state or nation
to prick puppet
to strip stooges
who seek to see
our local apes
or country crooks
like puff-adders
kill kith and kin
before 10/11
clads in garb of
9/11
Uncle Sam dreads
to hear just like
frogs and state-toads
with drear delight
cringe when they hear
"LET THERE BE LIGHT!"
which will expose
photophobians
caught in cruel caves
whence they recoil....
Categories:
clads, satire,
Form: Free verse