As zephyrs tousle thro’ his hair,
He walks along the dappling shade of trees
With a flaming lily behind his ear,
With scent of pine wood and lingering rain
On the horizon, warm oak on his breath,
He wanders freely upon a midsummer.
To be a cloud as it wanders the lull
Expanse of day, as the warmth of Sol’s breath
Scatters against the skin of dark vapour —
He is a cloud.
And on and on and on and then
He stops —
Captured by a hand that wasn't there;
The grass remembered arches after gone
And dew clung in the shape of being watched,
He could hear it clearing its throat to speak.
It passed him by as a cloud.
Saw an eerie silhouette of a young witch
her background being the moon so full
jack-o-lantern laughed so did the switch
she rode a straw broom, during the lull
Harvest moon was yellow, bright and rounded
night was pregnant with anticipation, eager to please
a Halloween sight to mull, I myself was astounded
some saw the witch, others feigned a tease
what witch? I have no idea what you are speaking of
But I could still see her there, riding her broom above
my relatives try to ignore things like this quite a bit
If it does not make sense to them, they claim to not see it
When I sit beside the lake in daylight,
The world seems to breathe more gently.
The water is still, calm, and shining.
your face appears upon its surface—
And I am lost in you—vague dreamily
When I sit beside the lake at twilight,
The red light falls on the silent water;
Your face awakens, pale and infinite.
Then it melts softly into the water—
I fear your soul is fading with the lake.
When the lights come on, memories evaporate. The walls of the room behave. Porous, primed, and paper white. Fear retreats where it learned to wait. And here I stand anew and unmarked. But, darkness does not forget. When the lights go out, the walls ooze and exhale. The dark consumes me once again. Old versions of myself return, merciless. Wounds not yet turned to scars resume their bleed. Guilt and regret dance like shadows. And I let them watch. They do not accuse. Extending their hands as if we once agreed to meet. They ask why I am startled. They have worn my face for years.
when the lights go out—
the ghosts I once left behind
breathe my name again
When you wished us away...
Now we shall haunt you
Every day on your own way.
Spirit of Edgar Allan Poe
It haunts the halls especially the parlor
A somber quiet darkness omnipresent
Wordku: 5-7-5 words
AP: Honorable Mention 2025
They haunt the castle halls
Lost souls of ghosts of bygone years
Adrift inexplicably in limbo circumambulate
Wordku: 5-7-5 words
AP: 1st place 2025
Eventually got my final sleep
tapping my soul miles deep.
Drift into the dream unknown,
where the mysteries of the past are sown.
Can't withstand the view I saw,
grasping my chest as regret claws.
My head thrashed wildly to and fro,
the storm of dread began to grow.
Mustered the courage, I rolled my fear like a worn-out sleeve,
The shadows whispered, begged me to leave.
I tried to run, I tried to scream,
pain and agony ripped apart my dream.
Then silence fell, I saw myself,
a fractured beam above myself.
Did I make it? Did I wake?
was it all real? Or was it all fake?
In the cold hands of death, the child laid,
To heaven her soul had quickly strayed.
Her face still looked fresh like a new dawn,
But with the sunshine far away gone.
To where death rules with an iron hand,
And his eerie touch none can withstand.
a single heart
thick as wax
pressed into the earth’s embrace
it does not wither
does not break
only waits in silence--patient, watching
its vines creep slow
twisting tight
coiling round the throat of time
whisper soft
it calls their names
a voice like wind through hollow bone
come and see
come rest your hands
upon the leaves still warm with breath
they lean in close
they never know
until the roots have found their skin
wrists entwined
by tendriled veins
soft as lovers’ fingertips
no cries escape
no struggle holds
it drinks them deep--it lets them go
but still they bloom
from blood-wet soil
a heartbeat pulsing in the stem
one by one
it claims them all
until the plant becomes the man
his lips are leaves
his eyes are dark
his hands are reaching from the vine
he whispers now
with every breeze
and lures the next one home again
surrounded by trees
a trailer lies in decay
the front door tugged by the wind
a home left behind
littered with animal waste
shadows seep from doors ajar
Darkness emerged from a creepy black shadow,
Bringing along silence with its spooky loads,
If not for the scary croaks of flirting toads,
The loud silence would have begged to have a foe.
As the night sky unfolded its sombre frowns,
Towering trees loomed, casting an eerie light.
The silhouettes of their branches, a haunting sight,
In that gloom, even nothing wore ghostly crowns.
12th October, 2024
Streaks of pallid moonlight
wash over blood-stained
burnt umber leaf blight.
Glistening stainless steel remains
within wilting noir roses
and blistered blades of grass.
Sickening hands shake my repose,
heart racing, sure to collapse,
feeling faint.
A revolting nausea elevates,
trying to find restraint,
as madness deregulates.
A heart separated
from a lifeless corpse—
death awaits.
Flashbacks play like static reports,
too hard to get a clear picture.
Splashes of splattered red fill
spaces in between scriptures.
Screaming echoes spill,
dirty visions getting clearer,
as the sacrificial lamb
becomes the predator, evaporating fear.
Fighting for the blade, fingers clammy,
spinning out of control.
How could you bring me to this?
Steel cuts against palms, foretold—
splatters of crimson spray, don't resist,
covering fear-filled eyes.
One last-ditch effort:
grab the hilt and arise.
On this deadening night, collect.
You became Samhain’s sacrifice,
a feast for the demonic nether, sanctified.
Scintilla experienced an eerie foreboding
the house at 125 Klondike Street felt unsafe
she sensed that it had brought doom to occupants
she was shaking her head no when her husband said “we’ll take it.”
She took him aside and explained her feelings, but he would not budge.
Something about it called to him as fiercely as she was repulsed by it.
Within five years they had experienced a fire, a flood, and a divorce.
Scintilla gave her husband the house and the equity.
All she wanted was to survive, to get out with her life.
Her odd immediate premonition came to fruition.
Her husband passed away from Covid-19 two months later.
Their children paid attention to her forebodings after this.
Swaying branches spy as secret spooks in canopy’s dungeon
Creepers knitted around trunks like ornamented bead chains
Suspended pillar roots appear as the matted hair of Lord Shiva.
Hoarse noises as non-rhythmic beats of an amateur drummer
Serpents dragging their bodies on dried leaves with cracklings
Hoots, chirps, clicks, and whoops from the crowns of trees
Whispers of exhausted leaves and goggling eyes of silent owls
Spiders’ silky webs levitating as the canvas of boats
Trunks green with mass, standing as Lucifer's lieutenants
Scent of flora mixed with acrid smell and the floor with sticky clag
An impassable stretch never been eyed by the sun and moon as well.
PLACE: 3rd
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