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
An eerie calm has been encroaching
as dawn's pale light approaches the realm
of what is usually a normal morning
but no songbirds are softly trilling today
They've all taken shelter from the storm
the one that rumbles ever nearer... she comes
One of nature's evil forces is on her way
a strengthening femme fatale I fear
has set her course due north
Her compass arrow pointed right at me
She churns Gulf waters and raises tides
gulping it down as if it were an elixir
from which her hurricane winds swirl
She comes to inflict harm and pillage
among coastal villages and cities
Not a drop of rain has fallen, but she comes.
No traffic can be heard, not a single word
from children waiting for a school bus.
It's declared a stay home from work day
Francine will rule our southern coast
boasting as her pressure drops
and nothing can stop her chosen path
Her wrath will be done... she comes
this evening, she comes for us
The crackling sound
In deep seabed
Like rain outside.
There's an eerie feel to the air
A sign of impending storm
All is quieter, still,
Until the birds' row begin to form
The bird's row on the garden fence
Wanting their turn to feed
Of those seeds, which magically appear.
The poet's bi-weekly good deed
Species of all types come by
Some fight to get a share
Brown-headed cowbird, doves
Cardinals, house finches eat the fare.
One Dove dives behind the fence post
Hidden away from his mate.
She chases him out into view
Seems little food his fate.
Then all is still again out there.
As I look through a dirty pane,
I wonder how I'll survive
When life is so uncertain again.
Then a brown thrasher flies in
He is eating from my seed.
I think how lovely he is
I'm thankful I can give him feed
Crashing tides, a relentless assault,
Bitter cold winds, a chilling jolt.
Faces slapped by nature's icy hand,
Entities from the deep, a sinister band.
Waves rise with a thunderous might,
Like demons dancing in the pale moonlight.
Each gust of wind, a haunting wail,
As the ocean's grip tightens, a ghostly tale.
In the abyss, dark forms arise,
Silent whispers, echoing demise.
Deep entities with a grip so cold,
Dragging towards a final resting fold.
Salt-laden air, taste of despair,
A struggle against forces, ruthless and unfair.
Yet within the chaos, a defiance stirs,
A resilience against fate as hope recurs.
I saw my name written and with its sight smitten,
reflected on the door, a little something more.
I held the hand
of a madman
hiding in Hollyhocks
blending with ogres,
eerie in tombs,
chasing stars through
their animal shapes;
others, a witch
to their ghosts, anew,
those gardens
though full, were
dark worlds at night
Ashen day turns into blackened night. One
limb of a lonely tree stripped of its
pre-fall leaves juts out against the
backdrop of an inked sky scraped
with gray. Dark clouds enfold
the full white moon, who
cannot break loose
from these strange
small hours’
grasp.
Related Poems