Long Holiday Poems

Long Holiday Poems. Below are the most popular long Holiday by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Holiday poems by poem length and keyword.

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Long Poems
Long poem by Diane M Quinlan | Details

Seasonal Walks in the Park

 baseball, bird, change, childhood, games, holiday, lost,

“Seasonal Walks in the Park!”

A walk in the park after a springtime morning rainfall 
Is to hear the droplets fall from bent branches overhead
That can shock and moisten one’s brow walking below
And make note on the many water stains spotting the lanes

The grasses have turned into rich shiny green blades
Water drops remaining give individual blades sparkle
And soon the lawns will need to be mowed often 
And made and kept ready for park picnics and games 

The dissolving clouds open gaps for sun rays piercings
Adding sunbeam warmth  down on upturned faces 
The sun-warm breezes will temp visitors to carry their coats
And others perhaps persuaded in removing their shoes and socks

Some will have their feet dampened on the grass from droplets of dew 
As they venture and tread about the newly showered lawns  
The blades of grass will squeak when running shoes tramp through 
And if recently cut than grass blades will stick between bared toes

Spring’s love potion is inhaled and felt by all touring about 
Seasoning desires for familiarity towards the fairer sex 
From past haunts of pleasantly spent park delights 
Where wooing couples will be affected to a time stand still 

The early morning rainbow has faded and day’s clear skies are imminent 
The air fresh from receding mists mingle heavenly and tweak the nose
Dew worms break through and inch their way along above ground
Turning out from under the now soft rain moistened soil

This stirs the well-known smell of earth worms movements 
And birds sing out invitations  for all to join in this feed
Mother birds will return and hungry hatchlings will have first kills
And fathers will be released then of their nest guard duties for this share

All daytime and nighttime visitors will become love-struck
In their search for springtime’s romancing love calls to one another
The park comes awake to the frenzy and welcomes young and old
To meet, greet, and form new and old friendships offered all around 

The park's excitement is truly felt when a love-knot becomes first tied 
Crawling babies born from previous spring time passions will be noted
 They will learn the high-step toddle soon enough bringing them to romp
Once they have experienced that first feel of having to crawl on prickly grass

Young voices are heard mingling along with loud hand claps 
All friendly ‘high-fives’ are brandied about within the new met groups 
This is an all- time game ritual passed between friendships bonding
All this showmanship will form new team players for ball-park games

The ice-rink’s wooden forms are being removed and taken away for another year
Memories of skating parties last held are brought to surface 
The recall of being half frozen and then thawed 
When invited to sip a mug of hot chocolate steaming and full-bodied

A freshly painted baseball diamond will replace the rink area now
This ball field will bring many ball park players to home-plate
While proving to others they are ‘out of bounds’ 
Their devotion to play after school and during holidays is well kept

The flapping and snapping of new kites sound overhead 
Straining their ties against the cruel breezes putting them down
Watchers walking about are made to feel free 
The breezes jostle skirt and pant legs to tease about

Children are held clasped in grown-up hands  to hold them fast 
Their first walk about in the park has been a long time put on hold
Even the elderly are childlike and have a bounce given to their step
Walking around the park’s perimeter evolves a lifetime’s returning event

A seasonal change brings about new and different facades to the parkland
And they never fail to have a special allure to draw all outdoors
No matter what the weather call that day or night will bring
Walkers are in want of fresh-air walks found in the park grounds

And dogs always have to reacquaint themselves to the lay of the parkland 
Their bones need burying for great hunts in all seasons to become lost and found
They love to leave their markings on pure white snow banks as calling cards 
The park sees all and sees to all that visit and never will tell tales of any kind!

Copyright © Diane M Quinlan | Year Posted 2015

Long poem by Ashley Skambraks | Details

The Tale of the Unexpected Prince

The Tale of the Unexpected Prince
	I sat in my lonely castle room looking out of the window. The village below was a flurry of activity with peasants going about their busy day. I sighed. I am so lonely, I just want someone or something to keep me company. I longed for companionship. My parents were so busy with the demands of being the King and Queen of Sanzara. My parents had one strict rule for me. I was never to leave the castle alone. I must have a servant with me at all times. But this rule, never stopped me before. I snuck out of the dreary castle many times before. I would slip out the door and quickly lose myself in the throngs of people in the village. I would spend an entire day drinking in all the sights and smells of the tiny town. Ahh, the aroma of the village bakery and the delicious bread baking in the stone ovens! Oh, the beauty of the flowers at the flower peddler's cart. Pink, blue, red, orange, and yellow making and rainbow of beauty. I sighed and a tear slid down my cheek. I had asked my parents for a dog on many occasions. I begged them for a puppy to be my companion. There answer was always a stern “No, Ariana we have no time to tend to a dog. We are busy with other things.” 
	I knew better than to mess with the “magic man” that lurked in the dark shadows at the edge of my kingdom, but this time I had no choice. I had gotten myself into a bit of trouble and owed money to someone who would definitely do me in if I didn’t pay him back. I couldn’t ask my parents for help. I was too ashamed for getting into this mess. My only option was to strike a deal with the “magic man.” He agreed to give me the loan, but warned me I must pay him back by the stroke of midnight on the night of the Royal Halloween Ball or I would become a victim of an unpleasant surprise. Ugh, I better have the “magic mans” money or I’m toast. 
I didn’t have the money. My parents cut my royal allowance and I couldn’t pay back the “magic man.” I had to attend the royal ball, there was no way out of it. I slipped out before the ball began to find the magic man. I begged him for more time. “No Prince Alexander, your time will be up at midnight”, he cried out. “Pay up or receive your punishment.” 
The hour of midnight approached I was dancing with a princess and the clock told twelve times. A tingling went through my body and suddenly I was looking up at everyone and had four legs and fur. Oh my gosh! I’m a dog! I ran as fast as my dog legs would carry me but I was caught and thrown into the kennel in the village of Sanzara. I was sure that I would be banished to a dog's life forever. I crept into a cramped corner of the dark and dingy kennel and fell asleep. 
I woke up to a beautiful day. The sun was glowing yellow in the blue morning sky and I had a plan for my day. I quickly dressed and quietly slipped out of the castle. This is it Ariana you’re going to get a puppy friend from the kennel. I made my way through the streets to the edge of the village I walked into the kennel and my eyes locked on the most handsome pup I had ever seen, he was even a royal breed, a Cavalier King Charles Spaniel. A little while later I smuggled him into the castle. My secret didn’t last long and my parents yelled at me for my irresponsible actions. But my parents soon fell in love with Romeo and let me keep him. Later that evening, after I got ready for bed I gave Romeo a kiss on top of his furry head and whispered how much I loved him. Romeo gave me a wet doggy kiss and we soon drifted off to dreamland. 
The next morning I woke to someone shaking me and franticly babbling something in my ear. My eyes flew open and there at the foot of my bed stood the most handsome young man. I told him to calm down and then he told me about the magic mans curse and about how he was turned into a dog. Not any dog, but my dog Romeo. After I kissed Romeo he tingled all over and suddenly he was prince Alexander again. All of this happened from a kiss and my declaration of love.

Copyright © Ashley Skambraks | Year Posted 2015

Long poem by Sarah Bryant | Details

Tavira, Algarve, my home town


Tavira is my town
The place I call my home
Rich in history
Much like me
Many secrets does it hold
Ancient times still apparent
Different people now
A different time

How many footsteps have trodden the cobbled streets?
With donkeys or on foot
How many couples once kissed on the seven arch bridge?
Warm tender embraces
How many photographs posed for?
From dawn through till night
Memories locked safe
To reflect, to smile
Making a history of your own

From medieval times to modern day
The river flows silently towards the Oceans mouth
Two rivers twine, the Gilão and the Sequa  
No one knows why it has two names
Another secret never to be told
Tavira is a town to find yourself
To discover, to explore
To sit beside the river
Peaceful and serene
Enjoy an expresso in the brilliant sunshine
Or relax in the shadow
And dream

My town has many churches
37 so I hear
Glorious magnificence on display
The carvings of another life on the walls
Depicting the life of Jesus for us to see
The Igreja da Misericórdia
Said to be the best
But there are many to admire for sure
Structures centuries old
A place of prayer
A holy site 
Speak to God in his own home
Feel welcomed, arms embrace

Walk up worn steps to the top of the town 
Draw pure fresh air down into your lungs
“The view of Tavira” awaits silently
For that first gasp as you see what it hides 
Visit the restaurant of the same name
“A Ver Tavira” for that special treat
Magnificent views of the river and town displayed below
Whilst you wine and dine your loved ones 
Romantic and inspirational
Feel the tranquillity
Feel vigorous and strong
The world is out there waiting to be grasped
Reach out your hands and touch it
It’s there

Nearby we are proud of our castle
Tavira boasts one of its own
With a gate fit for a king
King Manuel I was the first to walk through
In the 13th century, long ago
Preserved and protected
On display for us to admire
Take a step back in history
Feel the ambience, feel alive

Ilha da Tavira, the island of golden sands
Lining the glistening ocean
The gentle waves lapping your feet
Inviting into its swell
A scene of pure sanctity
What better place to contemplate
To dream, be yourself
Make castles in the sand

Tavira has plenty of seating
Benches are dotted around the town
Socialising a way of life here
Happy faces, laughter
Affectionate greetings, emotional goodbyes
Families visiting relatives
Holidaymakers enjoying the atmosphere
Tavira staying in their hearts forever

Restaurants are full
Serving local cuisine
Octopus the speciality here
Not to all tastes I admit
But the choices are plenty
Fish freshly caught is a must
As is medronho, or firewater as it is known
One quick shot, straight down in one
Warms your heart in a different way

Small cafes are thriving too
Tables filled with wine, beer and coffee
Outside the streets are flourishing
Musicians presenting their talent
Stalls line the streets in the summer
Selling trinkets and local goods
If shopping’s your thing you’re in luck
There are many to choose from here
From jewels of the finest kind
Or an ashtray as a souvenir 

Turtles guard the bandstand
Silently they watch
This bustling town full of people
Its history never forgotten
Many statues stand proud and tall
The monument in Praça da Republica
Remembering the First World War
A permanent legacy to them
And to others who fought and returned

With Cabanas to the east
Santa Luzia to the west 
Tavira sits in the middle
A secret uncovered
It surrounds you like the biggest hug
A town where hopes and dreams are achieved 
Memories made and kept forever

The secrets I will keep safe
Make my own history and recreate
In the heart of the Algarve is Tavira
In my heart it will stay
A special place
Much like me
Tavira is the place to be
Tavira is my home

Copyright © Sarah Bryant | Year Posted 2015

Long poem by Gerald Dillenbeck | Details

Reasons for Seasons

A question.


For now.
Subject to chain-reaction change.

As long as we're clear
about our lack of restraining rules.

Quite so, dear.
I'm wondering about that line
"Jesus is the reason
for the Season."
What was the reason
before JesusSeason?

I mean,
Joseph and Mary
and their parents,
What was their reason
for this Season?
Whatever they called early Winter
back in better
and perhaps somewhat cooler atmospheric days?

They had Hanukkah
I suppose.
But it was more of a political victory celebration
and I'm not sure if it was in December.

What about the Solstice
or fertility rights and wrongs
and other confusing
and often bloody industrious
things of that sort?

Solstice maybe.
But fertility and harvest thereof...
Well, doesn't sound like the reason
for this Season.

Maybe the butchering and harvest part
if you're in retail
within Christendom.

Or hospitality.

Speaking of hospitality,
didn't that visit to Bethlehem
have something to do with an end of year inventory
or census
or something about adding things up
and planning for the future?

So the reason
for this Season
was death and taxes?

Maybe sales tax revenues.
They used to count productive heads.
Now we add up business profits
as Sacred Advent
anticipates income tax Season
with dread.

A very warming thought

I think we would do better
to sing
Jesus is A good reason
for the Season.

More of a traditional excuse
for blatant commercialism
and collecting taxes from poor people
for most of Christendom
wouldn't you say?

You're so cynical
in the morning.
And by evening

That's right dear.
A range of cynical through comatose.

Which probably has something to do with this dark Solstice.

Another reason for Advent Season.

Another question comes to mind.

Of course, dear,
as we both knew,
your curiosity grows insatiable.

What if Gaia
is just another name
for Holy Spirit?

And Holy Spirit
was just another KingJames name
for Spiritus Mundi
of Greek nondualistic nature-spirit mystics
speaking with Rabbinical scholars
over two thousand years ago,
while Jesus listened?

What if a post-millennial
Second Transitional Coming
of Indra's NetZero Polyphonic Age
was another way of feeling
CoMessianic Sacred Becoming
one Body of continuously Holy EnSpiriting Christendom?

as ethological reason
for CoMessianic Advent Seasons
gifting grace forward
through Matriarchal Gaian Mundi EnSpiritus.

Any good Jewish son,
in historical times and languages of Jesus
the Nazarene,
would know,
If a question of authentic interpretation of teaching,
of Original Intent
of a divine law or teaching,
a nature-spirit rule,
such as a WinWin Golden MultiCulturing Rule,
were to co-arise,
It is our unchanging exegetically orthodox Tradition
that discerning authorities
must turn to Rabbinical lines of the Teacher
to discover contextual evidence
for Original Intent.

It might, then, be important to Jesus the Nazarene evangelists
of truly good news,
to remember Greek nature-mystic nondual philosophies
embraced by pre-industrialized,
Gaian EcoSystemic MetaPhysicians
of natural-spiritual polypathic wisdom,

Listening and watching MotherEarth's 
spiraling Win-Win revolutions
and Win-Lose LeftBrain reactionary over-investments
in retributive justice
against egocentric hubris,
and older root degenerative messages

To Lose ecopolitically
predicts to Lose ecologically
predicts to Lose biologically
predicts to Lose psychologically
throughout post-industrial
Great Transitional
of Original NatureSpirit Gaian Issues
and Intent,
Ecological Deep LivingWater Means
and Sacred Wisdom WombWays.

Copyright © Gerald Dillenbeck | Year Posted 2017

Long poem by Cynthia Alvez | Details

The Day Before The Night Before Christmas

I wrote this poems some years ago when I was invited to be on a television program to read a Christmas poem to children as they gathered around me...I had not written a Christmas poem when the invitation was extended and wondered what to write as there were so many Christmas poems already...It was then I decided to write about the day before the night before Christmas...thus this poem which the children and listening audience enjoyed...

The Day Before The Night Before Christmas
It was December the 23rd
And Santa was packing his sleigh
Saying to his reindeer, "We've got
Lots of traveling to do today,
Tomorrow is Christmas Eve and I
Have lots of surprizes up my sleeve!"
The reindeer grumbled and were ill-at-ease,
Santa was worried and asked "
aren't you pleased?"
One reindeer who asked not to be identfied,
Stepped forward and replied,
"Christmas now is just a word!"
The other reindeer joined in,
"There is no peace on earth,
No good will between men!"
"No good will between people!" a liberated reindeer
Chirped in.
Santa was aghast and could not believe what he
Had just heard,
It startled him, it made him sad,
Why, Christmas was the time of year to make folks glad.
A time for celebration, for spreading good cheer,
A joyful, happy time of year!

"I'll do some spot checking!" Santa said to Mrs. "C"...
"Christmas has lost its true meaning, this cannot be!"
"This is tragic!"
And with a little Santa magic, he transformed himself
Into a little child with a polka dot face,
This way he could represent every race...

He went caroling the world over and begged
Passers-by, "Please sing along!"
But no one would join him in song.
Santa was cold,
His coat was tattered and torn...
No one offered him shelter,
They looked upon him with scorn.

He stopped at several houses but no one
Would let him in...
Some shouted, "Come back again!"
They were busy decorating and wrapping 
Presents galore,
But no one would open their door.
Santa saw a family strolling hand in hand,
"What does Christmas mean to you?"
He asked stepping up to the man.
"Presents for one and all said he!
"Trees a glitter, houses in holiday dress!"
Said she.
"Toys!" said the little one, jumping with glee...
"If you are really good, Santa will bring you a color TV!"
"But he won't find your house on the other side
of the track,
You are poor and ugly with that polka dot face,
I know Santa won't find your place!"
They laughed and scoffed, 
"Why you are a disgrace!"

"Christmas means a brand new car!" said the next
Hurried gent,
The next lady said, "Christmas made me spend every cent!"
Poor Santa was really sad,
No one had said Merry Christmas,
"This is really bad."
He shook his head as he pondered, "Is Christmas really dead?"

No one mentioned the babe in the manger,
Or the wise men who traveled afar.
No one mentioned Mary or Joseph or the
Bright guiding star.
Santa slumped his shoulders
He head beack home,
His heart was heavy, he felt all alone.

The suddenly, bells chimed; it was Christmas eve.
A lone man appeared and took the little child Santa
By his tattered sleve.
"Come child," he said softly, "I'll share my meal with you,
It is not much but it should warm you through and through."
He wrapped his worn scarf around Santa's cold head
Santa thanked him...
"Merry Christmas!" the stranger said, "I am traveling to
Bethlehem" and he was gone again.

Marry Christmas!" said Santa ss the stranger disappeared
From sight..."Christmas lives!" he shouted,
"The reindeer were wrong and I was right!

Carrolers sang in the distance,
Deck The Halls!  Silent Night

Copyright © Cynthia Alvez | Year Posted 2012

Long poem by T Wignesan | Details

Unquotable quotes: Beggars - XXX

Unquotable quotes: Beggars - XXX

Who said beggars cannot be choosers?

Who chooses for them the place, the moment or the people they choose to beg from; the hours of the begging day; the alms they refuse; the advice they brush aside; the language they use – or the looks they reserve - once your back is turned (depending on the weight of the coin or the shape and size of the note) you place in their hands ?

There are beggars and beggars: beggars who beg to survive; beggars who beg for others:  their children, their old and decrepit; and beggars employed by syndicates and cartels; professional bodies, the police, the fire-brigade, non-profit associations and poorly-subsidized hospitals, charitable organizations who stoke the “waste-industry” with their mountains of publicity and return part of your contributions as bribes in the shape of quasi-useless objects; churches and religious orders, the Salvation Army, governments - crooks, criminals and thugs piously wrapped and quoting the sacred teachings; campaigning politicians, political parties who promise the world until they seize power and exact payment from the suckers who elected them by enacting laws to make citizens pay for their mismanagement of funds (though they do ensure the continuity of law and order and economic development through the existing apparatuses and institutions they inherit); secret societies through repeated threats of execution by making offers one cannot refuse, and so on and so forth. 

Who said beggars cannot be choosers has not tried the easy and flourishing art of getting rich quickly sans sweat. 

  The lay of Parisian beggars in August

Where have all the beggars gone
   on this cool bright summer’s day
To tan their skins they have gone
   on glittering swanky Riviera bay

	O! Why do they desert Paris gai
	Alone miserly muttering nay

Oh! When will they be back, pray!
   for their daily euro handout frais
Down by the Mall’s five-foot way?

They’ll be back, they’ll be back, you say
Once they’ve jigged jingling bags away
	in their glad rags gay

O! Will they be back, will they be back, say
   before winter’s frost is here to stay?
Fear not, fear not, 0! gentle soul, Sire
   They’ll screech their woes the blue jay
Tweets tweets rude tales from yesteryear
   From yon winter passage lands gay

O! Will the Croatian come cavorting, say 
   on crutches of seeming porcelain clay?
And on Prefecture fence let limbs splay

And will the Haitian light butts, they say
   cocaine piths within lips dark grey?
Yes, Mon Sieur, yes, he’s gone Breton way
    to hear lone father in farmhouse bray  

	O Why do they desert Paris gai
	Alone miserly muttering nay

Across the road along Mall gates' marches 
   lie devastated old women all day
Their conniving Kosovan looks reflect touches
   Saracen swords cleaving mothers at play

O! Where’s she gone, gone, my Gypsy lassie ray
    traipsing down the Palais by walkers jay?
Whose pipe-dreams she pops open today
   down dark alleys for frayed euros pay

	O Why do they desert Paris gai
	Alone miserly muttering nay

Roumania! Mania! Screeches naughty blue-jay
   Will she be back to flaunt her chops anyway
Decked in fineries while lords on horses neigh?

Or that wayward child’s drained cheeks may
Now sprout vibrant goatee strands grey

	O Why do they desert Paris gai
	Alone miserly muttering nay 

© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2016

Copyright © T Wignesan | Year Posted 2016

Long poem by cherl dunn | Details



Did you know that Santa always had a secret desire,
To explore and experience the holiday known as Halloween!
This jolly spirit whom brought the world of mankind such joy,
And wonder on the Twenty-five of every December, had a 
Mischievous side, a childlike curiosity about this 
Spookiest of Haunted holidays!
So when Mrs. Clause went to take care of her allying
Sister just before this mystical season, Old Chris Kringle,
Made up his mind to go forth unto the world of men
And see what this spooky hullabaloo was all about!
A magical being himself, he thought it best to appear
In a childlike form, dressed up of course as an elvish imp,
After all this whole experience was brand new to him,
He knew not if this costume, would help him to fit in,
Or not, but the excitement over rode judgement's
So Santa grabbed an old pillow case, put a sign
On his bedroom door, do not disturb getting some
Extra zzzz, while Mrs. Clause is gone on family business,
So in this way those nosie elves would not get curious!
Than sneaking out the back door, he loaded up a tiny sleigh,'
To one alone reign deer, and road off into the darkness
Ready to investigate this holiday known as Halloween!
The full moon above seemed to light up the dreary shadows
Below, as Santa landed in the village of sleepy Hallow,
A party was going on in a large manor house, what better
A place to begin Chris Kringle thought to himself!
All within were dressed in variations of costumes,
Laughing and singing, bobbing for apples and feasting,
What festive scene to behold Santa Clause decided!
Dark and devilish decorations, were hung from high to
Low, pumpkins all lit up with grinning smiles all carved
Out hallow glowed in a sinister fashion!
It Kinda of creeped the elderly gentlemen out to be
Honest, but he was going to investigate this dark
Legendary season no matter what, outside little
People came knocking at the door, dressed as vampires,
Werewolves, witches and more, forgetting he himself
Had changed his personal form, a large lady spoke
Excuse me little master, shouldn’t be outside with the
Others, whoops Santa said your right, and he joined 
With the others!
Every house on the lane, was all lit up aglow, with
Pumpkins, and dark macomb designs, grave stones
Marked RSVP, or black cat motifs what does this
All mean he thought, wired to say in the least!
He’d almost made up his mind to return home,
As fast as he could, when he heard the voices of
Children ring out, trick or treat and candy of all
Types poured outwards to these eager monstrous
Tike's, now I understand free goodies at any age
Is a wondrous thing? 
At this point old Saint Nick was hooked, as the
Years of sneaking out to partake in this ghoulish
Holiday past, he learned that other things were 
Involved in this spookiest of holidays, but the spoils
Of this sweet toothed holiday could not be denied, and the
Happiness of children’s faces hiding beneath their sticky masks, made
It all worth it to Chris Kringle, this jolly fellow from up north.
 What a Halloween jingle for old Santa Clause to speak,
Trick or treat, smell my feet, give me something good
To eat, but it is after all Halloween is it not, HO, HO, HO
Munching on his goodies treats, laughing all the way!




Copyright © cherl dunn | Year Posted 2015

Long poem by cherl dunn | Details


In the eases softening breeze leaves rustle in the crisp
Autumn air, as the creeping shadows begin to claim the
Hallows of the darkening night, layer by layer the blackness
Swallows whole the last remaining essence of light, 
At dusk's twilight’s fading hour!
Within isolation's remote venue, the spiritually forgotten
Slithering forth as a vaporous residue oozing outwardly
From fractures breakages in the castle walls, phantoms
Do creep in silhouette form, these the disembodied 
Severed from their living life force!
Decades stacked by historical bones of the murdered,
 Slaughtered and tortured to death, privations materials
Of strength for the strong bricks needed, with bloods
Lubrication and fleshes supple distinction, a fortress
Of pure evil was wrought and made!
In this demonic lair of the supernatural, pricked has
Been the thin veil of humanity, releasing the backwash 
Of the neither world, it elopes forth dispelling, draining 
Within a crimson whirlpool of the vile and distained!
The whistling howls of the past deceased, echo hauntingly between
 The mangled ruins of the torrents, as the heavy footsteps of
Armed soldiers clamor above, upon the battlement towers!
Yet nothing outside can be seen by the naked human eye,
Except a chilling presence, chased away in the breezes
Of reality!
Storm clouds gather as if a woven tapestry of the demonic,
Clamoring thunder bolts clash, against the earth shattering
Lighting grappling at the roof of Dracula’s Castle!
 For it is a dark omen, an ominous ushering of his awakening,
The dark master of evil will soon walk amongst the living
Once more, as the children of the night howl, in a terrifying,
Nightmarish tribute unto their satanic lord!
For buried beneath the rotten floor boards of his ruins castle,
Hidden within the moldy, musty tombs of generations of death,
And decays mummified putrid flesh, a narcissistic demon dwells!
This unsanctified grave robber of the living, the devil’s unholiest
 Of spawn, whom survives on the life essence of humanity?
The beast at wing, transforming at deceptions beckoning,
To capture the innocent victim unaware, of his menacing 
Threating presence, until it is far too late for escape!
Behold the vampiric cobra ready to strike, at the bare exposed
Throat of innocence, in the throbbing fanged points of 
Penetration lies an ethereal passion, the consummation of
Light being totally consumed by the ultimate darkness,
Nay behold mortal, the birthing of a newly born vampire!
In the chilling of the blood there is life, it’s the viral
Infection of the afterlife, this creature with insights
Enhightened senses flares outwardly against the moons
Translucent light, extending its gargoyle like wings,
Unto the dark dominion of his black fathers kingdom!
Count Dracula is pleased, with his newest dark disciple,
Returns unto his place of ancestral birth, to rest again
Until night falls abyss absorbs the sun once more,
Than this darkest of lords, shall walk amongst his 
Undead kindred, as their ultimate master of destruction!
Welcome curiosity’s transgressor, know that you have been so warned,
For you’ve entered the deadliest of the twilight zones,
Here humanity has little standing ground, except to feed
The undead tribe of a vampiric father, known as Count Dracula!


Copyright © cherl dunn | Year Posted 2015

Long poem by cherl dunn | Details



A weaving’s blending is spun within the soil of the discontent,
Legends are the roots of cultures, stories woven within the 
Fabrics of societies, but the colors of truth reveal the shocking
Details of wrong deeds, justified in the name of Religion,
Even amongst those deemed as righteous acts according to
Biblical interpretation, thus is this story laid within the
Amish community as fact not fiction!
Bore to elderly parents, a seeker was conceived, blind at birth
This child of innocence light, walked amongst those clothed
In the trappings of the darkly dressed, yet he could see with
Perfect clarity with the third eye of the profit, but amongst
His people this is an abomination to God!
For only God himself shall now all things, in heaven or on
Earth, so taken to the shunning fields of the forest wilds
The child was left, given the judgement of the shunned!
Grieving did his weeping mother so, for her child of old age,
The father went to search for him, yet it was too late,
Within the mangled reeds a small lifeless form laid,
Dripping with the night dew of death!
Begging thus went these sorrow hearted parents,
To the priest at the sacred house of the lord,
Asking for their misbegotten son to be buried
Within the cemetery’s consecrated ground,
Again the answer from this holy man, denied!
But the moonlight shadow clouds hide many secrets beneath it,
As these the child’s only mourners, did the unthinkable,
Burying the lifeless figure within the satisfied ground!
But they were not alone within these quiet shadows,
And the priest was told their deadly deed of deceit,
At morning rising, again the child was raised, and buried
On the out shirks of the outer lands beyond!
As if Lazarus rising from the tomb, the boys spirit
Rose in the vengeance of the accursed, a dark phantom
Blanketed the nights sky, an omen of terror raid against
These the chosen people, or so they believed themselves!
The cattle dropped in sicknesses disease, the heathy
Became ill, and crops were plagued by insects of the fields!
The priest went forth unto the gravel of the child of light,
Which now the ground at turned an ashen black, upon this
Spot of darkness, he planted a tree of evergreen and blessed
It forever locking the evil within!
But after one hundred years to the date, of the child’s murder,
A lightning storm split the tree in half, release the demon
Within once more, again the curses sting knew life, and the
Plagues of the unjust shot forth unto the world of the living!
Another priest stepped forward, pronouncing the demonic
To rest unto the soil of discontent, planting a tree
Of evergreen again, spoken are the words of the lord
Upon this child’s grave at last, blessing his spirit to remain,
And the cloud dissipated, as mercy’s innocent could
Now rested in the arms of the divine maker’s peace!
Yet a guardian is set in place at all times, to watch over
The tree just in case!


This story was shown on TV, and I thought it should be told for the
sake of this special child, that in the outside world beyond the Amish
he would be considered a gifted clairivoant, not an abominasion!

Copyright © cherl dunn | Year Posted 2015

Long poem by cherl dunn | Details


It is a witchy tradition to pass down your first broom to
The next generation, but poor dear sweet Mable inherited an eye 
Sore from her elder granny, the handle topped end was crooked
In a twisted bent way, the middle was weather warped and taped
Together by gorilla glue, but the worst part of all the broomy
End, which instead of straw horse hair hanged like a droopy tail!
Embarrassed, Mable begged to have a different choose,
But her mother would not hear of it, it is a tradition 
After all, so make it do child, is all that she would say!
On Halloween night, all the other witch children took to flight,
Proudly riding propped side saddle upon their magical broom
Sticks of pristine condition, but poor Mable suddenly came down
With a mysterious cough!
Don’t you worry her mother said, I’ve got just the cure for you
My dearest daughter, some raw eye of newt will fix what allies
You, oh know Mable cried I’d feeling better already sorry got to
Fly, leaving her dear sweet mother laughing!
Jumping upon her broom stick of utter embarrassment, Mable
Zoomed straight upwards towards the moon, it zigged than zagged
Against the night skies, this youthful witch had a hard time just
Controlling the wobbling hobbled handle, than she felt something
Give way beneath her very bottom, the middle was splitting!
In complete horror Mable screamed, and in that moment
A disembodied voice spoke upon the winds of Halloween,
It was her long past away granny’s voice, child believe in 
My broom and it is a marvelous mystical thing!
So Mable spoke to this her witch’s broom, I believe in
You, and at that very moment, this object of distain
Turned into a golden rod, its misshapen bits shone
In brilliance against the moon’s illumination, piercing 
Through the darkness, oh my Mable sighed!
But at the end the horse hair still clung, the brooms
Energy level was low, time for refueling so to the dark
Side of the moon, where the nearest scare station,
Was located, here a stray cat jump upon Mable broom!
Skat cat, poor Mable tried to drive this calico kitty away,
After all she was a witch you know and only a black cat
Will do for her familiar, but this kitty poised itself on
The horse hair end, as if it were her place always!
Mable tried to lose it by dodging between satilghts,
Yet Mr. Tag-A-Long four paws held on with all its might,
Alright she thought we’ll test your true grit, in a free fall
Drive she zoomed, side swapping between power lines,
And street telephone poles, but when she turned around
The cat was still there, grinning right back at her!
Again her Granny’s voice spoke to her, I’ve sent you a
Gift my girl, my familiar if you’re nice to her she,
Turn into the finest kitty you’ve ever seen, so Mable
Leaned backwards ever so slightly, and patted the 
Ugly thing, and it changed right before her eyes,
Into an emerald eyed, black cat with sleek fur of 
Ebony, and the horse haired tail changed into a proper
Straw end!
Oh thank you Granny, Mable declared, I’m sorry
I judged your gift by looks alone, I’ll never do that
Again, and from that moment on Mable the witch
Judged things on a different scale, by what lies within
Not by appearances, the end!


Copyright © cherl dunn | Year Posted 2015

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