Old Rumple Stein gathered
the trembling children near
the frosted manor windows
as the full moon rose.
"Listen closely to the
snapping of the twigs out in
the dark estate," he whispered
slyly.
A cursed beast with matted
black fur and jagged yellow
fangs wanders these empty
hallways.
Its long, razor- sharp claws
scrape against the bedroom
doors with a terrible SCREEECH.
You will hear its heavy, wet
breathing right outside your
room before the doorknob
slowly turns.
It hunts the moment the sun
goes down, sniffing the air
for your terror.
The creature let's out a blood-
curdling howl that shakes the
very dust from the ceiling.
Golden, glowing eyes peer
through the keyhole,
watching you hide beneath
your thin blankets.
If it catches your scent, its
drooling jaws open wide to
swallow you whole.
"Do not dare to close your
eyes tonight," Rumple
snickered, "for the werewolf is inside."
I passed it almost every day
standing tall at the end of the street -
its massive trunk was like a stone pillar
holding up the sky with a hundred years
of history sheltered under
its vast reach. There was never
a thought it could fall.
Deep underground, a leaking sewer
had slowly slurried the earth around its roots
and loosened its grip …it let go
in last night's savage wind
and toppled over. It lay across the road
monumental in its mass.
The canopy was now ground height.
The secrets it had hidden
in the high branches were revealed -
touchable, without mystery -
tattered and insect eaten leaves,
strands of lichen matted like unwashed,
uncombed hair and branches
riddled with rot.
In its place now is empty space,
something hollowed out that before
connected the earth to sky
and gave a solid perspective
to the make and manner of things.
In such desolate spaces,
form is seeded.
Milo
de Angelo
meow
a doleful cry
What is it now?
I’ll ask, and I’ll say
don’t you fret,
to let you out
not just yet,
first smile
for the camera,
just one more!
I promise,
outside awaits
try not to look bored
I want to capture
that twinkle
in emerald eyes
I adore,
run ‘round
you go, with
the Persian cat
A m a r a M a r s
next door
Fluffy fur,
silky & pure?
Plush & dense
her undercoat layer
cozy & demur
a cute flat nose
that makes
no sense
with an aloof exterior,
at times
matted & tangled
O, be fooled not,
my M i l o dangled,
she longs
for love—
You got this
It’s charms
& smarts
you’ve got~
Tuxiwoo
and Cheriboo
kissed pink noses
amid the posies
of magic dreams
cast by moonbeams.
On the prowl
for guinea fowl
stalked a mate
matted and late.
His name was Mouser
a Bond cat Scouser.
The Old Black Dog. Dave Taylor.
It refuses to die, this old black dog.
Matted and lame but on misery he thrives.
Makes existence, seem one, long, slog.
How long `till it curls up and dies.
Even on days, when in line with the shame.
Of feeling downcast, and pitiful.
Just wishing there was other, than my mind to blame.
And soothing words, prove far from helpful.
When malicious whispers, in cold tones say.
“Face the truth, you are UNTERMENSCHEN!!!!”
And dark forces, hold me in sway.
The lone host, of their ill attentions.
The triumph for me is to stay in the fight.
Wait out the dark, and know it won`t stay.
Hold hard for the sun, to illumine my sight.
And cast myself into the fray!!!!
The dog may bark, but it`s lost its bite.
And I can take, it`s toothless grin.
Knowing in the end, all shall be right.
If I don`t allow the black dog in.
The cat was once a spouse.
She had everything she wanted-
even a house.
She didn’t scratch,
didn’t fight,
didn’t pounce.
Something kept her from living
and it wasn’t even a mouse
It was a bear.
A bear with claws
split thick as truth.
Each step it took
reshaped the walls of the room.
A bear matted with hunger,
a bear past care.
A bear who sang old stories,
of when Black cats weren’t loved there.
She offered love like meat,
laid it down at his feet,
called it devotion,
wished it complete.
She made herself smaller-
useful,
then
disposable.
And this story doesn’t go on much longer.
Because she learned too late:
a life built on usefulness
stays conditional-
like breath given only on demand,
always provisional.
Ears drooping, fur matted
had it long ago shone
Hard to know
as it picked its bone
clean of any last trace of
nutrition
expressionless now
sunken eyes ~ resumption
of…
With eve's awning, ere the hour
Sunset-imbued pulled down
Striped of what for rainy streaks
Autumn-matted as toned
Are of a mind, nonetheless
Off such could not digress.
For a street, its tranquil spell.
For an elegant row
Of bars, cafes and restaurants
Which are family owned
Its yet warm with that old style
Of welcomings, beguile.
A poodle lived in her shadow,
it was not ill-treated, just ignored,
its matted form
wandered around the house
looking to be noticed.
The living room
was littered with her underwear,
discarded bras, panties, garters and negligee.
I had no idea
why these things all came to rest here,
scattered around her like that.
I was an occasional pal of her son.
Once she fed a pink baby
from her own white flesh
as if not even noticing us boys.
The soft upholstery of the sittee
settled around her
proclaiming her sovereign presence.
The poodle hesitated to enter the room,
knowing, as we did,
we would never be part of her kingdom.
Birthday
They work the busy street corners,
asking for help.
Men with dogs, women with children,
whole families. Their hardship
written on cardboard signs:
Out of work.
Homeless.
Veteran.
She sat on the curb, cross-legged.
Sun-beaten, she was very dark.
Her matted hair framing her face
She looked down and through the sidewalk
faded jeans, a grey shirt and a melancholic expression.
On her lap she held a large bag
of what’s left of her life.
In her other hand, she held a sign.
It read simply:
"It's my birthday"
The man in the elevator looked old and frail
He held a dog without a tail
The man held the dog so tight
It seemed as though the dog would bite
A liitle boy who was standing by
Opened his mouth wide and started to cry
A kind schoolgirl felt very sad
For the now screaming little lad
She was chewing bubblegum and gave some to the little one
Into the lift came a man who looked very weird
With dreadlocks, tattoos and a matted beard
A posh-looking woman held her hanky to her nose
She had a whiff of the odd-looking man, I suppose
At last, everyone in the elevator got out
Except for the old, frail man
All was part of a plan
He lifted his tailless dog into the elevator
And with a shout, he said, "Going up"
The lift gently ascended
I saw a young man and a pup
Hi Charlie
I do not write much at all these days. I saw your contest and I wanted to give it a try.
I realised after writing it that it was too long. I must read the instructions more carefully. It made me write. I enjoyed doing it. Thank You. I hope all is well with you.
Take care (Old Duck)
With wispy hair as matted snow
Her raisin skin and wrinkled brow
Framed a face lit with youthful smile
And bright loving eyes without guile
Her gnarled knuckles on withered hands
Gently combed my snarls into strands
She neatly gathered in a bow
Kissing me, it was time to go
Plus, one warm hug, as was the rule,
Before I would skip off to school.
shadows reek of turpentine
scarlet-lettered trespass sign
fences dangle off the hinge
matted cobwebs festive fringe
spiders dance on abused toys
murderous crows' ghastly noise
unseen faces give you pause
rebel souls without a cause
unfriendly lot, wise be warned
you now living, the unmourned
leave us ghosts to haunt in peace
that your mind retains its lease
He talked and talked,
gig talker,
on and on.
Didn’t hear about Julie’s love for Gordon and Jilted John.
Conversed selfishly throughout the Buzzcocks explaining Why it had gone wrong.
Missed Shelley’s quips,
Missed all the song.
Held a debate through The Bunnymen’s Ocean rain.
A heated discussion missing how The Cure were Jumping on someone else’s train.
An absolute pain.
Didn’t take the hint from a backward glance as Kraftwerk rode mountain passes on the tour de France and the Ramones asked if we wanted to dance.
Chattered incessantly whilst the Stranglers hung around and ruined tomorrow’s parties enraging Nico and Velvet underground.
Too loud.
Prattled away as Joy Division played,
killing the Atmosphere.
Morrissey pleaded Please please please but he still didn’t hear.
Bad gig combination Charlie and beer.
To cap it off on his way home,gabbling into his mobile phone, the irony wasn’t lost on us. He never heard it coming, the night bus.
Hit him square,his brand new Primark Nirvana t shirt matted with blood and hair.
(Sing)
“Keep you mind on your driving
Keep you hands on the wheel
Keep your snoopy eyes on the road ahead.“
Should’ve f***ing listened.
You were there when the dark
crept loud through the door,
when my tears made small rivers
that stained to your core.
You never once left me,
you never once frowned,
you just held my silence
till sleep came around.
Your fur is all matted,
your seams pulled apart,
but I know every thread
is stitched into my heart.
Others see fabric,
old stuffing, worn eyes
but they don’t see the love
that your silence implies.
I’ve told you my secrets,
the ones I can’t say,
and you guard them so tightly
they won’t slip away.
You’re my courage, my anchor,
my shield, my safe place,
the first thing I reach for
when life feels unsafe.
One day they will tell me,
“You’re older—move on.”
But you’ll never be gone, Bear,
you’ll never be gone.
Even if I outgrow you,
and tuck you away,
you’ll live in the child
who still needs you each day.
So I’ll whisper a promise
to your threadbare old ear:
wherever I wander,
I’ll keep you near.
For you’re more than soft fabric,
more than my toy
you’re the keeper of childhood,
my comfort, my joy
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