Gary the gargoyle crept out of his crypt and up the side of a wall
From there he could see that the villagers were no kind of tall
He knew even with pitchforks and hoes they would not scare him
What too you so long? Asked him sidekick, a ghoul name of Jim.
There once was a boy called Ronald Riddle
Now there was a kid who could really piddle
He weed here and he weed there
That kid Riddle piddled everywhere.
People once thought that there’d been rain
Truth was Ronald was at it again
Eventually the townsfolk just got madder
At the kid with the enormous bladder.
With pitchforks and clubs they chased him away
And the story is told to this very day
Now you may laugh and you may scoff
But this is how we got the term “piss off.”
The clouds are low with the treetops poking above like a line of pitchforks
A rainy, dismal, day when you fight to stay above the gray
The snow is melting, but more is on the way
Questions and answers merge together in a foggy place,
no-one wants to go
Wondering why and how, certain things are like they are?
Strength emerges with truth, even anger fuels it too
No matter how long the road is, the facts still stand out,
in the distance, but oh, so close!
Heidi Sands
1/15/26
(C)opyright
Fiery amber eyes gaze out
From a face of white speckled fur
Into the icy blinding swirling snow
Of a high hidden Himalayan hamlet
To meet in mortal combat
The closed minds
of poaching Pakistani peasants
Carrying pitchforks
In a parody or normality
A battle to confirm
That not all ideas matter
That Nature’s laws triumph
That not everyone
Understands eternal complexity
Standing firm on its precipice
In a show of rare boldness
It gives a performance
Of unheard-of courage
In the face of the enemy
Spirit guardian of a higher world
It takes a stand
Against the madness that is man
"Animal revere and respect holiness; they do not teach sin."
St. Neilos the Asectic, in the Asectic Dialogues
she stealthily sneaked up on farming community
surprising everyone, for they were deep in sleep
threw barns, sheds, tractors and pitchforks into the air
they were whisked away inside her whirling turmoil tunnel
1952 tornado in Nebraska, devastation from an F-4
The Wrong Green
Amber Scummm…
Frothing.
This Is Not A Pleasant Poem.
In The Fellowship Of
The Pond!
NOT the MOON!
NOT the Amber Froth
ITSELF!
NOT the Fellowship Earth.
Though Just As Demanding.
Wagging Their Pitchforks…
PITCHFORKS! YESSSS!
But NOT For Pitch
Slimy In Itchy Green Amber
Scowling, Reciting:
“Isn't IT Rich! Isn't IT Rich!”
Pouring Outside The Box
‘Til The Box Is Replaced
With A Vice And A
Cardboard Box Of
KNIVES!
That’s NOT Very Nice.
(Pond Scummm.)
-Gray Squirrel
09-13-2025
Cali is a descendent of Babylonians
She practices necromancy
conjuring spirits of her ancestors
her rituals and spells are world-renown
bullies who misunderstand despise her
they fear her visions and insights
she often foretells what comes to be
This terrifies those who cannot
Ignorance often courts violence.
Cali’s spiritual guides warn her of the bullies
She escapes their ignorant pitchforks
Praying for their spiritual enlightenment
they show up at 2:37 a.m.
not with pitchforks,
but with your mother’s voice,
your boss’s smirk,
the girl who left in '89.
they don’t knock.
they seep in through the cracks—
in the plaster,
in the bottle,
in your goddamn spine.
they light cigarettes
with your regrets,
spit beer on your dreams,
laugh like old men in a losing bar.
you feed them
every time you say yes
when you mean get the hell away.
they sit on your chest
like a mortgage,
like cancer,
like love.
and still—
you buy them a drink.
The Real Monsters
We are afraid of fire breathing dragons and scaly lizards.
Things that go bump in the night. Shadow creatures
who live under our beds and in our closets. Yeti
and Big Foot. Pale ghosts and poltergeists.
Chupacabra’s and vampires. Blood red
demons with pitchforks and horns.
Imaginary monsters that
can do us no real harm.
Why do we fear
them.
What we should be afraid of are people who chose evil.
MS13 and coyotes that traffic in human misery.
Corporate media giants that censor speech. Corrupt
politicians who sell us out to foreign countries.
School boards that label parents terrorists.
Dictators that oppress. Political correctness.
Murders, abusers, gossips, embezzelers.
Wars, hatred and genocide.
We should fear these. For
they are the
real
monsters.
The Angels
have gone
Only devils
are left
Clouds
die infested
With fire
beset
Pitchforks
are glowing
Coal burning
the harps
Grace lost
in the smoke
Tomorrow
— is dark
(Dreamsleep: September, 2024)
to rain on someone's
parade ~ is spoil ruin someone's
fun joy happiness
saving for rainy
days ~ are when good turned bad and
you're ready for it
raincheck ~ simplify's
life scheduled prupose arranged
sequentially yours
charge it to the dust
and let the rain settle it
~ just pay or get out
come in out of the
rain ~ it's a losing battle
wake up to the facts
it’s raining pitchforks
British to rain stair rods ~ is
to rain heavily
If I so much as to disappear
The demons will go back to their fiery tower
And let me rest in my harmony
The butterflies will celebrate in flight
That the gangstalking evil which I felt
Will no longer be
The deep state will need to find another victim
To hold close to their pitchforks
As I would be free
But will I be remembered
Will anyone focus on my plight
Or will it all be in vein
The darkness cannot take me
For I am too angelic
I fought the demons hard and fierce
So remember me my dear souls
Let peace surround your beating hearts
For I will be in Gods embrace
music to kids ears
Pete carried on with his flute
without parental consent
his larynx engaged
as his footprints leave their clues
there would be scars over soot
townsfolk grab pitchforks
multilingual torches mad
with fear and grief chase down thief
find kids in a trance
listening to final dirge
and piper’s mocking laughter
parent takes the flute
second silence in forest
breaks the jester’s tool in half
Peter Piper’s dust to dust
"Simply Put, Touched"
Simply put,
nothing is ever
truly simple
from the get-go
the process
is complex
Love
or
not
in between
the middle road
of black and white
the colours
like codes
turned on, fire up
the frequency
needs to be
finely tuned
the lessons
heard hard
on the inside
learned
without
the constant
external braying
of trolls
their silver bullets
and bloodied pitchforks
solace
is discovered
inside the reflection
of pools
their drowned
broken treasures
discovered
along
unknown paths
their rippling surfaces
like bodies of shining satin
touched
under gaze
of guarding
emerald forests
shining canopies
held
touched
(LadyLabyrinth / 2023)
"Gotta get away, we live in a realm
Still I gotta break up and out of this hell
But, man, that frequency's so low
Damn, that frequency's so low"
touched.
v. to touch.
adj.
feeling gratitude or sympathy; moved.
adj / informal
slightly mad; crazy.
Glowing jack-o’-lanterns
Greet me by the door
Orange faces grinning
Or grimacing in horror
Night perches like a raven
Upon a twisted tree
While on the moaning autumn wind
Withered leaves fly free
Little ghoulies wander
Up and down the streets
Armed with brooms and pitchforks
Seeking tricks and treats
The air is filled with something
More than scents and sounds
Fresh-carved pumpkins, crumbling leaves
And children’s laughs abound
Black cats slick as shadows
Darting here and there
Growls and groans arising
From some creepy lair
The colors of the sky
As the day fades into dusk
Are the same as those of candy corn
Within a giant husk
A witch I am again this year
But the best I’ve ever been
Is the child that I am inside
Who still loves Halloween.
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