Short Charnel Poems

a clock strikes twelve - -
the old charnel house door
creaks open

for Tracie’s Scary Ku contest...

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“Greatness”…the goal of ermined kings,
“Sainthood”…nun and priest,
“Fame”…the troubadour who sings,
“Mankind”…the charnel worms who feast....

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The Age of Man
Is but a brief, abbreviated span
Of seconds ticking in a moment’s course.
Infinity: the final source
Is like a charnel house, with cypress tree
And yew and myrtle, growing in the graves of Space,
Where decomposes Time’s own face....

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There high on an outcrop of sun bleached rock
A skull and bone house please no feign of shock

Resting a place following the charnel house of life 
Layered guests welcomed from past time be it husband or wife

No names all lost even an alias a Smith or Jones
Searching long enough I am sure to find my bones...

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Looking inside the mirror

Rambling thoughts
Reflection in a window
Standing still
Frozen in time
Is this me?
Shall I not
Be anything
So many information.
Are my views
Mine
Or are other people’s
Opinions
Influencing me?
Is there charnel 
Inside
That sifts the many viewpoints.
Are nothing
My original thoughts....

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The land of sleep, a place where dreams are true,
Is full of goblins, witches, wizards, elves,
With fairies, dragons, giants, unicorns,
Enchanted castles, dungeons, lakes and woods.
From monsters swimming in the deepest seas,
To dripping charnel houses, spooks and ghosts,
They vanish when we open up our eyes,
Just like she leaves my arms.

For Kim’s What Dreams Are Made Of contest, 28th July...

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Trees turn their features inward.
Cool winds
wander in like stray cats.

A fiery death is in the air.
the party colors
are flame and ash.

Leafy campfires
burn the residue of mammoth bones
long since devolved
into the soot of charred mice.

Autumn is the charnel season,
its love is cruel, its farewells
a promise of relentless demise.

Dead poets scrimshaw its beauty
on last year’s death masks,
mice-tusks root up the sun
to warm the naked spaces....

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Spiders spinning webs and broomsticks swooping low,
Wizards, warlocks, trolls and witches casting spells,
Ghosts and spirits float around, no place to go,
Dripping charnel houses, captives’ groans in cells,
Grinning Jack-o-Lantern, hanged men’s legs that kick,
Mummies, ghouls and bones, and smells to make you sick,
Toads and eyeballs dropped into the witches’ brew,
Zombies, vamps and werewolves plan to feed on you.

Jack Horne, 18th September, for Russell’s Ultimate Halloween contest...

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Black night,
         Await the solar charnel steeds,
         Await the noon,
         Await the blacker, richer dawn.
                 
         Pale heresy dispatched
         The light brings on
         Silver and subtle with deceits
         A day of error o'er a night of wrong.
                 
         Nor can the fainting heart resist
         The furtive promise of a Christian bliss
         And light's pale monuments uplift
         A pagan and a passionate kiss....

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