Old Mrs. Gable stared from
her porch with cold, hollow
eyes.
Children avoided her rotting
mansion, fearing her sharp,
bitter tongue.
When she died inside, the
neighborhood breathed a
sigh of relief.
Yet the heavy velvet curtains
still twitched whenever
anyone walked by.
The rusted front gates would
screech open, inviting the
curious inside.
Those who dared enter
found her scowling portrait
watching their steps.
Her rocking chair swayed on
the hardwood with no wind
around.
A raspy, phantom voice
hissed from the dark,
demanding they leave.
Then the doors slammed
shut, locking the trespassers
in her trap.
She is still entity, and now
they belong to her house
forever.
Trespassers not allowed
I hold on to God
cos only him can
protect my dignity
in a world of calamities
I seek his cleansing
cos am dirty like a pig
on my own making
I hold on to God
for his mercies
feeds my grace
to be spiritual
in an atmosphere of confusion
I hold no grudge
cos my heart
is healthy but not holy
yet I remain humble
in the sight of God
till the last call of my days
water my garden
oh God
and let my seed grow
protect my soul
from the sons of
evil men
In their colours
and shapes
let the rivers of life
never carry me to
their doors of calamities
I know am not alone
I hold on to God so
upon my dignity
trespassers not allowed
South facing garden
That slopes in the sun
Wildflowers swaying
Where the river runs.
For hours and hours
For the wonder of love
Innocent hearts
Slowly overcome.
Trespassers gather
One by one,
The gates are still open
Trespassers come.
Come back to the shadows
Retrace young steps
Under that plum tree
Lie down and rest.
Look up and wonder
Remember the best
Savor the silence
And try to regress.
Trespassers gather
One by one,
The gates are still open
Trespassers come.
We slept until morning
A breakfast of plums
In that south facing garden
That slopes to the sun.
TRESPASSERS SHOULD BE SHOT
Your own computer, where they should not go,
'tis your own place, your Heaven or your Hell
All sacred are the words they should not know,
Nor spy upon, some things you'd never tell.
The scum of life know secrets to the lock,
They play among your bits, yes ev'ry byte.
And troubled nights, not sleeping like a rock
You'll laugh it off, as just imagined plight.
But know you well, conspiracies they thrive,
from cyberspace, they bring you false alarm,
Intimidation keeps their cause alive
Their snooping's meant to bring you naught but harm.
If you've uneasy feeling someone's there
Then know you well, they're with us ev'rywhere.
© ron wilson aka Vee Bdosa the Doylestown Poet
ENTERINGA ROOM OF PITCH BLACK SILENCE
WHERE HERE AND THERE A DULL LIGHT FLICKERS
ON AND OFF
ON AND OFF
ON AND OFF
THE DOOR BEHIND ME SHUTS CLOSED
AND ITS ECHO RUNS ACROSS
THE DAMP WALLS
MY HEART SUDDENLY STARTS TO BEAT TO THE RHYTHM OF THE
UNSEEN VOICES
AND I’M LEFT WITH NO SENSE OF DIRECTIOIN
I CLOSE MY EYES HOPING THAT THIS IS NOTHING BUT A BAD DREAM,
BUT WHEN I OPEN THEM UP I SEE SOUL TRADERS FLYING AROUND,
LOOKING FOR THEIR NEXT VICTIM
I REALIZE THAT I’M THE CENTER OF ATTENTION
AND THERE’S NO TURNING BACK
FOR I DID NOT SEE THE WARNING
ON THE DOOR WHEN I ENTERED
“TRESPASSERS BEWARE”
I thought I saw a mouse.
It ran behind the heater.
My daughter jumped and screamed so loud
I thought I'd have to beat her!
I grabbed the kitchen mop.
My son, he grabbed the broom
but all we did was scare the thing
and chase it from the room.
I guess I'm not too helpful
when I'm standing on the chair
but I'm not going near that room
until it's out of there!
I hate the change of seasons
because it never fails.
There's bound to be the visits
from their tiny little tails.
I know it's mean to say this
but I've set a nasty trap.
The one sound that I love to hear
is that vicious little.....
SNAP!
For all you ''mousy lovers''
forgive my evil ways
but trespassers are trespassers
and here....trespassers pay!
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