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Peter Keicher Poem
KRAMPUS CHRISTMAS
All hope is lost for children
If their festive spirit dies,
The Christmas magic disappears
As they look through older eyes.
No more milk and cookies
Or a sign for Santa`s sleigh,
Or carrots for the reindeer
To eat on Christmas day.
Don’t give up believing
Don’t let the doubters win,
Always believe in Christmas
Don’t let Krampus in.
The lost spirit of Christmas
The dark shadow of Saint Nick,
Time slows down as he approaches
The clocks don’t even tick.
The storm clouds gather up above
In an eerie cold and silence,
Then deafening claps of thunder
A precursor for the violence.
A howling wind and blizzard
Like you`ve never seen before,
A power cut then quiet
Except the fire`s roar.
Candles on the window ledge
As frost creeps around the glass,
Huddled around the fire
As you hope the storm will pass.
A dirty sack of presents
Abandoned outside the door,
Dragged in beneath the Christmas tree
They spill out on the floor.
A host of haunted snowmen
With contorted faces leer,
Get closer by the minute
And strike your heart with fear.
A large thump on the roof outside
Then footsteps in the rafter,
Finger nails scrape the ceiling
And the sound of manic laughter.
An ancient evil presence
Your fear it will derive,
The gathered ghouls all spring to life
As the toys all come alive.
A jack in the box with a shrieking scream
As they tear apart Samhain,
Twisted Elvin faces
From a thousand years of pain.
Evil dolls and teddy bears
Will pull you from your room,
And you`ll be consumed in the attic
By a hungry bride and groom.
Murderous gnomes and evil elves
And ginger bread men with teeth,
Will drag you from your home
To an icy tomb beneath.
The embers on the fire
Grow cold and then turn black,
As Krampus forces his way down
The chimney starts to crack.
His cloven hoofs crash on the floor
And his chains they drag behind,
Surrounded by his army
No safety you will find.
Gagged and bound and terrified
As they drag you through the snow,
To a place they all stand chanting
Around a bright red glow.
A crack along the ice hard ground
Begins to grow and swell,
As they push you to the red hot edge
At the burning gates of hell.
One by one they throw you in
Till there`s no one left to grieve,
Too late for Father Christmas
And too late to believe.
Then you wake on Christmas morning
But nothings as it should seem,
Are we trapped in a perpetual nightmare?
Or was it just a dream.
Were never too old for Santa
Or to believe in that special day.
Don’t let Christmas leave your heart
Keep Krampus well at bay.
THE END.
Copyright © peter keicher | Year Posted 2024
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Peter Keicher Poem
BROKEN DOWN ANGELS
It disny seem that long ago
Toddling and having fun,
Crawling then walking along the floor
And learning how tae run.
Potty trained and full eh life
They’d run you af yer feet,
A kiss on the cheek and I love you
Wid make ye want tae greet.
The greatest time you will ever have
Is bringing up yer ain,
You share the trials and tribulations
The laughter and the pain.
Wee schools done and high school starts
They’re growing up just braw,
Your perfect little Angels
You sit and look in awe.
The teenage year’s they’re shooting up
They run aboot the street,
Boyfriend’s girlfriend’s new pals
They start to find their feet.
Ready to leave the school now
They’re getting a wee bit older,
The life choices they start to make
They get a wee bit bolder.
You’ve done your best you’ve set them up
You’ve taught them right from wrong,
Their home is where their heart is
They know where they belong.
It’s party time every Friday night
It starts wi a wee bit drink,
Then it carries on till Saturday
And then they start to think.
A wee bit speed will keep me gaun
I`ll make the Sunday sesh,
But you’ve made it right tae Monday
And you’re in an awfy mess.
Your smoking dope tae bring ye doon
You’ve ate nothing fir three days,
Two or three street vallies
And it’s all a dizzy haze.
Charlie ket or magic
It’s always party time,
You argue wi yer mum and da
But you tell them that you’re fine.
You’re living like a vampire
Ye sleep aw day while yer hame,
Eftir a year of knocking the backside oot it
You dinny look the same.
Yer pals have aw got jobs noo
And you’re still on the dole,
Yer buying drugs and drink noo
Wi money that ye stole.
The Charlie’s cheap the ciders rot
The vallies dae fir a bit,
I’ll try a wee bit heroin
Tae git a better hit.
A hit so good it knocks you doon
It curses through your veins,
Your body feels like fire
And you’re dancing in the flames.
This is what paradise feels like
It`s took away any hurt or pain,
So you think aboot yer next fix
To feel the fire again.
Everything you owned you’ve sold
Year on after year,
Your parents gave up long ago
Tae get you aff the gear.
In and ooty jail fir years
Where yer habit just got worse,
Noo yer banned from your only home
For stealing yer auld grans purse.
You’ve stolen and robbed from your family
You’ve broke your parents heart,
They tried their best to help you
But you tore their lives apart.
To see what their child has become
They’re left with an empty hole,
To see you throw your life away
To watch you lose your soul.
If it’s no bad enough you’ve destroyed yer ain life
Yev got yer 18 year old burd on the gear,
She’ll be turning tricks fir a bag eh crack
Her family fraught with fear.
Social services sniffin aboot
Tae see how the wee lassies fairin,
Her bedsits a coup and there’s nae food tae eat
And there gonny take away her wee bairn.
You dart aboot the streets by day
Like a hungry rancid rat,
You sleep in skips and peoples huts
Just like a stinkin feral cat.
It`s methadone that keeps ye gaun
Free drugs on the NHS,
Yer teeth are black and rotten
And yer body`s just a mess.
Robbing bairns wi mobile phones
And preying on the old,
It didny seem that long ago
When your choices were all bold.
Ye go and rob the wrong yin
And they run ye aff yer feet,
Noo yer gitten a tankin
and kicked aw er the street.
Yer hiding in the daylight
Yer feared tae show yer face,
Nae one's saw ye fir a week
Not an earthly trace.
Was it an OD or the kickin
you can take your pick,
But ye couldny even turn roond
As ye choked on your ain sick.
Five days you lay there deed
Another junkie gone,
Your body rotten and broken
You got shovelled up at dawn.
Another life gone far too soon
There’s too many died the same,
But think about the parents
Who’ve to live with all the pain.
To watch your own wee angels suffer
Then to put them in the ground,
Feelings mixed with pain and relief
It`s really quite profound.
Your memories will never fade
Of your wee bairns on your knee,
And a little bag of powder
That made things come to be.
So as you’re getting older
And you want to live and grow,
If someone offers you drugs kids
Just say bloody no.
Copyright © peter keicher | Year Posted 2024
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Peter Keicher Poem
A special place in hell
The devil sits upon his throne
In the fiery pits of hell
He casts his eye over his special place
While he beats an ominous bell.
Surrounded by pure evil
In a wicked witches lair
Her head adorned with a ponytail
From Tam O`shanter`s mare.
Witches warlocks and goblins
Demons and the likes
Make a noise that would make your blood curdle
With an evil skirl of pipes.
Jack the Rippers in the corner
With his bloody pound of flesh
With Sawney Beans children
In a rabid children’s crèche.
In an endless fight for fresh blood
The Ripper swings away
Tearing Sawney`s torso
Till his face is dead and grey.
The children jump on the Rippers back
As they beat him down with stones
Their hands pressed tight on his screaming mouth
As they gnaw his bloodied bones.
Burke and Hare dig all day long
In an endless shallow grave
Yearning for some peace
Their tortured souls do crave.
Haunted by the ghosts
Who long to watch them writhe
As they throw them in their own grave
And bury them alive.
Twenty one cadavers
Surround wicked Mary Ann Cotton
Poisoned by her own hand
Their bodies all lie rotten.
She makes a pot of arsenic soup
In her own wee room in hell
And the children force it down her throat
As they watch her stomach swell.
She`s doubled over in terrible pain
But her victims think it`s funny
As they move her pot from the burning stove
And burn all Mary`s money.
Sweeny Todd is strapped to his chair
Where he`ll whimper and he`ll cower
His heads pulled back and they cut his throat
And they do it every hour.
Mrs Lovett lets a scream
As she cooks her lovers eye`s
Body parts and finger nails
As she`s force fed her own pies.
They get out for a day each year
To haunt where once they came
They groan deep in the shadows
As they feel their earthly pain.
Purgatory in this special place
It never goes away
The pain and torture for evil ones
Is an endless loop each day.
Satan smiles an evil smile
As he as he leaves these tortured tombs
But there`s no rest for the wicked
As the devil has many rooms.
Hundreds of innocent women
All patiently wait their turn
They stoke the fires of hell
And their accusers they will burn.
Witch witch burn the witch
Before they met their doom
Lies and accusations
Spun on the churches loom.
Magistrates and judges
Hear the cries of liar liar
They are bound beaten then garrotted
Then cast upon the fire.
You’ll be bound here for eternity
In a putrid stinking hole
Your cries and screams will go unheard
As the devil claims your soul.
So live a life you’re proud of
And try to live it well
Or the Satan will keep a place for you
In a special room in hell.
THE END
Copyright © peter keicher | Year Posted 2024
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Peter Keicher Poem
The witches ball,
Halloween is drawing near
As the leaves begin to fall,
They`re flying in from everywhere
For the annual witches ball.
Toothless hags from north to south
And crones from west to east,
They gather on all hallows eve
To share a poisonous feast.
They circle above the forest
Where people dare not go,
And conjure up a coven
In the haunted woods below.
Fires spark to life at once
And cauldrons start to boil,
The poisonous soup spills over
And hisses in the soil.
The head witch lands and takes her place
As the smoke hangs in the air,
A thousand witches above her
All fixed upon her glare.
She lets a scream so evil
Then cackles with a grin,
She throws her broomstick in the air
And they all come flying in.
Some dancing round in circles
As the fires begin to blaze,
Others chanting franticly
And the dead they try to raise.
Casting spells and curses
As they`re running through the wood,
Gathering snakes frogs and lizards
Slugs and birds for food.
One hundred voices screaming
In a manic witches choir,
Waiting for the witching hour
As they dance around the fire.
Slugs insides and frogs entrails
As much as they can hold,
Squish them in their dead grey hand
And eat them while there cold.
Lizards tongue and dead bird’s eye
And crispy cockroach shell,
The rabid hags feast greedily
Till they hear the midnight bell.
The choir grows louder through the woods
With the sound of screeching bats,
And the purrs and meows on the forest floor
From a thousand witches cats.
The carnival reaches crescendo
With the witches in a trance,
Pulling corpses from the ground
To lead them in a dance.
The macabre sight of rotting flesh
Dancing hand in hand,
To the cacophony of noise
From the gruesome witches band.
Then the first bell tolls for midnight
And the witches start to scream,
They gather round their broomsticks
And look towards their queen.
She lifts her wand and waves it once
And casts her final spell,
The bones and bodies of the dead
Are sent back down to hell.
Cats scurry to the broomsticks
With their sharp teeth and their hackles,
Now flying through the night air
To a hoard of witches cackles.
They spread out through the midnight sky
Like some evil horrid dream,
To haunt our towns and villages
For now it’s Halloween.
They hunt and look for children
However big or small,
To dance with them next year
At the annual witches ball.
Copyright © peter keicher | Year Posted 2024
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Peter Keicher Poem
Scaredy cat
Scaredy cat scaredy cat
She runs away inside,
Halloween is drawing near
And she only wants to hide.
To be a proper witches cat
She really must aspire,
But she curls up just like a ball
All snuggled by the fire.
She never bares her pointed teeth
She never bites and gnaws,
She always keeps her coat real clean
And she manicures her claws.
If she ever sees a spider
She’ll run right out the door,
And a tiny mouse will send her
Scampering across the floor.
She`ll climb the nearest tree
If she hears a small dog bark,
And she never leaves the castle at night
As she`s frightened of the dark.
She hates the cold and damp
In the witches icy tomb,
And she`s petrified of heights
So she never rides the broom.
To train to be a witches cat
It`s really quite a battle,
As she runs and hides every time
She hears a witches cackle.
But with Halloween upon her
She really starts to fret,
She doesn`t want to scratch and hiss
She`d rather be a pet.
The other cats all laugh at her
They think it`s really funny,
As she much prefers Christmas time
And she loves the Easter bunny.
Ghosts and ghouls just turn her pale
She feels queasy and quite sick,
Trolls goblins and monsters
Make her run away real quick.
Bats and snails and frogs entrails
And cauldrons on the fire,
Pointed hats and broomsticks
And the witches black attire.
Casting spells and Halloween
Fill scaredy cat full of fear,
So her witch just lets her stay at home
And they`ll try again next year.
Snuggled by the fire at last
She’s feeling safe and sound,
No flying high at midnight
Her claws are on the ground.
One day she`ll have the courage
And her fear she might forget,
But for now she`s really happy
Just to be a witches pet.
Copyright © peter keicher | Year Posted 2024
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Peter Keicher Poem
SAMHUINN
Wi samhuin fast approaching
When people start tae dread,
The gates of hell burst open
For the festival of the dead.
Bane shanks lifts his scythe
And scrieves his words in fire,
Welcome tae this earthly plane
Or be cast upon the pyre.
Brounies and banshees come tae life
Awakened from thir fankle,
Bogles bursting fae thir tombs
And the reaper dons his mantle.
There is nae time tae fouter
The haunting must resume,
Wirracows screaming fae the shadows
And witches on thir broom.
Hackit hags wi devilish cats
Stirrin up a brew,
Tae cast an evil cantrip
On the likes eh me and you.
The lightning flash and thunder crash
Aroond this drookit eldritch place,
The warlocks give it laldy
As the Deil shows his face.
Surrounded by the newly deed
On their first trip oot fi hell,
Punishment fir thir evil deeds
Upon thum did befell.
Thieves’ crooks and conmen
Bare the pain from aw thiv stolen,
Liars, deceivers and falsifiers
Thir tongues all black and swollen.
Three days fae All Hallows Eve
To roam the earth once more,
Then back below on all souls day
In keeping with folklore.
The Deil lifts his Tassie tae toast
As the numbers begin tae swell,
On yir way my minions
And promise to give thum hell.
SLAINTE MHATH the Deil cries oot
His Tassie pressed tae his lips,
As the borders between life and death
Slowly begin tae rip.
Witches screamin in the nicht
As they fly of through the sky,
Banshees floating through the trees
Ye can hear thir wailing cry.
Goblins scurry through the nicht
Invisible and unseen,
And peelly wally ghosts
Will haunt for Halloween.
The streets are hoachin full eh guisers
With tumshies fir a licht,
They trick or treat on Halloween
Aw lookin fir a fricht.
They’ve been dookin deep fir apples
But the bairns ir pretty fly,
They`d rather go fir candy
Or a penny fir the guy
Mony a mickle maks a muckle
And the pennies stack up high,
Ye can make yourself a fair wee pochle
Before the end is nigh.
The bairns all scunnered and haiverin
Bit gallus wi thir prize,
Then they aw see Scary Mary
They can’t believe thir eyes.
The wee yins scatter tae the winds
As Mary she wis bealin,
Sweeties scattered iverywhere
The bairns they aw start squealin.
Sittin mauchit in a bush
Fir somewhere good tae hide,
Prayin fir yir mither
Tae tak ye where ye bide.
Thirs witches flyin everywhere
You kin see thum through the cloud,
Demons runnin through the streets
And bodies in a shroud.
A braw nicht just oot guisin
Has turned intae a mare,
Bit dinny luft yer heed up
Or yell catch the witches glare.
Running ticht along the wa
Jist like a scared wee moose,
Ye niver even caught yir breath
Ti ye were back inside yer hoose.
Ye tell yer maw an da
Of the horrors thit yev seen,
Then ye lock the doors and shut the blinds
And hide fae Halloween.
Then yer keekin oot the windy
And ye see a demons claw,
It`s time tae git yer jammies on
And coorie in yer maw.
Thin the sun comes up eftir all souls day
As we bid farewell tae Samhuinn,
The deil closes the gates of hell
Till next year wi aw go again.
THE END.
Copyright © peter keicher | Year Posted 2024
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Peter Keicher Poem
My uncle wears a dress
I heard my uncle talking
About his favourite dress,
And how he needs a new one
As its old and in a mess.
He says it`s frayed and tattered
And the pleats are wearing flat,
So he will need to get a new one
That goes right with his hat.
He also wears a frilly blouse
With ruffles on his sleeve,
And a great big shinny belt buckle
That makes it hard to breath.
He wears his purse around his waist
And his socks up to his knees,
They are wrapped in long black ribbons
With legs as thick as trees.
He says he needs a nice Red hat
But I’m sure it’s just a ruse,
And some new bright brass buttons
And a pair of shinny shoes.
The buttons are for his own coat
As he says it still fits snug,
And a shawl for over his shoulder
The same size as our rug.
He has a flower in his coat
And a feather in his hat,
And his great big hairy moustache
Looks like a ginger cat.
I`m worried for my uncle
If he`s wearing women’s clothes,
They just won’t suit his hairy legs
His big red beard and nose.
I’ve had to let my parents know
But dad laughs and thinks it`s a hoot,
I think we should buy him men’s shoes
And maybe a nice new suit.
Then when I saw him in his new clothes
I was sure he would look a mess
Till I saw my hairy uncle,
In his brand new highland dress.
THE END
Copyright © peter keicher | Year Posted 2024
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Peter Keicher Poem
Haggis
I was walking up Benarty hill
When a Haggis crossed my path,
It jumped into a puddle
As it took it`s morning bath.
It splished and splashed in the puddle
And then it dooked it`s heed,
And here`s me standing thinking
That Haggis were long since deed.
It jumped right oot the puddle
And shook it`s coat bone dry,
I moved to get a closer look
Twas then I caught it`s eye.
Motionless and startled
Then it took off like a shot,
So I took to my heels and gave chase
With everything I’ve got.
I could see the heather moving
As I followed in its wake,
But I found it hard to keep up
As my legs began to quake.
I slowed down to a canter
As I cast my beady eye,
I can’t see it in the heather
But sometimes Haggis fly.
I walk on through the hillside
At every twist and turn,
Till I see a dozen Haggis
All skipping er the burn.
Big ones and wee ones
All chatting as they go,
Some are black some are brown
Some are white as snow.
A Haggis for all seasons
Did anybody know?
How do they get about at night?
Maybe some Haggis glow.
I watched them playing on the hill
Then they ran off through the trees,
I felt so proud and privileged
I dropped down to my knees.
You can walk the hills for many years
And never catch a site,
Of that wee illusive creature
A Haggis in full flight.
So if you want to see one
You have to be real still,
Remember this the next time
You go up Benarty hill.
I've been up since so many times
In many kinds of weather,
But I've never seen another site
Of Haggis in the heather.
Maybe I’m just lucky
That they let me see them play,
But I always keep my eye out for them
Every other day.
Copyright © peter keicher | Year Posted 2024
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Peter Keicher Poem
My Aunty Has A Beard
I have a favourite aunty
She makes me kind of feared,
Because my favourite aunty
She has a jaggy beard.
The first time that I saw it
It gave me quite a fright,
I lay in bed just wondering
It kept me up all night.
I thought it was a spider
Hanging from her face,
Or could it be a beastie
I in its hiding place.
The first time that she kissed me
I got a great big hug,
I could feel the jaggy hairs
From my aunties little bug.
The beastie tickled on my chin
It tickled on my face,
Come here to your favourite aunty
My little baby Grace.
She chased me up and down the stairs
She chased me through the house,
And the tiny tail wagging on her face
Looked like a baby mouse.
I close my bedroom door
So no one can get in,
I`m hiding from the creature
That lives on my Aunties chin.
Sometimes when she catches me
I`m paralysed with fear,
I think her little monster
would crawl inside my ear.
Mum tells me not to worry
Or my fear will take its toll,
It’s nothing to be frightened of
It`s just a hairy mole.
So nowadays I don’t get scared
When my aunty she comes in,
Because every time she kisses me
I get tickled on the chin.
I know it`s not a beastie
And now I`m not so feared,
It`s just my favourite aunty
With her little jaggy beard.
THE END.
Copyright © peter keicher | Year Posted 2024
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Peter Keicher Poem
The witches finger
When night time falls on Halloween if you`re near the woods don’t linger
For if you stand to long this night you`ll feel the Witches finger.
It`s long and crooked with a pointy nail its skin is rough and grey
It comes alive on Halloween night but dead and black by day.
She wakens up but once a year from her cold and icy tomb
Then she sharpens up her nails and sits upon her broom.
She screams a deathly cackle as she adorns her Witches hat
Then summons from the depths of hell her big black evil cat.
It stretches and it yawns with its mouth so big and fat
Then gobbles up the cobwebs and the spiders from her hat.
With jagged teeth and razor claws and a pair of fiery eyes
It sits upon the Witches knee as they take towards the skies.
The crypt doors they burst open as her finger points the way
She`s hunting for some victims before the break of day.
She`s flying through the night sky with evil in her eye
She’s hunting for lost children as she passes by.
She needs to be replenished with her heart as dark as coal
She’ll put her finger on your chest and steal your mortal soul.
So when you’re trick or treating in your Halloween disguise
Don’t wander in the shadows where the witchy has her eyes.
Don’t go down dark or unlit lanes where children should not be
Stay in the light stay with your friends where you can clearly see.
But when a shadow falls across the moon and you hear the witches scream
Your legs are frozen to the spot and you pray it’s just a dream.
Her dark cloak flutters in the wind her broomstick whooshes by
She has rotten teeth a crooked hat and she only has one eye.
So hold on tight and run for the light and do not be a hinder
Because if she catches up with you you`ll feel the witches finger.
THE END
Copyright © peter keicher | Year Posted 2024
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