HAPPY HALLOWDAY

 

 


Source: whitechapelwitch

 

 

Advertisements

IT’S TIME

Source:

 

The house sits alone,

Night after night.

Ghosts inhabit its walls.

Demons live below its floors,

Waiting for the night

When the moon bleeds red

And shadows walk tall.

Lights shine through the windows.

Sounds creep from the basement.

It’s time.

 

 

 

GREEN

 

 

The hallway waits.

It beckons.

A green light shows the way.

Closed doors on either side.

Cries fill the air.

A coldness descends.

Then total silence.

I inch forward.

I peer into a room.

A wheelchair sits empty.

Voices.

I step into the hallway

and follow the sounds.

The door at the end stands open.

Surgeons stand around a table.

They turn and smile at me.

They fade from sight.

Then I’m on the table.

Doctors stand above me.

I must escape.

A scalpel descends.

Too late.

WALKERS OF THE NIGHT

Source:weheartit.com

 

 

 

Soon you’ll join us.

Walkers of the night.

Seekers of the dark.

Stand straight.

Claim what is yours.

Before the morning light.

THE DEAD GAME

Kindle

http://amzn.to/1lKvMrP

Nook

http://bit.ly/1lFdqNj

 

TIME HAS LEFT BEHIND

 

 

Let’s walk the halls once more.

Give new life to the building.

Time to open the blinds.

Clean out the cobwebs.

Footsteps will ring on the stairs.

Echoes will sail through the rooms.

Laughter will light up the rooms

That time has left behind.

A POEM WRITTEN FOR ME! by KENNY MCPHEE — “SPOOKY SUSANNE”

 

I’m surprised and honored to have a poem written for me by fellow poet, Kenny McPhee.  Most of my poetry is on the spooky side. I began writing poetry as a way to showcase my book. Soon I found I love to write poems. I’ve added nature and inspiration to my repertoire, but I’m basically a creepy poet.

 

SPOOKY SUSANNE

You enjoy a walk on the dark side, susanne
if you take a train, it will be the ghost train
if you have a dream, it will make you scream
you like to shiver and feel the menace
of demons, ghouls and shady fellers
you’re into stephen king and james herbert
I bet you have a rat for a pet
and paranormal tendencies

Nobody true, they say, but once in a while
a poet can make the spine tingle
with the rightness of his or her words. 


May you enjoy the holy terror, my dear,
forever more!  

THE NIGHT

DARK ARE THE STREETS

Altamura (Apulia, Italy) by Dauno Settantatre

 

 

Dark are the streets

By which they creep.

Silence is their goal.

Through the town, they go.

Bodies left behind,

Blood-dry we will find.

Church bells are tolling,

And heads are rolling.

Flee from this we must

Before we are dust.

THE DEAD GAME