Darker My Love

Come and take my boney hands,
And we’ll explore the night,
We’ll hover over graveyards dark,
Guided with hollow sight.

I no longer see the beauty,
That withered from your bones,
The soft curved flesh that life gave you,
Gone in this great unknown.

When once we lay on satin sheets,
When life was sweet and good,
But now we sleep in beds of dirt,
With worms and rotted wood.

And no more is your body warm,
Nor can I feel your breath,
Your spirit is all that remains,
We did not part at death.

But perhaps that is all I need,
As you float on with me,
As one we haunt these hallowed grounds,
For sweet eternity.

A Halloween Lullaby

Hark children, what do you hear?
A door that doth creak swinging,
Surely it is just the wind,
Causing it’s eerie singing.
See children, what do you see?
A witch with an evil eye,
Oh, that’s just the neighbor woman,
Whose day didn’t go quite right,
Think children, what do you think?
Peacefully outdoors playing,
For all of these wicked thoughts,
Are in your imagination.

The sun is out, the sky is blue,
Surely nothing can happen to you,
Everything will be alright,
With mommy and daddy standing by.
All this is just a fantasy,
A vision of what could never be,
But merely lives inside your head,
Or is lurking underneath your bed.

Marissa’s Baby

I come home to find him singing,
Heavy metal which assails,
The building with a raucous din,
That sounds like a banshee wail.

Then he plays his video games,
As if in some sort of trance,
Brimstone comes forth from his ears ,
He does a demonic dance.

As a mother I love him so,
But so I have been warned,
As often he sticks out his tongue,
And throws up the devil horns.

I try to make him a nice birthday,
Roller skating with his friends,
He cackles evilly and asks,
When the ritual begins.

Only does he get excited,
When candles light with fire,
His eyes go wide as he exclaims,
Cool, a funeral pyre!

So I decide to ask his dad,
What from it he can discern,
Do the other boys act like this?
Do we need to be concerned?

But my husband just assures me,
That all of this is normal,
After all he’s a preteen boy,
Perhaps it’s just hormonal.

And laughs it off as he goes down,
To that overheated den,
And mutters he must have misplaced,
His darn pitchfork again.

Happy 12th Birthday To My Sweet Boy!

What Went Bump?

Halloween I was getting on,
My horror movie marathon,
When in the attic, there did sound,
Strange noises suddenly abound.
And it then did so behoove me,
As the actors in the movie,
To take not my butcher’s knife,
But rather just an old flash light.
Up the steps with hesitation,
To start on my investigation,
When half way up the stairs I saw,
A zombie covered, all in gore.

And at this most horrific sight,
I shined my nearly dead flash light,
He spoke when I was at close range,
“I say, did you hear something strange?”
So with the zombie I did climb,
The steps until at such a time,
We found ourselves at the next flight,
And caught a witch there in our sight.

At her evil form we huddled,
Not so scary, but more puzzled,
She said to us, “Guys, I am stumped,
I thought I heard something go bump!”
And so we went forth with great heed,
And up the stairs we did proceed,
All clinging to the stairway post,
When floating by we saw a ghost.

Cold wind blew in with his movement,
Body human, yet translucent,
And scary though he did appear,
He said “Dude, I heard something weird!”
So dedicated to our cause,
Our own spooky Wizard of Oz,
Moved onward, up the stairs we creeped,
So careful not to make a peep.

Towards the attic we came nearer,
And that sound it became clearer!
When at the top, kicked down the door,
And made our way across the floor.
The ghost it howled a creepy howl,
The witch’s face into a scowl,
And on it tried to cast a spell,
Condemning it to bowels of hell.
The zombie tried to eat it’s brains,
But then he quickly did refrain,
Because, you see, they’d not foreseen,
It was merely the washing machine.

What Halloween Means To Me

Halloween comes once a year,
It’s not getting a fright I fear,
But rather the awful chore,
Of knocking on strange people’s doors.

Missing a warm home’s shelter,
Battling swarms of Annas and Elsas,
My kid’s costumes barely worn,
Yet cheaply made, already torn.

And what’s more, what really sucks,
I’m down about 100 bucks,
But to complain is crappy,
When my children are so happy.

And it will all be dandy,
If when they divide the candy,
They’re careful to oversee,
That all the chocolate goes to me.

No Lovin’ In The Coven

Wherever I’d venture to go,
I’d always hide my little toe,
It’s nail curved at an odd angle,
And it seemed like it was mangled.

One day while I was at the gym,
By some unforeseen happening,
I’m telling you I was in shock,
To find I had forgot my sock.

A girl looked at my toe quite stunned,
Called to her friends, “She is the one.”
And then, without much discussion,
I was the leader of a coven.

At first we had a lot of fun,
We conjured spells from dusk to dawn,
But then I got a little bored,
With eye of newt and toe of frog.

But when to my friends I did say,
“I think I need a small vacay,”
It seems they did not take it well,
And wanted me condemned to hell.

And with this news I was bereft,
I thought that we were BFFs!
They tried to tie me to a stake,
I thought it best to make a break.

So I just had a thought ad hoc,
Said ‘Hot warlock at 10 o clock!”
And when they all looked to the right,
I stole away into the night.

So if a spooky girl comes round,
Please tell her I can not be found,
And let us again never talk,
Of what came of a forgotten sock.

http://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_writing_challenge/the-butterfly-effect/

A Girl’s Guide To Dating Ghouls

I used to date a vampire,
I tell you that man was fine,
I told him “You can bite my neck,
Just about any old time!”
Sadly my folks did not approve,
With regret my heart did break,
When they told me to find a man,
Who enjoyed mom’s garlic steak.

So then I dated a werewolf,
And though for words he lacked,
I tell you that he really was,
An animal in the sack.
But that too came to a sad end,
And it was his decision,
After I subtly recommended,
A local esthetician.

So then I dated a zombie,
Not a great situation,
But I guess after the werewolf,
It was out of desperation.
But he was really very sweet,
So I tried not to complain,
Until once after nibbling my ear,
I caught him eying my brain.

And these forays into romance,
I suppose you might question,
But I was only following,
My dear mother’s suggestion.
Maybe this was not exactly,
What mother did envision,
But for now I’m afraid I’ll stick,
To artists and musicians.

The Picture

That painting on my grandma’s wall,
Oh, it made me leery,
Supposedly a cute young boy,
Yet I thought it eerie.

The smile wasn’t a smile,
But much more of a leer,
And I could barely look at it,
Without shaking with fear.

I never caught it in the act,
Yet somehow I did know,
That it’s blue eyes would follow me,
Wherever I would go.

I stayed over at granny’s house,
On that dark fateful night,
And I could barely catch a wink,
So filled was I with fright.

That boy’d be waiting for me,
Surely he’d want me dead,
He was camped out in the closet,
Perhaps under the bed.

Until I knew I had enough,
And I could take no more,
I forced myself out of the bed,
And opened up the door.

I took the painting off the wall,
Before thinking things through,
I bent the boy over my knee,
The picture was in two.

But that was not enough, I was
emotionally scarred,
So I just took that picture out,
With me to the backyard.

And further I destroyed the piece,
‘Til all of it was splinters,
And just then it occurred to me,
How fit it was for tinder.

To what was left I lit a match,
A lesson it would learn,
Never to bother me again,
As I would watch it burn.

And then so back to bed I went,
Done with the horrid chore,
Where such a pleasant sleep I had,
As never had before.

Awoken with a dreaded thought,
Oh, to be convincing,
When granny asked if I knew,
Why that picture was missing.

But when I came downstairs I saw,
I needn’t fret at all,
Because I saw the picture hung,
Right back there on her wall.

After writing my last post, Abigail Biggs’ Pig, comedy blogger extraordinaire, Phil Taylor, suggested that I write a horror themed poem every day until Halloween. I don’t know if I can keep up with the timeline, but I am trying to keep up with the theme. This is my second installment.

Abigail Biggs’ Pig

Living in Massachusetts,
Here in 1693,
No secret that the neighbors,
Weren’t very fond of me.

I wasn’t much for kind words,
Or roosters that crowed at dawn,
Or the way their animals,
Went grazing on my lawn.

But I guess my biggest gripe,
Was with old Abigail Biggs,
Who couldn’t seem to control,
The behavior of her pig.

Every day I’d say to her,
“Abigail this can not be,
You’ve got to keep your dumb swine,
The hell off my property!”

But Abbey wouldn’t listen,
And back on my lawn he’d tread,
Until one day that dumb old pig,
He dropped right over dead.

But I saw her little kids,
Outside the day before,
Where they fed poison ivy,
To that unsuspecting boar.

Those kids should have been punished,
For being such little brats,
But instead, next thing I knew,
I was in jail for witchcraft.

And while I was in prison,
Abigail would catch my sight,
I said, “I didn’t do this,
Please say something, make it right!”

But Abigail ignored me,
So I continued to yell,
“You know the good Lord sees you,
And He’ll send you straight to hell!”

But after months of waiting,
Finally the bell would toll,
And there I was facing down,
My old friend the Gallows Pole.

I looked to my audience,
It’s a lucky thing I did,
When I spied no other than,
My dear friend Abigail Biggs.

I gave her my best evil eye,
Which she could not ignore,
Yet it was a might too late,
When she timidly came forth.

The rope tightened on my neck,
And my arms began to twitch,
She said “I think you misheard me,
The word I used was b-”

http://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_writing_challenge/genre-blender/

That Day I Was A Waitress

“Is this your first time?
It’s not simple you see,”
But I lie thinking,
“Oh, how hard can it be?”

The next thing I know,
I’m there waiting in line,
As orders go past,
That I’m not sure are mine.

I can’t balance trays,
The servings are askew,
The meatloaf for 6,
Is found at table 2.

Then a woman says ,
“Remove this carrion!
Don’t you know I’m
Strictly vegetarian?”

I run down to her,
Then another mishap,
The ice cream for 4,
Is in table 10’s lap.

Just a small concern,
As I fear for my life,
The chef comes at me,
With a large butcher knife.

No time for small talk,
As I run for the door,
Perhaps I’m just not,
Well cut out for this chore.

This working with food,
Just makes me too nervous,
But one lesson learned,
Folks, please tip your servers.