Remembering the fallen




The Jack-o’-Lantern gone mad






The Jack-o’-lantern gone mad




The fog drifts slowly, creeping mysteriously over hallowed grounds.


The resting home of the dead was filled with scary sounds.


There is this Jack-o’-Lantern and the cemetery is his home.


He has been there since 1784, and decides this is where he will roam


To those who walk bravely in the cemetery at night.


The Jack-o’-Lantern will give you such an eerie fright.


Ghost friends create mischief with him too,


Their hair stands up with just one blood curdling boo.


A cat with raised hackles sits on a tombstone with a hiss.


And a zombie out from a grave wildly shakes his fist.


Around in the cemetery in circles flies a wicked witch,


Her cackle loud enough with a high piercing pitch.


A spider web might be cast upon a face or two.


The web is icky and will stick to you like glue.


Jack’ o’ Lantern’s smile was up and not down.


Now, not a pleasant smile but only a frightening frown.


The Jack O’ Lantern throws flames only to have fun.


He laughs in a frenzy watching people wildly run.


If he saw that their clothes were not singed and blackened scorched,


He would bite them if they dared come onto the rickety old porch!


If that did not work he would stand on his feet


And chase them all screaming, running down the street.


If ever on Halloween you are in a cemetery and lean over onto a grave,


Dare to be frightened or dare to be brave.


It is only one night throughout all the years.


You have nothing to be scared of – perhaps only your fears.


Remember: The Jack-o’-Lantern lives for Halloween.


This is the night he could be nastier, nastier and chillingly mean.


At one time he was a good pumpkin – this is so sad.


One day he snapped his lid and went absolutely mad.





Veiled Ink


Veiled Ink


In a soft embrace of shadows

As you release me from your pen

Will I see you today?

As I create my life with words.

Throw the alphabet out of the window

I know you will make your own life with letters

Chisel and shape me up on the potter’s wheel of sentences

That is a side of you I have never seen

Dripping Ink – Life’s ink

It was dark – It was leaking

Leaking your memories

Bringing them to life once again

In a poem perhaps placed in your pocket for another day

I see your pen writing again with calligraphic thoughts

With all its flowing swirl

Inventing a new language

Papers flying in the wind

Sheet by sheet

Bound – A story written

A never ended tale of tearing candles

Moonlight fever

Passions unleashed

Of scratching pen to paper

Writing the last chapter of my life

And now you write of me

Behind the veil




The echoes’ of the ancients



The echoes’ of the ancients


The lure of the silky hand from the ancients are beckoning you.

Summoning from the echoes of life.

Calling from the inner knowing.

The whispers of the winds renew themselves.

Breathing their messages through the leaves.

Where all is heard,

Where all is whispered,

Where all is looped back in the essence of time