Halloween Time


It is the time for decorations of ghosts, goblins, graveyards, and yes even monsters. Cultures from across the country are all geared up to play host to the vile, despicable notion of altering ones appearance for just one night.

Some will tug their offspring to the homes of relative strangers, to pound on the door and demand bribes for not wreaking havoc on their property.

Others will cram themselves in to an overflowing mass of human flesh, all similarly decked out in the guise of zombies, vampires, ghouls, animals, royalty, servants. The choices of disguises are quite wide.

Whether one chooses an organic representation or inorganic, there are also various depths of dedication to the alteration. Some go the minimum transformation, while others delve much more into the dark realms for their inspiration.

So, for this, my special Halloween edition, I will again post two poems from my self-published poetry book, Life Through My Eyes; A Collection Of Poems, “Monsters”, and “Monsters,Part Two”. I would also like to take this opportunity to post a brand-spanking-new poem I have titled, “Silent Screams”.

Enjoy! And, as always, comments, feedback, even dirty jokes would show some interest, support and inspiration!


Monsters are real to an extent, it seems,
They mainly stick to really bad dreams.
At times, however, a feeling I get
That one may be lurking in the shadows yet.
On a foggy night that fills me with dread,
I think I feel persons long since dead.
They creep through the night and whisper to me;
They tap on my shoulder and laugh with glee.
I feel the icy cold fingers grip me tight
And not want to let up for the rest of the night.
Footsteps behind me make me increase my pace;
In the window’s reflection, I see a dead face.
I hear spectral laughter, my heartbeat increases,
And fear makes me sweat, and want to go to pieces.
I feel the small hairs on the back of my neck
Prickle and stand up like sailors on a deck.
The air turns cold all the sudden it seems,
And then I hear blood curdling screams
Of people who’ve been taken before their time
And search for whomever committed the crime.






Part Two

When the moon is full and bright,
and shining on the ground,
Shivers run up and down my spine,
when I hear a howling sound.
I know they hunt upon those nights,
moving furtively towards their prey;
Knowing if they make a sound,
their meal will run away.
Even if they do not kill,
the one that is in their view,
They still may crave just a bite,
but just that one will do,
To give the victim the curse they have,
so when next the moon is full,
The bitten one will also feel,
the powerful Lunar pull.
More terrible still,
at night are those,
in a different club;
They venture forth,
when the sun goes down,
in search of someones blood.
They look just like,
most other folks,
but intent on evil will,
And get some,
poor soul alone,
so they can move in for the kill.
Sinking sharp teeth,
into the neck,
to puncture a throbbing  vein,
They can take a little or a lot,
to achieve results that are the same.
Outside the confines,
of museums,
one could hardly expect to see,
The moldy body and torn wrappings,
of an ancient Egyptian mummy,
Who was laid to rest so long ago,
and upon his tomb placed a curse:
That any who violated,
the Sacred Resting Place,
would face a fate much worse.
The Mummy would rise,
and seek out the ones,
who took any priceless thing,
Wanting only to reclaim,
that which was taken,
and maybe find a neck to wring.
So, next time you think,
Monsters are just,
up on the Silver Screen,
Remember the last time you walked in the dark,
and something pounced out and made you scream.




Silent Screams

Life behind these padded walls, as surreal as a dream

    A dream where even silence screams, but only silent screams

        Silent screams of ancient Queens beheaded on a stage


The stage, surrounded by noisy throng

    Some hawking wares secured with tongs

        Some yammering of someone else’s wrongs


One standing above, above any reproach

    Heralding merits and valiant deeds like a coach

        A coach who stores the team behind padded walls


Yes, life behind these padded walls. wishing t’were a dream

    For here, unlike in dreams, the silence screams, but not silent screams

        Not silent screams from ancient Queens beheaded on a stage.


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