Poetry ~ Feeding our Ghosts

feeding our ghosts

The ancestors have arrived! Best stoke the pit!
Smoke billows from the beast ~ an offering heaven sent

The ritual has begun, the feast of ancestral ghosts
The bounty of the harvest stews as elders prepare the roast

Honoring our ancestors keeps their memory alive
Allowing the veil to open from this world to the other side

Ritual and tradition bind generations to their core
So feed your ghosts, make a toast ~ rekindle your family lore

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Poetry ~ The Langhurst Curse

Langhurst Curse.png

‘Twas four centuries past
since the family lost their sight
generations of charcoal eyes
that pierced the steely night

The curse was ancient lore
resurrected with each birth
the charcoal eyes of a child
born with the Langhurst curse

History tells the story
of witches who cast the spell
poisoning the eyes of a doll
and throwing it down a well

A cauldron filled with venom,
bitterness, and hate
contained a powerful poison
that sealed the family’s fate

But if the truth be known,
no curse could take their sight
the family’s hatred of witches
created the Langhurst’s plight

And to this very day,
the family drinks the witches’ brew
allowing the curse to blind them
to what the witches said was true

The Langhursts, like the others,
are blinded by their hate
passed down through generations
that seal their family’s fate

Look deep into their blinded eyes,
eyes as dark as coal,
for hatred is the powerful poison
that cursed the family’s soul
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Poetry ~ Spooky

They never found her body
If there was a body to be found

With six fingers and six toes,
she was … different

Hence the name. Spooky.
Her mama knew
what others didn’t
she was born with the gift

or a curse

depending on your
perspective

Dressed in black,
she was a creature of the night

“Hard one to find,”
proclaimed the detective

Last one to see her said she
floated over the swamp
out of sight

The case had gone cold.
until tonight…

Spooky!

Poetry ~ A Haunting Game

haunting logo 2

Shall we play a haunting game
a game of hide and seek?
the family’s all here
Aunt Lizzie
Cousin Alfred
and me

I’ll start counting
and promise not to peek
but where are the others?
it’s no fun with just three

don’t fret, silly girl,
the others will arrive at dark

now
ready, set
find your mark!

ah-ha!
is that you, Aunt Lizzie,
hiding under the stairs?

no, silly girl,
comes a voice from thin air
that’s Cousin Alfred
catch him if you dare!

wait!
I hear him whistling
behind a closed door

tag!
you’re it, Alfred
that evens the score!

hmmm,
as for Aunt Lizzie
where would she hide?
the lagoon, of course,
that’s where she died!

touché, silly girl,
you’re too clever for words
but who is that whispering?
I think we’ve been heard

ah-ha!
the others have arrived
Lizzie giggles with glee

Alfred floats off
whistling carefree

let the hauntings begin
we have more than three
more than two ghosts,
two ghosts
and me

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Poetry ~ The Cauldron 


She was neck deep in the cauldron
when steam started to rise
her sister witches began to screech
and fear for her demise

but she waved them off abruptly
and demanded to be left alone
to stew in a magical concoction,
a recipe of her own

for when her cauldron bubbles,
ideas and thoughts come alive
she scoops them up, drinks them down,
and then begins to scribe

and although it’s ancient lore,
that many have yet to grasp
one must allow ideas to simmer
before pouring them in a flask

patience, she declares,
is the magic of her brew
but such a virtue is rare,
a quality possessed by few

so once again she simmers,
letting the heat rise in her eyes
conjuring her magic
awaiting the cauldron’s surprise

Poetry ~ Nightmare

My nightmare is too sinister

I really shouldn’t share

Do you see my hands trembling?

death is hanging in the air

I won’t’ survive the night

if this story makes the page

I hope you realize my peril

if the monster escapes its cage

Do you hear the chains breaking?

the metal bars have been breached

I know it’s too late to flee

the safest place is out of reach

I must stand and face the monster

use the weapons I’ve designed

warrior and monster are at the ready

this is a battle for my mind

Poetry ~ A Calamity of Chaos

It was a beautiful thing to witness
the swirling of the world into a new
beginning

No one suspected its arrival
No one was prepared,
save the knowers ~
too few

Not even the
believers expected the horror
of it all

‘Twas the dreamers
the artists, poets, storytellers
those with vivid imaginations
who smiled as they looked on

as one world ended
and other began

Photo credit: Pinterest

Sunday Confessions

Dear Reader,

Be forewarned, but not alarmed.

My posts and poetry will take a dark turn over the next few months. The long stormy nights of autumn bring out the “BOO!” in me ~ all things spooky and supernatural!

I’m also reading a sci-fi novel, so I’ll be throwing in some “end times” poetry to keep you on the edge!

I’m allowing my inner artist to run free … and letting my co-conspirator, Aunt Lizzie, out of the closet. She’s harmless. Kinda.

Until the snow flies ~ Beware!

Yours under the Quaking Aspen,

aspen-trees

~ Sue, aka Aunt Lizzie

For history on my collaborations with Aunt Lizzie check out the following posts:

Lizzie’s Revenge

The Dead Poet

The Path 

Poetry ~ September

September

Red, yellow, orange, and gold

September’s colorful foliage fills my soul

awakened by chilly mornings as leaves rustle about

blanketing the forest where new shoots will sprout

this is my season ~ September, October, November

the Autumn of life warmed by a crackling fire’s embers

come, let’s sit for a spell, and tell our favorite stories

taking comfort as September shares her glory

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