Poetry ~ Poet of Darkness


Poet of darkness? I pray not!

Wake me from this dream,
for I cannot!

Seducer of words
what have you to say?

Rhymer, reducer
what game do you play?

Sepia-toned inker, sleep!
As your words fade away.

Destroyer of darkness
your light brings decay.



Poetry ~ The Sound of Darkness

Are you listening
to the darkness?


come closer
come inside

don’t be afraid
there’s no need to hide

close your eyes and listen
don’t tell me you can’t hear

the enchanting sound of darkness
whispering in your ear

for not all answers can be found in illuminating light

true insights are revealed in the quiet darkness of the night

“Life’s waters flow from the darkness. Search the darkness, don’t run from it.” ~ Rumi

Poetry ~ Last Light

Last Light

‘Twas half-past sunset when the sky lost its light
and we ran through the forest playing chase through the night

I lost sight of your shadow as you ran toward the woods
then the sky went black and I froze where I stood

the sound of the howling gripped my heart with fear
on that dark winter night when your shadow disappeared

two decades past, and I still fear last light
and remember in horror the sounds of that night

the night you went missing, into the howling sounds
lost to the darkness, to the woods, and never found


Poetry ~ Beware!

Beware the skeleton key unlocking family lore
Beware the whispers behind closed doors

Beware the secrets on the diary page
Beware the fire fueled with rage

Beware the dark night illuminating your fears
Beware the sorrow that brings no tears

Beware the heart lacking desire
Beware the mind no longer inspired

But, most importantly,

Beware the monsters under your bed
for those are the monsters that live in your head

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


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

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

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…


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

ready, set
find your mark!

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!

I hear him whistling
behind a closed door

you’re it, Alfred
that evens the score!

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

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


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