Archive for the ‘Macabre’ Category

Sometimes when I wrench open the creative valve, the weirdest things get washed out.


On Ghosthunters

A figure faintly seen at night,

there in the empty place.

If you could gain a closer view,

would you gaze on it’s face?


It walks there every night alone,

even when it’s not seen.

Would you it’s solitude invade,

are you in truth that keen?


Perhaps its solitude it craves,

just wants its well earned peace.

Not closure for its life on earth,

not waiting on release.


Perhaps that place it haunts is home,

where hangs its phantom hat.

And you are mere trespassers there,

Have you considered that?


So take your tools and pack  your bags,

go back where you came from.

This haunt is ours and here it stays,

it’s you who’s not welcome.


Cheers, Winston


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A mind is a terrible thing to waste on nightmares. But here’s another one. Enjoy!


My Night Terrors

The bump in the night, the scratch in the walls,

things wake us in the night.

We are not sure just what we heard,

we cannot place that fright.

We tell ourselves there’s nothing there,

inside we know we lie.

We cannot shake that feeling though,

no matter how we try.

The wind that blows the branches which,

then tick against the pane.

Makes shadows dance across the wall,

Look! There they go again.

We try to rest, escape once more,

into a dreamless sleep.

But even if we do doze off,

it’s into nightmares deep.

But though we know we cannot sleep,

dare not get off the bed.

For what may lurk on shadowed floor,

now fills our heart with dread.

We tell ourselves it’s in our head,

deny our racing heart.

As cold sweat seeps along our limbs,

the shakes in our hands start.

The demons which I conjure there,

when darkest night is here.

Are far, far worse than hell could send,

on this I must be clear.

For they creep out from where they live,

so deep within my mind.

Where I keep all my ugly bits,

in darkness, life they find.

But I’ll hold out, the demons face,

’til morning dawns once more.

And face my day still sleep deprived,

as I’ve oft’ done before.


Cheers, Winston


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So something a little different tonight. When I was younger, I used to suffer the most terrifying nightmares. Fortunately, less so now, but I still remember trying to stay awake to avoid them.


The Demons in my Mind

Strange nightmares fall into my head,

and banish hope of sleep.

Phantasms stark in lurid hues,

in every shadow creep.

The ticking of my mantle clock,

so loud it hurts my ears.

Is still not loud enough to hide,

the sound of silent tears.

The night so long, what hour is this,

how long ’til morning light?

It’s barely past the witching hour,

still hours of this fright.

I light a lamp and say a prayer,

pray that these dreams will end,

I pray for sleep to bring me rest,

my spirit’s wounds to mend.

But I still dread to close my eyes,

still dread all that sleep brings.

The tread of scaly, taloned feet,

or hiss of leath’ry wings.

The demons conjured by my mind,

for every wrong I’ve done.

Are waiting just behind my eyes,

to avenge every one.

But I can lie awake in fear,

for only just so long.

And now must close my eyes and pay,

the price for one more wrong.


Cheers, Winston

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Not What They Thought

Beneath a cloudy midnight sky,
A deeper sort of dark.
Upon the air a cop’pry scent,
Drifts slowly ‘cross the park.

Through thinning clouds a wat’ry light,
Sifts faintly through the trees.
A shout, a shot, a bestial shape,
Now topples to it’s knees.

Not far away in these same woods,
A second figure lies.
Been clawed and chewed and ripped apart,
By beast of monstrous size.

The hunters gather by their “beast”,
A hole straight through his chest.
And all agree for one like this,
A silver ball is best.

A house nearby a child awoke
She thinks she nearly died.
How else explain all of this blood?
And in the dark she cried.

Soon enough she’ll understand,
She’ll understand quite soon.
A month from now into her room,
Light from a bright full moon.

Cheers, Winston

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When I was a kid, my brother Jack spent countless hours winding me up with ghost stories.  He took a perverse delight in terrifying me.  We had no hydro or TV and the nearest neighbor was miles away.  I guess I was his entertainment. 

He had a knack for turning the most mundane thing into a source of pure terror.  For instance…. a flight of stairs.

The Cellar Stairs

A narrow stair, a slippery stair,
A stair into the black.
To take this path, to travel down,
Is never to come back.

A basement stair, a cellar stair,
Just how far can it go?
What’s waiting there? What’s lurking there?
If you go down you’ll know.

It’s just a stair, a simple stair,
There’s nothing there to fear,
Then why the shakes, and why the sweats,
Each time that you go near?

A wooden stair, a shaky stair,
It waits to take you down.
To every terror you can dream,
Your very soul to drown.

A dreaded stair, a hated stair,
You’re frozen at the top.
If you should slip, if you should fall,
You know you’ll never stop.

A proving stair, a testing stair,
Your brother eggs you on,
If you complete this trial then,
Your fear will soon be gone.

A haunted stair, a cursed stair,
This brother told you so.
And now he nudges you a step,
And says you have to go.

A treacherous stair, a fickle stair,
You want to flee this place.
You turn to go, you turn to run,
You foot slips into space.

Triumphant stair, victorious stair,
You plummet to your doom.
Your brother calls down from the top,
“Now I’ll have my own room.”

Cheers, Winston

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