Shadows – corners where there is no light
The recesses where your hackles rise –
When near them – you dare to go
The unknown – there from prying eyes hide
Prepared from their lair to explode
Shadows – corners devoid of light
The dark of hallways dim
A realm where you should not tread
A place when phantoms live
RDP SATURDAY: SHADOWS
In outlandish garb he comes my way
Latchet shoes and ruff upon his neck
Hollow eyes, and pointed beard
A ghostly visage he projects
Shall I pass him on the stair
Or wait for him to go?
How long has he tarried here?
Does even he, that answer know?
FOWC with Fandango — Outlandish
They say it was theatrical –
Her histrionics on display –
Over the top and overboard –
With wild gestures and shouts of dismay.
All because of a note she received,
And what did that missive relay?
That she had been chosen to appear
On a soap opera for one day.
Weekend Writing Prompt #181 – Histrionics
Tale Weaver – #299 – Over The Top
All Holies’ Day is not yet here
A year has passed since the last one
And now the saintly power gives way to fear
As Teens play with evil just for fun
Late into the evening they shall walk
Lighted pumpkins before the doors
Laughing at powers of which they baulk
Little understanding their horrors
As on them night closes like a pall
Adorned in masks, they think disguise
Aware not of the presence mal
Among them those Teens unwise
So in their revelry they shall go
Still unaware of the risks
Surprised they shall be when they come to know
Strong cold fingers seizing their wrists
A little mood setting for Halloween in the form of a
Trolaan (a poem consisting of 4 quatrains. Each quatrain begins with the same letter. The rhyme scheme is abab, and each successive stanza beginning with second letter of the previous stanza.
A nighttime visit,
It’s a game you play.
To walk among us,
On Halloween day.
But there’s no need,
Attention to time to pay;
This year we’ve arranged for you,
longer stay. much
She was no slayer. A collector was she.
A collector of things macabre:
Vampire’s teeth and werebeast’s hair
Mummy wraps and ornate castle doorknobs
A witch’s pointy hat or two
And a ruby slipper shoe
What else is there to pass the time
For the little sister of a slayer to do?
HM2 Yamato went down heavily. Corporal Herrington ran to his side.
“You okay, Doc?” the Marine asked with concern on his face.
“I think so. What do you think?” the Corpsman said pointing.
“It doesn’t look good,” Herrington replied.
“You know, Steve, you could work on your bedside manner a bit,” the Corpsman replied.
“What do you need me to do?” the Marine asked.
“Go pick my bag up from over there and bring it to me,” the Corpsman instructed.
Herrington went and retrieved the medic’s bag from the roadside, where it had fallen.
Yamato pulled out a roll of tape and began wrapping his shoe. “That’s the last time I’m going to let you talk me into buying cheap running shoes.”
Did you see her standing there
By the gate along the way?
Many a traveler says they have
But seldom by the light of day
And for those that do – icy tingles shoot
Along the length of their spine
And though they see her standing there
For others – there is of her no sign
Are you one of the chosen few
To be summoned by the mistress of the gate?
If you are wise you should move quickly by
Before it is too late
Put aside your apprehension
The invitation is for you
We await your arrival
Hungry to make your acquaintance
Gas and cosmic dust And some gravity thrown in A new star is born
Heeding Haiku With Chèvrefeuille: a new star is born.