Wander Not In The Wood

Brooke Shaden

Do not wander in the wood

For few from there return

The very trees there seem to move

Even when there is no breeze

Let your journey another path take

Let caution your planning seize

Do not wander in the wood

Do not its mysteries learn

And above all – do take care

To avoid the towering trees


Photo Challenge #359

Gateway Gothic

CCC #112

“That’s so weird,” Amber said as she did a slow spin taking in all of her surroundings.

“What’s weird? Where?” Tracy queried.

“Here – and this puddle’s what’s weird,” Amber replied.

“What are you going on about?”

“Just look at the refection in the puddle. The building in it isn’t anywhere near here.”

Tracy looked into the puddle and then looked around in the same intense manner Amber had.

“No! No way!” Tracy exclaimed.

The pair then knelt next to the puddle and peered in. There before them was a bustling market square with people in Victorian dress carrying out their business.

Tracy hesitantly placed her fingers into the shallow puddle that seemed no more than an inch deep but was able to sink her hand in to her elbow.

Jerking her arm rapidly from the puddle, she shook it and involuntarily shivered.

“No! This isn’t happening,” she said. “I could feel a breeze.”


CCC #112

Gothic 23: Blood-shot Wandering

Corridor, Tunnel, Light, Architecture, The Gate

With blood-shot green eyes of envy

He down the unlit passage strode

Leaving his wife and her lover

Alone in his wedding bed abode

He had entered but a moment ago

To see the sight – his blood to make cold

And in a fit of jealousy

Bludgeoned away their breath

As his anger and pain did explode

For today’s Poetics, I would like you to write a Gothic poem and explore the question: “Which according to you are the deepest, darkest and most concealed of human emotions?”


The Long Drove

MorgueFilleOctober 2020file000180116622

Sister and brother, Deana and Don continued down the long drove. They had been told there was a rave at an abandoned house at the end of the tree-lined lane.

“Are you sure this is the right place?” Deana challenged.

“It’s right were it is supposed to be,” he replied holding up the hand drawn map his friend Kevin had made for him. “We came off Forest Street, and turned onto the third left.”

“Well it has been going on forever,” she complained. “Look, we have been on this stupid lane for twenty minutes,” she said checking her watch. “Ring Kevin now, and double check.”

“There’s no signal,” Don said.

Deana took out her phone as well. “I don’t have one either,” she said with obvious frustration.

“Uh oh. I don’t like this,” Don said. “Isn’t that the orange peel you dropped ten minutes ago?” he said pointing.

“Can’t be,” Deana replied uncertainly. “We’ve been walking straight ahead and their haven’t any turnings.”

It’s been ten years since they were last seen. They would be 26 and 27 now.


Flash Fiction for the Purposeful Practitioner

Sorry, but I am still in Gothic – Halloween mode.

Gothic 22: Maiden

Twas the ship’s maiden voyage

And a maiden too was me

On that fateful evening 

When I first went to sea

How could I have known

That on that night I’d die

So I wander here upon shore

Seeking the answer as to why

If you spy me on the sand

Do not fright and run away

And if you feel my clammy touch

I only wish for you to stay

And if my cold fingers grip you

I do not mean to offend

I am only taking you seaward

To be my forever friend



Gothic 18: All Hallows’ Eve

Ghost, Halloween, Horror, Bride, White, Death

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.