Siren Song

(photo courtesy of Photobucket)

I had a devil of a time trying to figure out this prompt idea with it's "hinge" (having a sharp, divisive change within a poem). Here is my feeble attempt ...ps I left out most punctuation on purpose, hopefully giving it a seductive, whispering quality. Tell me if you think it works.

On a soft, warm evening
with dew-slicked grasses
and heat lightning flashes
adventure’s afoot
for anyone willing
to see with night eyes
and hear crickets fiddling
buzzing and teasing
“come on, come on.”

Through dark passageways
of tall tasseled cornstalks
their leathery leaves
slap small tanned legs
while toads trill tales
to speed the way
and fireflies wink
their magical code of
"follow us, follow us.”

To a stream-side black
with a thick sludgy mudbank
and tangled-web willows
full of night owls cajoling
while the moon slyly beckons
upon irresistible waters
so quietly lapping
as the bullfrogs beg
"join us, join us.”

On a fog-shrouded morning
through torn, trampled cropland
with barking hounds leading
the morbid parade
of stoic-faced searchers
near a dank, filthy ditch
with it’s unwanted knowledge
and a mother that whispers,
“please no, please no.”

When very small, I was told the precautionary tale of another child who wandered away from her family one summer evening to be found drowned in the small ditch behind the cornrows. That story did it's job, as I never strayed from where my mother could see me. I've often wondered what the "Siren Song" was that lured that other unfortunate child. That is the inspiration for this piece.

A Halloween Tale

This is a spooky little story poem I wrote in honor of Halloween. I hope you enjoy it!

I wandered lost upon some road,
A weary traveler far from home.
To come upon at daylights end,
A welcome sight to tired eyes.
A country inn, with windows bright.

“A fine place here to spend the night.”

I entered through the rough oak door,
But no one seemed to be about.
Just fire well laid, and on a plank
Fresh bread and cheese, with wine uncorked.
A note left in a spidery hand,

“Will return soon, please help yourself.”

“How strange?” I thought, but knowing not
The customs of this foreign place,
Sat down to rest, and to partake,
Near starved by my long trek abroad.
Yet, such quiet seemed an eerie thing.

"So odd to be here all alone."

No other travelers rested here,
But I soon was lost within my glass,
And nodded off with no more thought.
Then suddenly waking, oh so cold!
Rising up, I gazed about.

"What! Who's there? Be known to me!"

The fire out, the lantern dimmed,
And something not as it had been.
The table that had once been laid
With fine libations now lay bare,
And covered with a thin fine dust.

“I must be deep within my cups!”

Stumbling through the unlit rooms,
I found a bed to rest upon.
To lay my head, and gather thoughts,
And wait for morning’s saner light.
I barely closed my eyes when - there,

“That sound must mean the keeper’s back.”

The smallest footsteps, lightest rap,
A rustling movement overhead.
Slight scrabbling of small fingernails,
And then, much quieter came this plea,
A sigh so soft as whispering,

“Oh, please sir, won’t you let me in…”

My eyes flew open, and trembling,
Felt icy waves upon my back.
“Who’s there!” I begged, but no reply.
My heart beat wildly, then again,
That voice that brought on shivering.

“Come closer now and let me in…"

The rusted latch upon the door
Began to rattle, the wood to creak.
The curtain, caught by some faint wind,
Blew gossamer drifts in pale moonbeams.
And then much louder than before,

“You truly should have let me in!”

I felt quite faint, and stuck as stone,
Then patting pockets in wild array,
I scrambled for a match, to light
My mind, to reason on this night,
And bring some sense to what I felt.

“Where was this voice arising from?”

Finding but a candle stub,
A life vest to a drowning man,
I lit the wick and staring thus,
The bed that I had slept upon.
This room much different than before.

"This could only be a waking dream..."

In such disuse for many a year,
Cobwebs littered every spot.
With broken panes that now allowed
Dry brittle leaves upon the floor,
And droppings from some furry thing.

"This can't be true, I've gone insane!"

Shaking off my disbelief,
I knew I need make my escape
From something that was far from good.
An evil presence beguiling me, and
darkest happenings on this night.

“I must reach safety or surely die!”

I rushed headlong to reach the door,
Where once the latch had rattled so,
To find it gone, and in it’s stead
Rough nails to lock the door in place,
And every window boarded up!

"Lord, save me from this demon's grasp!"

I now reside within these walls.
No visitor here, but left to stay.
The “keeper” of sorts of some sad thing.
So, should you stumble by at night
Be sure to listen for my cry,

“Won’t someone please to LET ME OUT!”

He's a Farmer 'Til the End (RWP Prompt #89)

We were supposed to find a news headline and write a poem about it. I happened upon the headline "He's a Farmer 'Til the End" from page 1 of the Los Angeles Times 08/21/09. I have always admired the hard work ethic and deep abiding love of the land that typifies a farmer so I decided to write from his point of view. I hope you enjoy it.

I'll be a farmer 'til the end
and the end is near upon me.
Too old and stooped from heavy years
of bending to my livelihood.
Can't count what's left in seasons now
Just hope to get this last crop in.
The wife passed on some winters back,
"to her reward" I heard it called.
But what reward could be so sweet
you wouldn't miss that rich, black loam?

This ground has been our family place
since old grandpa was just a lad.
The first bit from the free land grab
and more scraped up through long, hard years.
From countries far across the sea
we all came down from farmer stock.
To till and sow and gather up,
and love the dirt and rain and seed.
But something happened on the way,
now no one's left to carry on.

Our son took off for city life
to keep his wife who hates the farm.
One day he'll realize his mistake,
of picking something pale and small
in place of something green and great.
The girl married out, lives in town,
She brings her kids by now and then.
They sit around and play their games,
when all the fun they'd ever need
is in the barn or by the creek.

Once I'm finished they'll sell this plot,
divvy up and spend it away,
Never remembering where they're from.
I will be gone but the land goes on.
Then some other man, more like kin,
with grit in his nails
and steel in his spine
will take over and work these fields,
understanding the blessing
and the Godlike greatness underfoot.

Vampires (RWP Prompt #87)

This poem was written by me (under duress) for the Read Write Poem Prompt #87.
I chose the vowel sound of oo, and used as many of those dang words as I could fit!

Moonlight pools upon an empty tomb
as midnight’s Groom collects his brood.
To choose, to hunt -
wooing from the light some innocent,
a beating heart, alive, and new.
With soothing sounds and shrewd maneuvers,
they seclude into their reclusive gloom,
a tender beauty, with fullness of youth.
Proving cruel dominance
over earthly fools,
who are but food to the ghoulish troupe.

A long sharp tooth harpooning flesh -
a brutal wound. Blood let loose
as spooling ribbons of ruby fluid.
Swooping into their gruesome cocoon,
they feast upon her mortal ruin.
This luminous beauty, left bruised and blue,
drooped and swooning,
until the vampire Groom intrudes.
Looming down upon the doomed, mewling life
and removing her to his marble womb.
The next recruit - a bride - through which to live anew.