Born Bad: Prelude to The Witch

A savage place! As holy and enchanted
As e’er beneath a waning moon was haunted
By woman wailing for her demon-lover ! –from Kubla Khan, by Samuel Taylor Coleridge



Inside the dome of Kubla Khan
Was born a child accursed,
Of raven hair and beauty wan,
Sheer evil at its worst.

In childbirth did her mother pass;
The child was held regarded
With wary eyes of empty glass,
As father, too, departed.

Her mewling cries did reach the Khan;
He came to see the cause
Her pallid skin and ebon eyes
Did give great Kubla pause

Unwilling, though, to cast her out
The girl was made a ward
The Khan’s discretion none would doubt
His people loved their lord

But those inside the pleasure-dome
From her themselves would keep
Their children not allowed to roam
Along with blackened sheep

She grew a timid, artful girl
And to the shadows kept
‘Til Kubla sent this devil spawn
To aid the dome’s adept

‘Twas he who saw what lay within
Her lithe and quiet frame
Only to find to his chagrin
The damage done by shame

He sought to teach her wizardry,
A role to fit within,
Alas, it was too late for she,
Neglected as she’d been.

Her mentor she would soon deceive,
Malicious magic maid,
She put on faces he’d believe,
But studied tomes forbade

In secret did she grow in skill
Concocting her designs
Perfecting all her spells until
Fruition showed its signs

For Xanadu’s surrounding caves
Were proof from second sight
‘Twas there she plotted newborn graves
In haunted moonlit night

She took herself a Demon-mate
Who promised ever more
Of power to manipulate
Than e’re she’d had before.

If she would send the souls of men
Upon which he could feed
Immortal he would make her then,
To which she soon agreed.

To set her plan in action, then,
She killed the wise adept
She loved him most of any men;
A single tear she wept.

Now silently she crept beside
The soldiers in their beds
She whispered thoughts of homicide
Upon their sleeping heads.

Her pallid puppets played their roles;
She unto battle sped them;
Then quickly gathered up their souls
And to Demon fed them.

The Khan alone could not be swayed
Through magics that she wove,
And so her demon-lover slayed
When through its heart he drove

Excalibur, the sword of swords,
Its blessed blade impelled;
The witch did shriek and curse the lords
Her sorcery dispelled!

The power of her sorrowed cry
It found the Nightmare-king
But that’s another lullaby
With horrors it will bring.

Vanish Little Morsels (Merry Widow Part I)

I love to feed the chickens
And the ducks and piggies, too
They cluck and quack
And oink and then
I feed them parts of you.

I didn’t mean to kill you
But you really made me mad.
I told you if
You cheated it
Would really be quite bad.

So when I saw the pictures
Well, I really had no choice
I cut you up
To shut you up
I couldn’t bear your voice.

Who thought that you’d betray me?
I know I never did.
And who'd have known
That anger sown
Would make me flip my lid?

So vanish little morsels,
They will eat while you’re still hot
Then you’ll be gone,
I’ll be alone,
And never will get caught.

This is the first part in a planned humorous series about a fed-up farmer's wife and her adventures in murder. Okay, maybe I read too much Stephen King.

The Witch

Hidden from the realm of men
The witch remembers deep
The time before, the time of when
She marshalled men from sleep

She made them do her bidding
With whispers in their dreams
Sent warriors for fitting
In steel and armored seams

Brazen witch, immortal hag,
She kept the Nightmare King
Together playing horror tag
With every sleeping thing.

Riches more than these she sought
While whispers winnowed will
'Til with enough souls, hers was bought
From Darker Power still.

King of Nightmares sensed her plan
And banished her from sight,
Coveting his power o'er
The visions in the night.

Now the witch waits lost in time;
She's plotting her return.
Careful where your visions climb,
The witch's whispers burn.

The Best Laid Plans

Each year we plan extensively
New tricks for Halloween,
And so we scheme exhaustively
Our annual routine.

We run the local haunted house
And running it is easy,
The trick is finding ways to make
The horrors real, not cheesy.

We go to local horror shops,
And stores with real antiques
And dress the house up creepily;
It stays that way for weeks.

But each new year we top the last
By finding different things
Like sending down a witch by rope
That cackles as she swings

And that is how, when on my quest,
I came upon this vision,
I borrowed from the home this chest
(Ok, without permission)

I needed to be sure I’d fit
So took it to this field
When I got in, I’m sure the lid
Was not completely sealed.

My plan, it seems, has backfired,
Yet they’ll catch on, I’m hopin’,
Or else I’ll surely die in here
This coffin will not open!

Daddy's Diary

I sit here numbed in quiet loss
Confused and overwhelmed
For fate has sent an albatross
To life's ship I have helmed.

We buried father yesterday
In town by Macomb Wood
Enshrouded under skies of grey
Our congregation stood.

The wake was held at Macomb Hills
'Til it was six o'clock
Then home, and searching for Dad's will
I made myself take stock

To take my mind from father's loss
I cleaned and packed his things
His pipe, his rosary with cross,
And then I found what stings

I didn't know what I had found
But opened it with care
And read the pages barely bound
As if I shouldn't dare

This could not be the man I knew
Who taught me to play ball
Who showed me what a man should be
I thought he knew it all

So tucking my dread find away
I went in search of proof
And hurried out to Macomb bay
The house with broken roof

I pull the car into the drive,
Prayed that I had erred,
That someone here would be alive
That I was wrongly scared.

But as I opened up the door
And took a step inside
The path was blocked upon the floor
By bodies meant to hide.

The man I knew to be my Dad
Had been a killer, true.
How thoroughly we'd all been had
Not known what he could do.

For I found Daddy's Diary
When packing up his chest
I'm ruined to entirety
And, well, you know the rest.

Another spooky Halloween poem, this one a la Stephen King.

I Get More Free Candy This Way

Little demons, necromancers,
Witches, pirates, tiny dancers
Bumblebees and Spongebob in the drive

Little do these creatures know, then,
I’m a demon who can show them
How lucky they are to be alive

I was once a monster, too,
Batman, ninja with kung-fu,
Yet somehow I grew up from that state

Now I sit here in my chair
Waiting for these kids to scare
Halloween sets me in such a state.

First I’ll set the house to haunting
Burning jack o’lanterns daunting
Smiling crooked teeth into the night

Then I’ll set the boobytrap
That always seems to scare the crap
Out of those kiddies, giving them a fright.

The chair in which I sit, you see,
Is set right there, beneath the tree,
Next to cobwebs bought right down the road

I will sit there waiting for them
Past me they will walk; ignore them
Carrying their candy motherload

Hardest part is sitting still
Takes an awful lot of will
Waiting for them to walk back on by

Then I get them, all disguised,
Scarecrow in the chair, surprise!
Then they run; I laugh ‘til I could die.

Based on something my brother did one year when he was too old to trick or treat anymore.