There lives a mystery down Pembleton Road,
Where it makes its abode with stools of toad,
And ever thick fog hanging low over its bog
That brightest light cannot penetrate —
Tis always night and filled with blight —
And you ask, what lives there but a reprobate,
Some deformed shadow lurking all around
Under naked tree branches so you hardly see,
But you know it lives in dark as thick as brick,
And that it’s been there long before the street,
And it has no name but it has staked its claim,
And no one is welcomed on Pembleton Road,
But the unwary move in some times, at least,
Until the pet-beast craves another meal
And, thus, seals the doom of strangers,
Who seemed oblivious to the curse, and so
Now find there place in the back of a Herse,
That is, if there is anything left to bury . . .
And this is the only time it makes merry
With cackling laugh that can only be heard,
Never seen . . .
There lives a mystery down Pembleton Road,
One undiscovered but still known all too well,
And at a short distance chimes the church bell
As if to punctuate this evil on Pembleton Road
What cargo do you carry as you come barreling through?
Is it good or ill to seal my destiny desperately or in ecstasy?
What passengers ride along and do they belong to the night
Or to the light? Are they kind enough to mind themselves?
And do you bring grain for the hungry soul or only pain?
Nothing is plain to see in such numinous rain; it’s insane!
But, then, what should one expect . . .? It is the night train
Something has changed inside you, something strange
Over the whole range of your person, now rearranged,
Yet you smile the same way and walk through the day
Just as you always have, but it’s as if you have cried
For the last time and somehow have now died inside;
So as we walk side by side now and talk as we have,
There is only your shell, your inner-well has run dry;
And try as I might the sight is not the same, not really;
You are present, persisting in existing, but with no life;
Is this just the gyration my imagination, or is it true?
Did your spirit finally break for the sake of survival?
And is there is no hope of revival? Are you living dead?
Something has changed inside you, something strange;
Yes, something vital has changed you are not the same
Black ravens sing
Devil turns the pages
Ghost plays dirges
Wise owl winks
Rancid rat crawls
And eyes sting
And ears ring
And black ravens sing . . . again
Note: My fellow-blogger and friend, Tanya Cliff, penned another “vers l’avant,” the type of poetry read above, and inspired me to do the same. Thank you, Tanya! This was an invigorating challenge and fun!
Razor sharp edge cuts clean through the pledge
And alleges love while I lie bloodied on the floor
With the door wide open as an overt invitation
To leave without mention or excessive attention
While you bring white dove to sing ‘hallelujah’
Traveling at the speed of light love takes flight
In dead of night with nowhere to lay my head
But nothing is said about what we once shared
And how we bared our two hearts, part by part
I only know the black crow that sings ‘hallelujah’
And grace sways above me like some mighty tree
And I can see the glow but can’t touch the flow
So low I lay from the blow struck from far below
And I know this is the end and bend in humility
As my soul burns as I learn to sing ‘hallelujah’
Does the monster wander back to try to conquer,
To conjure up fears like a stalker from your past?
Even though you have commanded him to leave?
Stand strong, reprimand and demand the demon
Never return; be brave; allow your heart to burn!
Remember that the monster has no right
To cause you fright or to blight your day!
He has no place in this space you call your home;
He has no authority nor any priority in your life;
He has no power over you to tower o’er the soul;
Be finally done with him, then, and let not his sin
Any more room in your heart again to tear apart!
Make him to hear your clarion call
To have him gone once and for all!
Be rid of the demon as you bid your final farewell!
Say your final ‘goodbye’ to the nefarious monster!
Creature of the night
Screecher in the darkest hour
Leecher of the soul
Turn the deadlock bolt
Return to safety of bed
Burn with abject fear
Tis All Hollow’s Eve
Following the Sabbath Day
But evil makes way
Note: The above written in response to JNW’s Halloween Challenge: Creature, the challenge for October 30th.