Jack-O'-Lantern

Jack-O'-Lantern is aglow on this night, like will-o'-the-wisp
As the wicked witches cast the spells of their black magic tryst
Cackling old hags from a dimension that should never be seen
Kindred spirits of the ghouls and the creeps of this Halloween
Over an open fire a cauldron's oil boils every butchered part
Liver and guts, the eyes and the brains and a still beating heart
As they worship in a pentacle with their blades tainted red
Nefarious necromancers calling on the lost souls of the dead
The Jack-O'-Lantern's mouth is agape, for it once had a name
Empty eye sockets are alight, inside there is a flickering flame
Run for your life, trick or treat, but there is no looking back
No one is safe, who can't escape, when the only magic is black

Echoes

Am I blessed or cursed, or should I be aghast?

For those veiled voices are from futures passed

But the dreams are worse for then I'm an invisible man

And though I can see them there I cannot bridge the span

In the quiet hours of the moonlight's cataract shimmer

In a semi-conscious haze I sense the threshold's thinner

And I want to be there under a rainbow's parhelic circle

In that elusive paradise where there is nothing hurtful

They are there, I know, where nothing's planned

But the echoes confound, as time pours like sand

There's nowhere to cross and every path's a maze

Along which I might wander until the end of days

Perhaps I can escape in dreams and find a door

To enter a new world where there is no before

And when I'm there I'll be heard and seen in focus

Beyond the reach of time and my own neurosis

I'm lost in my darkest reveries where I know I'm trapped

But there is no past or present, for in these dreams I'm rapt

So I'll hush now, for those distant echoes will be here soon

And perhaps tonight's the night I'll be guided by the moon

Horrid Lore

Have the flaming pits of Hell been forever in your every thought?
Or perhaps in a loop of nightmares is where you're permanently caught
Raising the wraiths and the phantoms and the faceless spectres
Restless malevolent dreamscape creatures and black plague vectors
In that empty place of your heart, you know you're the Devil's whore
Drenched in the blood of humanity and a disciple of the horrid lore
Lingering in death, not living at all, for it's the scythe you'll always wield
Over the fearful massed mortals, who will inevitably weep and yield
Razor the blade will pare the somatic from their bleeding souls
Each and every last one of them, forever yours, to burn on coals

Wyndham Lodge (A Home For Ghosts)

Wandering, he's still wondering and the Colonel always will
Yesterday and tomorrow, in Wyndham Lodge, on Ankle Hill
Never alone, for there're others there, within the bricks and mortar
Dormant and cloaked, until they approach, like insanity's stalker
He is the quintessence of 'haunted', a presence who roams in silence
And with him now are the godforsaken phantoms of an old alliance
Maudlin souls, they possess, for they are the gathered dead
Long lost to the world of humanity and by the Colonel led
Outside and within, those of flesh and blood, strip away the rot
Disturbing the shades in shadows, but perturbing them not a jot
Gone for now, but their opaque proximity will always ebb and flow
Easily drifting unencumbered, back and forth, in the last lights glow
And the Colonel's forever there, from eerie attic to oppressive cellar
His gift the lodge once, but now with the others, a hallowed dweller
Optical illusion or delusion, but many saw more than just his trace
Meandering along the corridors and landings, now a man of wraiths
Empty buildings were abandoned at the end of an ascending drive
For too long forgotten and only fit for the dead, not for those alive
Others sought this place of sanctuary and 'tis now a home for ghosts
Renegade twilight apparitions whom the Colonel, in petto, hosts
Gregarious are the dead, for two stragglers heard their chatter
Halfway somewhere, someplace, though it really didn't matter
Ousted, they escaped from a place where they could not belong
Stealth-like the silence, as they departed and were finally gone
The Colonel still wonders, as he wanders and he always will
Surrounded by those of the past and the new folk, on Ankle Hill

Ankle Hill

They came to slay in battle and their brothers kill

So the blood flowed down the slopes of Ankle Hill

Muskets, pikes and blades vied in a wars discord

As they churned the turf and soaked red the sward

Theirs was not to think, or ask, or even reason why?

But death would find them between the ridge and Eye

Up the slope they went, as their Royalist foes bore down

Mayhem and carnage, all for (or not) a tarnished crown

It was a day to die in hundreds, like slaughtered sheep

As the blood and gore poured and pooled to ankle deep

All those lost souls, for what and why? No one can tell

On that cold February day, borne from the fires of hell

Memories lapsed, a century passed and a house was built

Upon the killing grounds where so much blood was spilt

Renamed, rebuilt, more than once, with bricks and mortar

'Twas Wyndham Lodge, on Ankle Hill, a place of slaughter

N2,O (Dragon Slayer)

Nothing is clear when she's tripping on gas
Inside, the outside, is just dripping wet glass
Takes another breath in (phfft), but she's not laughing
Reality is waxing and waning and her sanity's crashing
Oh My God! What the fucking hell has she done?
Undermined by delirium, she's completely unspun
Shaking and sweating, she's gripping a bloody cleaver
On the floor, a body and gore; did he try to leave her?
X-ray eyes are alight, for she's with orcs and dragons
In her illusory world, where her serenity slackens
Disembowelling the demons, but her monsters are faux
Except everything flips when she's on N2,O

Demons and orcs and of course, dragons too
Roam in gossamer clouds; some fly high and through
All atrocious creatures, they have all come to bait
Goading her into the neurosis of a nightmare's fate
Outside, the inside, is awash with delusional gas
Neither here, nor there, she's in thrall to a mask
She's a deranged monster killer, she's a dragon slayer
Lost in the mumbling tongues of a mad soothsayer
And now her end is nigh, for her end is death
Yearning for N2,O was always beyond her depth
Everything flips and fades, as the cleaver cuts
Reality trips and lies, amongst the blood and guts

Straw Man

He's there in the field, he's guarding the maize

Like a crucified effigy, his barren eyes gaze

Into the embers of dusk, where darkness now grows

As another day's done, of scaring the crows

Perhaps you can see him, from the place where you are

Or is it a thought to avoid, or is the distance too far?

Why not conjure up his image, you can, if you try

In your meandering musings, until you're caught by his eye

He's still where he his, for he has nowhere to run

And though his work might be creepy, it's never quite done

For he's often possessed, beyond the evening's last caw

And there's only mulch for a heart and his body is straw

You know where he his and you know he's too close

There's fear, that is clear, for you know he's a host

And now he's animating himself and departing the soil

For the day maybe done, but there's still the night's toil

He's clearly been baiting, while waiting for you to arrive

For he's quietly expectant and holding a rope and a scythe

But you know in your head, it's a nightmares perception

And the fuel in the can will end this deception

A finger is pointing, at you, from sackcloth and rags

And straw is protruding from openings and jags

But nothing is moving, 'cept the wind through the crop

The rhythm of the swishing, like a blade on a strop

The dank smell of his rot, pervades, for it's a reality check

And the rope that was his, is now a noose round your neck

You're gagging and choking, you're fumbling with panic

As you sense he is creeping; from straw man to organic

He's doused in accelerant, you're creating a flame

The fire's in your fingers, before you take aim

A last look into his smouldering eyes... now you understand

And the world's an inferno, as he hacks off your hand

Maybe you died in a nightmare, or in a scorched field

For you couldn't possibly know of what he could wield

But the embers of a fire, are to the dawn, 'juxtapose'

And now another day breaks, for scaring the crows