The Unhaunting
Ancient ruins cloaked in fog rise from the icy ground,
yet here no restless spirits are likely to be found.
The wind has driven all from this commune of the dead,
and stitched the lace of curling clouds to frequent them instead.
They hover over columns and sail the empty halls,
brushing clear the cobwebs of these once-haunted walls.
For The Sunday Whirl the prompt words are:cloaked ruins ancient lace communes stitched spirits wind drive curling icy ground
911
The fire sighs and flips the ravaged timbers to the floor,
sends soaked ashes swirling in currents toward the door.
Blue flames lick at skins of walls, then weave around the beams,
trying to escape the fire fighter’s streams
as they emerge in masks from the house’s inner places,
assassins of those flames who’ve chosen not to show their faces.
Thus is the conflagration robbed of its power and beauty
by this crew that sees extermination as its duty.
For The Sunday Whirl
The prompt words are sighs fire flip ravaged blue floor emerge masks ashes soak skin weave
Imposters
On this moonlit ghoulish night, the wind plays tricks on us.
It spins around our ghostly wraps and makes the vampires cuss
as all the wicked creatures rise up from the dead
to escape from where they’re buried and do what we all dread.
Within the crypts where they’ve been resting, their hearts just barely beating,
they’ve been plotting to impersonate small kids out trick-or-treating.
They’ll go out ringing doorbells, never once exposing
the fact that they’re real ghosts and goblins, not just children posing.
They’ll grab up all the candy so when the next child begs
for Hershey bars or Reese’s bars, they’ll only get the dregs
the zombies left––the licorice and the candy corn,
so kids go home with empty bags—crying and forlorn.
This is the spell that witches cast in twenty-twenty-three
when they came out of hiding to see what they could see
And saw small nervy children impersonating witches
and goblins, ghosts and vampires, then making scary pitches
for popcorn balls and candy and other gastric pleasures.
Whereupon the witches decided to take measures
to turn the tables on the kids, they decided on a whim
to teach those kids a lesson by impersonating them!
So this is my fair warning that tonight when your bell rings,
and creatures wearing witch hats or fangs or other things
first mouth an incantation or issue hearty “Boos,”
then demand that you give candy, lest a trick ensues,
best give them all the Hershey bars met by their greedy eye,
the Reese’s Bars and Milky Ways that they might espy.
But also keep a stash on hand for later in the night
when all professional witches and ghosts have taken flight.
And you hear a feeble knocking of gypsies with tearstained eyes
and ghosts in wrinkled bedsheets and little goblin guys
with smiles all turned upside down and tummies empty of
chocolate and gummy bears and other sweets they love
because their competition has beat them to the knock,
please bring out all that candy that you have kept in stock
to fill the bags of children who come knocking at your door.
These fakers are the real creatures that Halloween is for!
For the Sunday Whirl Wordle, the prompt words are: ghoulish night wind tricks spin wrap spell wicked dead crypt buried within
1953
All Hallow’s Eve
Scratches on the door and screeches in the night
Swarms of ghoulish children determined to incite
lots of sighs of terror as a shiny harvest moon
rises to full height to a werewolf’s keening tune
accompanied by the rattle of locks attached to chains
dragged along the sidewalks to create refrains
to the ghostly moanings that can’t be soothed by reason,
thanks to macabre images of this ghastly season.
The front gate of the haunted house swings upon its hinges
as warlocks and zombies await us at the fringes
of the woods that we must cross if we are bent on meeting
all our fellow ghosts and witches bent on Halloweening.
Prompt words for the Sunday Whirl Wordle are: scratches screeches soothes fringe image sighs locks shiny rises swarm ghoulish night
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Garden Duty
It is no witchcraft,
this metamorphosis of garden.
For these past weeks,
I have been a whirlwind
of paintbrush, clippers, shovel and trowel—
shifting and planting plants,
then placing offerings
on the ledge built into the freshly-painted garden wall.
Plants stripped of their dead leaves
and spaced between stone hearts
give new breath
to this beloved garden, grown rough with age.
in the former birdbath now filled
with dirt and profuse with flowers,
flightless birds of clay
are guardians of a fledgling
fallen from its nest and buried here.
Birds that can fly, do,
then circle home
to weave between the tree limbs and the vines—
One guardian on the highest limb
a sentinel perhaps for all.
It’s striden call
signing a mystery
the gardener has no hand in.
For The Sunday Whirl Wordle 675 the prompt words are: witchcraft metamorphosis garden whirl fly siren sign breath stone circle
Field of Battle
The battleground now silent, the guns and cannons still.
All is calm and quiet below that looming hill
where once the natives gathered to stare out over space
to see what enemies might be sequestered in this place.
Their bodies claimed by grass and scrub, nature at last has won.
Limbs vanish as their crusty bones are hollowed out by sun.
Those who come to view this place writ as a place of glory,
sense perhaps the sadder side to this whitewashed story.
Its glitter dulled, when truth is told, by images more gory.
Prompt words for The Sunday Whirl are: crusty scrub limbs vanish bones exist space glitter still hollow below sense (Image is is photo of a painting in the Little Big Horn Museum.)
Day and Night
The stream of life brings good and bad—
both peace and torment to be had.
Dreaming adventure’s a sure bet.
If you don’t jump in, you won’t get wet.
Those secret knives that rip the seams
of the fabric of your dreams—
That fiery breath that sears your lungs
as you tell lies that fork your tongue?
Tucked here safe within your bed,
you have no cause for fears or dread.
Truth seen in glimpses, through lash-closed eyes
may be wisdom in disguise.
For the Sunday Whirl Wordle 673. the words are: wet jump secret dream bed breath secrets lashes fire plague glimpses
Escape
Quiver me timbers and shiver me limbs.
The once yellow sun first scatters, then dims.
Hearts twirl in the darkness beneath a faint moon.
Three long howls in the night–are they canine or loon?
My heart, nearly broken, deserves a respite,
so, unwilling to face the moon at its height,
I pick up my bags and streak into the night.
For the Sunday Whirl Wordle the words are: quivers limbs scattered yellow twirl hearts streak faint bags three howls long
Happy Beginning, Sad Ending
I lick the dust of whispered words spreading ’round the town,
then clear their vileness on the sleeve of my wedding gown.
I escape to the river, to swim my sorrow away.
Who would have guessed this ending to my wedding day?
Though my breath comes fast and shallow, I keep up the pace,
trying to avoid the cruel truth that I can’t face––
that spin of fortune’s wheel that brought about the end
of the shortest marriage on record, as I chanced upon my friend
in the wedding venue’s kitchen, avowing love and kissing
the one that I’d just married, whom I’d sought when he went missing!
For The Sunday Whirl Wordle the prompt words are:breath cruel escape river away sorrow kitchen licked dust whispering spin gown Image by Tiko Giordad on Unsplash.
Nostalgia
Memory is a strong vine up which we keep on vanishing—
every upward movement, more of the present banishing.
Toward the top, our back flashes set up such a yearning,
tripping sighs and anguish that set our hearts to churning.
Basking in past glories makes us turn a blind eye to
all we might tap into looking at the world anew.
Living in the past instead of seizing on today
I fear creates a “now” that we choose to throw away.
For The Sunday Whirl today, the prompt words are: back flash vanishing tap top trip yearning blind sigh vine strong fear Image by Luis Galvez on Unsplash
lifelessons - a blog by Judy Dykstra-Brown 