He’s Nothing To Worry About

Hello out there,

To those who care,

Let me please introduce,

Master Bruce,

The celebrated ghost,

With a unique flair,

For inflicting Scare.

 

He is just typical,

For one of his kind,

What is above average though,

Is his mind,

But yea,

As far as looks go,

He is kind of wispy,

And white as new fallen snow.

 

Not old at all,

As he was young when he took,

That fatal fall,

Yet he feels older than dirt,

For it’s been a hundred years and more,

Since he went out,

With one last painful roar.

 

Now death is not usually lonely,

But when you are left to hover,

And cannot cross over,

To those shores called Glory,

You will discover,

It is a different story.

 

*************************

 

Some years past now,

There lived a marvelous up-and-coming gentleman,

Whose life seemed to come together,

With nary a hitch,

It made his fellows envious,

How he didn’t need to earn his chow,

By the sweat of his brow,

This privileged person,

Was of course,

Our Master Bruce.

 

There came an evening,

When he was but twenty-four,

That he felt a need,

To be out-of-doors,

And he decided to go for it,

Despite the nasty down-pour,

Happening out there.

 

He took precautions,

Wearing slicker and galoshes,

But nothing can compensate,

If it is your fate,

And the hour being late,

When he went to dodge that horseless carriage,

He could not see,

That the roadside there,

Had been washed away,

So here he tripped,

Landing on his knees,

Then another automobile came by,

And his body was clipped,

Just as he was rising.

 

He whooped in pain,

But the driver never heard it,

On account of the rain,

So he continued on,

And within minutes,

Bruce’s life here was gone.

 

*************************

 

Key word there being ‘here’,

Because his body was done for,

But lo,

His spirit was stuck,

And never went anywhere.

 

*************************

 

It took some time,

For him to see it was true,

He was now a part of the world,

In which he had never believed,

He’s now one of,

The paranormal crew.

 

He didn’t like it a bit,

And developed into something malevolent,

The things he did,

Were downright awful,

For instance,

When he made an engine fail,

And sent a car,

Over the rail.

 

*************************

 

There came a time,

About 1949,

That the Nightmare King,

Caught wind of him,

And decided he would be an asset,

A perfect vessel,

To carry his Dreams Of Threats.

 

It was great,

For a time,

Delivering these Scares,

Being the cause,

Of raising hairs,

By giving people nightmares.

 

But he’s starting to see now,

Just how long eternity is,

And dishing out nightmares,

Has become to him,

So unimaginative.

 

He’s becoming restless,

And of late when it storms,

He’s been returning to the site,

That still fills him with spite.

 

Now without fail,

You can hear him wail,

While he paces,

Back and forth,

Slow and steady,

Like a snail.

 

*************************

 

Now what’ll he do,

To fill the endless hours,

Of his afterlife?

Will he turn even more sour,

And try to possess,

Evil powers?

Dare we hope,

He will turn from strife,

And pick up something civil,

Such as playing the fife?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Now Wouldn’t That Be Brilliant

Imagine having the ability,

To become invisible,

With a clap of the hands,

Or the blow of a whistle,

What a pleasure it would be,

To get to do things,

Not otherwise permissible.

 

Certain situations,

Can get awfully sticky,

And to seem to fade out in a puff,

Would be a pretty convenient tricky.

 

Remaining hidden,

While being there unbidden,

Would be better than riches,

Even if it had some glitches.

 

Learning secrets,

Not meant for my ears,

Would be a priceless talent,

Maybe even enabling me,

To fuck with an event’s sequence.

 

I wonder,

In this situation,

Would strangers mistake me for a spirit?

If I were to walk in invisible,

Then reverse the spell,

And say an unexpected salutation?

 

How suitable it would be,

To be admitted for free,

Thanks to them not seeing,

The body that’s me,

And so they’d be,

Screwed out of a fee.

 

I dare say it would be,

Good practice for death,

At least that is so,

If you believe in becoming a presence,

After you’ve breathed your last breath.

 

Well I think that about covers it,

There’s no need to elaborate more on the subject,

By now you ought to get the picture,

Of how life could be richer,

And I suppose it will do me no good,

To speculate,

Of how wonderful it would be,

To possess this fine trait,

But I’d like it anyhow,

If I could make this happen,

Right here right now.

 

 

No Ordinary Pony

Teeth that elongate,

That’s the way I was created,

But I’m glad it is this way,

As blood is so much cheaper than hay.

 

No doubt you’ve heard of vampires,

And I’m sure you’ve seen a pony,

But I bet you wouldn’t believe,

That there’s a Being around who’s both,

For any amount of money.

 

I have no idea,

How long I’ve roamed the Earth,

I’ve never really,

Put much thought into my birth,

Most likely I’ve been around,

Since the beginning of time,

Anyway,

That thought sure does  make me seem sublime.

 

I wouldn’t consider myself demon-like,

Although I’m certainly no angel,

At times I suppose,

I’m a bit of a scoundrel,

But in no way,

Does this make me pure evil.

 

I believe I’m one-of-a-kind,

At least never before,

Have I met any exactly like myself,

Though I admit,

I gave up looking a millennia ago,

Searching was such a bore,

And seemed like such a chore.

 

*************************

 

Let me tell you what I see,

When I look at me,

In case you yourself know of any,

And so could tell me.

 

**************************

 

I look like your usual stable pony,

But there is one telling difference,

That sets me apart from others,

I am a loner,

Looked upon by other horses with bitterness,

I’m never welcomed in the herd,

And from me they always flee.

 

At first glance you’ll see I’m sweet as honey,

But you’ll notice when I get hungry,

My eyes will glow rose red,

And my four teeth front and corners,

Extend way out from my head.

 

Each person who has known me,

Has come upon me strangely,

It must happen this way,

So they don’t figure out,

That I do not age or die.

 

I’ve always just felt this inkling,

Saying someone needs me,

And when it’s time to start anew,

I slip off into the night,

And wander aimlessly away.

 

They think me an easy keeper,

I need just a minimum of feed,

But still stay plump,

With plenty of energy to jump,

Each time I wander into someone’s life,

They like the fact that I come cheap,

But I bet they’d freak,

If they knew what I got up to,

Each time they fall to sleep.

 

When the night creatures come out,

I gallivant about,

I’m on the prowl,

For a fat bit of fowl.

 

To them it’d be just gore,

I have no doubt,

It would make sure,

They did not like me anymore,

That’s why I do my food route by night,

So I don’t have to listen to them shout.

 

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In between ‘homes’ though,

Is when I’m most at home,

It’s embedded in my bones,

The love to roam.

 

Laying in a field of flowers,

Free to devour,

Whatever I please,

No matter the hour.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Mountain Travels

I’m going through the Smokey Mountains,

Somewhere in Tennessee,

All by myself,

Yup only me.

 

My, my,

This place is dark and empty,

And I swear,

The Lord Almighty could come to here,

And I would mistake him  for Lucifer,

Here to help promote fear.

 

Picturing what’s waiting,

On the other side,

Helps me to,

Endure the eerie ride.

 

A monster awaits me,

Behind that tree,

Any moment now,

It will reach out and grab me.

 

While I wind my way,

Around each bend,

Thoughts such as this,

Occupy my head,

And even though it’s not that likely,

I’m paranoid,

These monsters want me dead.

 

These roads are vacant,

No matter what others are on my same path,

There’s not even one street lamp in sight,

And I wonder,

Do they too,

Imagine a monster’s wrath?

 

These terrifying mountain roads,

Mile after endless mile,

They are so terrorizing,

While I’m passing through here,

There’s nothing that would,

Entice a smile.

 

Any and every,

Creepy tale I’ve ever heard,

They no longer seem absurd,

The one of alien abduction especially,

Has me right now in a most fearsome reverie.

 

Evil sorceresses and sorcerers,

Practicing their darkened magic,

Oh I hope that I am wrong,

For I imagine a baker’s dozen,

Waiting on a scapegoat to hijack.

 

Scary movie scenes reel through my mind,

Hauntings and gore and demonic possessions,

These horrors have always horrified me,

But never until now did I think,

That maybe they could become reality.

 

Up ahead I see a shadow person,

Apparently yes,

This nightmare can worsen,

So I turn up my speaker volume,

Hoping to be distracted,

And pray for the demons,

To be extracted.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A Cupcake Is Born

Early one Saturday morning,

An old London Lady,

Was deciding what to make,

“I know”, said she,

“I think I will bake,

I’ll bake me a big batch of cupcakes”!

 

So she got busy,

And worked herself into a tizzy,

Fast she wanted them done,

Because she had,

An errand to run.

 

After they were cooled,

She got out things to make them pretty,

As she liked eye-appealing food.

 

Little did she know,

The sprinkles would set one free,

One sprinkle had magic ability,

That made that cupcake,

Able to flee.

 

Out into London’s streets he wandered,

Where exactly he was headed,

He hadn’t really pondered.

 

He rounded one last bend,

Ending up in the West End,

Near the Covent Garden,

On a street called Drury Lane.

 

Outside of an enormous structure,

Was a sign for a bakery,

And on the stairs,

Leading in there,

Sat the famous Gingerbread Man,

Petting a cat with a loud purr.

 

Standing up to shake hands,

And greet the Cupcake,

He said “Hello, I’m the Gingerbread Man,

Who are you?

You look fresh-baked”.

 

“I’m Clyde The Cupcake,

And yes,

You are correct,

I am a fresh bake”,

Replied the runaway Cupcake.

 

As conversation kept on,

The hours flew past,

And soon the night was over,

They had talked until dawn.

 

That was some time ago,

Still they are the best of friends,

They remain close,

Enjoying the fine shopping in that area,

And going to the theatre,

But working for the Muffin Man,

Is what delights them most.

 

Among their most loyal clientele,

Is that old London Lady,

That Clyde knows well,

She now buys their treats,

Because she’s scared to bake,

Ever since her sprinkles,

Put her Cupcake,

Under a spell.

 

 

Grandpa Joe’s Successor

I am The Ghost Of The Railroad Tracks,

All of you travelers,

Had better watch your backs.

 

I’m fairly new to the Haunting profession,

And though I did well with my lessons,

Something meant for fun,

Could turn as deadly as a loaded gun.

 

So you can better understand,

First here’s some history,

About little ol’ me.

 

Not all Ghosts are manifestations,

Of the departed dead,

Showing up as apparitions,

Full of ill intentions.

 

I was born as one,

The same as you were born as human,

I have a Ghost Ma,

And a Ghost Pa,

Plus one annoying sister,

Who bats her eyes,

And says ‘ooh la la’.

 

My family lives,

On The Wrong Side Of The Tracks,

Dead center through there runs,

The Railroad Tracks themselves,

Opposite us and to the South,

Lies The Left Side Of The Tracks.

 

Us Wrong Siders,

We are mostly good folk,

Although those Left Siders,

Will tell you we’re a joke.

 

All of us live in The Village,

The one just North of Town,

That seems to humanity,

Empty and run-down,

But to us,

It’s a true home-town.

 

We grow up similar to people,

Except we are invisible,

I guarantee before I told you that,

None of you,

Even knew,

We are there,

Though we are,

Among you everywhere.

 

I am now an adult Ghost,

Ma and Pa threw a party for me,

They’ve always been,

First-rate hosts,

Everybody to me made a toast,

And now in Haunting the Tracks I’m engrossed.

 

Some of us get easy jobs,

Such as Haunting Things That We Ourselves Don’t Do,

Human activities,

Such as eating and sleeping and bathing,

They are of a great interest to us,

So Haunting them does not take,

Much brainwork for creativity.

 

Somehow I got,

The gig for the Railroad Tracks,

And not to express negativity,

But this post has been empty,

Since Grandpa Joe died,

And that has been a long while,

I have some big shoes to fill,

Which will take substantial skill,

That man was a brilliant Haunter,

He was very sly and wily.

 

I’d like very much to take after Grandpa,

He had some top-notch tricks up his sleeve,

Sure to leave the Railroad’s passengers,

Either scared or peeved,

So far,

I believe,

I’ve come up with some things,

That would have him pleased.

 

In times past,

Never a train passed,

That Grandpa didn’t leave,

Someone feeling aghast,

Oh Hell yes,

He gave them a fear,

That was sure to last.

 

“AAAAAHHHHHHH” came the scream,

It was terrifically loud,

And woke the sleeping passenger beside her,

From his dreams,

That was caused by me,

It was my first solo Haunting,

She was drinking coffee,

Fighting off the hail to slumber,

So I sidled up beside her,

And blew bubbles in her coffee,

While my hand yanked down quickly on her ear.

 

I’ve got plans tonight,

For the Five O’clock Train,

I will make one traveler’s eyes see freezing rain,

Just while he goes the mile,

Through the center of our Village,

For all others,

The sky shall remain bright and sunny,

Then when he goes crazy,

They’ll all bet their money,

The One did not experience,

Something legendary.

 

I wonder how mean it would be,

To jump inside the front car,

And fast grab some young’un,

Tell the child “Shush I’m a friend”,

Then dart to the end,

Oh the laugh I would get,

When the parent would run,

After the little angel,

They sure would not understand,

That it’s just tradition,

And no harm was meant to be done,

It’s really all in fun.

 

I’d like to one day master,

Materializing as an apparition,

Then stand on these Tracks,

While the Train’s a-comin’,

Looking like a young man tempting fate,

Then when the conductor startles,

And activates his brake,

A fool of him I will make,

I will disappear,

As he’s looking witless,

Stuttering and trembling with fear.

 

If I could produce a rain of rocks,

Seeming to fall from above,

Then go from side to side,

Crossing over the roof,

Like in a juggler’s pattern,

I’d really love,

To see them all freak out,

Whining and yelling,

Scared out of their minds,

But by the time they go telling,

Of their Supernatural Adventure,

I’d have snapped up their proof,

That there’s really a spook.

 

You don’t have to believe in me,

The Ghost Of The Railroad Tracks,

But if you choose to travel by rail,

Don’t take this route,

Because I will not fail,

And Lord only knows,

If you will make it out.