NaPoWriMo Day 6

I know it’s 03:30 on the 7th, but I haven’t been to bed yet so I’m going to count this one for the 6th.

 

On The High Price Of Doing Business

My wife beside me fast asleep,

And no one else at home.

Then who is walking in my hall,

So late at night to roam?

 

My dog perhaps. He sometimes likes,

To walk about at night.

But he’s not prone to wearing boots,

His tread is much more light.

 

I’m certain if I were to check,

Some simple thing I’d see.

Of course there’s no such thing as ghosts.

How foolish can I be?

 

Because it cannot be a ghost,

Why should I go and look?

What’s there to see? Some common thing!

Unless I’m much mistook.

 

The thumping stops, I start to doze,

It starts up once again.

The broken sleep and twanging nerves,

It’s really quite a pain.

 

I lift the sheet and slowly swing,

My feet down to the floor.

With sweat like ice upon my skin,

I stand before my door.

 

There’s nothing there! There’s nothing there!

I chant within my head.

But clammy hand and clammy brow,

Betray my real dread.

 

I shake my head and draw a breath,

And push my fear aside.

The knob I grasp and quickly turn,

The door I open wide.

 

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

 

A dampened cloth upon my brow,

Wife’s hand upon my cheek.

I try to rise but cannot stand,

I’ve never felt so weak.

 

She found me there, upon the floor,

Limned in the hall’s dim light.

With every hair upon my head,

Now changed from brown to white.

 

I finally get back to my bed,

Must try to get some rest.

The Count will call again tonight,

I’ll need to look my best.

 

There’s deeds to sign, so much to do,

For him to settle here.

He’s charmed my wife, she’s said as much,

So pleased to have him near.

 

Cheers, Winston

 

 

 

 

 

 

Personal Poetry Challenge Day Sixty-Four

The following poem is for entertainment only and does not reflect my personal views on wiccans, pagans etc.

image

Beware Her Wrath

With pointy hat and pointy nose,
A pointy chin as well,
In league with forces of the dark,
To make of earth a hell.

A cauldron bubbles on a hearth,
Don’t dare to peek within.
For eyes will water stomach turn,
And your head will spin.

That broomstick in her hand my friend,
You think is just for show.
Can truly fly and carries her,
Her evil deeds to sow.

If you should be out in the woods
And crumbling cottage see.
Don’t play at brave and “check it out”,
Just turn around and flee.

This witch has lived three hundred years,
May live three hundred more.
If you would live another day,
Don’t knock upon her door.

Cheers, Winston