Your Pets Know

English: There Cap'n Goldsack goes, creeping, ...
English: There Cap’n Goldsack goes, creeping, creeping, creeping, Looking for his reasure down below!: illustration of a pirate ghost. This was originally published in Sharp, William (July 1902). “Cap’n Goldsack”. Harper’s Magazine. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)


Your Pets Know


When you’re alone or scared at night and feeling very tense,


Who knows what dogs hear, and who knows what they sense,


A dog might snarl and show her teeth while staring at a wall,


Someone might have entered the room, yet you see nothing at all,


When the silence gets too loud, during the time that you fear most,


You’ll wish you had a dog around, to warn you of the ghosts,


A faint smell of decaying flesh or a chill running up your spine,


Is enough to put your teeth on edge, but when the dog starts to whine,


A powerful force is in the room, sharing your time and space,


Your dog will remain beside you, as the ghost meets you face to face.


A cat, on the other hand, might hiss and arch his back,


A cat knows whether friend or foe, and if the ghost will attack,


Should the cat stretch and purr, as if stroked by a ghostly hand,


There’s a gentle soul in the room, who hopes you understand,


If either the dog or the cat runs, terror evident in their eyes,


Then it might not be a simple ghost, but the devil in disguise,


Pull the covers over your head, should you be scared at night,


And if you want a chance to flee, keep your pets in sight.





Condemned For Loving Too Much

Condemned for Loving Too Much
Poetry Palace Award

Loving (TV series)
Image via Wikipedia

“Condemned for Loving too Much”

All was quiet in this forgotten town,

Because of the record snow tumbling down,

Yet in the plaza crowds were shopping still,

Looking for entertainment to get their fill,

There were walkers, and talkers, shops all ablaze,

Restaurants still open but countless delays,

Marge was waiting patiently and talking to a friend,

This day had been perfect, she didn’t want it to end,

Somehow, she noticed him, standing off from the crowd,

His gray eyes fixed on her, haughty and proud,

His brown coat, his lean frame, the thin twisted nose,

Why she alone could see him, she could only suppose,

His eyes asked questions, the answers she didn’t dare,

What kind of man was he? One that didn’t care?

Was he an angry ghost or a demon of some kind?

Why were his thoughts penetrating her mind?

Somehow in his hands he held her new fate,

She thought, “Is it possible to love someone you hate?”

As this thought surfaced, Marge pushed it away,

She had never seen him before, not until today,

“He is not attractive,” she thought, “not in the least,”

But he continued to stare at her like she was a feast,

Her face flushed, and deep within the heat began,

Rising in waves until perspiration ran,

She was uncomfortable, she needed time to think,

But he watched her diligently, not once did he blink,

“Is it possible to love your enemy?” she thought,

“What is it about me that’s so eagerly sought?”

She was thirty-three years old for goodness sake,

And ten pounds too heavy, give or take,

Yet she was flattered by his attention even more,

Unlike her friends, all her faults he chose to ignore,

He willed her to move forward, but he didn’t insist,

Although she closed her eyes, she was helpless to resist,

Silently Marge turned, her demon she faced,

When he smiled, her legs trembled, her heart raced,

She took one step forward, two, then three,

She unbuttoned her blouse, letting him see,

She hated him and yet she was offering her kind,

Melting into love, her body yielding to his mind,

Seeking his hatred, demands, contempt to slay,

Doing what she could, loving his hate away,

An act of love determined Marge’s fate,

Is it possible to love, someone you hate?

All is quiet again in this forgotten town,

But there is one less demon standing around,

No one wants to question or be out of touch,

Should Marge be condemned for loving too much?

I Heard Her Call His Name

A glass of Brown Ale in a "Wellington&quo...
Image via Wikipedia

He’d partied with friends and had gone home alone,

A quiet end to his evening, no wild oats sown,

He had been sleeping when a woman entered his room,

He glanced up and saw her after he detected her perfume,

She was beautiful and seemed to float with angelic grace,

But when she turned, there was something about her face,

Instead of a smile he saw loneliness and despair,

“I’m having a nightmare,” he mused, “due to the cool air”,

He shivered and pulled the covers up real tight,

Determined he could simply dismiss his fright,

But closer she came and sat quickly on his bed,

“It is only a dream,” he thought, still filled with dread,

He slipped deeper into the covers, perhaps she would not stay,

But her weight pressed upon him, taking his breath away,

He thought he heard her whisper, “You are mine today,”

A few minutes, an hour or more, time seemed to delay,

Her weight shifted, he felt her leaving again,

Was she gone, really gone, or was the departure feigned?

Although still afraid, he had to know, whether dream or for real,

The covers he pulled down and looked, she waited for him still,

She hovered there in the dark, yet he could see her smile,

And then through the wall she stepped, humming all the while,

“Thank you, sir!” she called out, “You’re the father of my child!”

He did not move till dawn it broke, he could scarcely even breathe,

“Was there someone who would listen now, and perhaps even believe?”

I listened to his story, I asked him to tell me twice,

Each time he paled as he began, his blood cold as ice,

He was reluctant to sleep again, except in light of day,

He claimed she was waiting, wanting to have her way,

Daily he grew weaker, he had lost his taste for food,

But one day he said to me, “I’m in a party mood,”

“Bring me brown ale and we’ll celebrate,

It’s time to meet my fate,”

With a smile he said, “She waited for me so long,

Now it’s time for me to go where I belong,”

With those words said, he gasped his last breath,

And on his face his last smile, frozen there in death,

His story would have ended there but the coroner called to me,

“What do you know about his children? This photo shows three,”

Three children were there, hovering in air, that’s how it seemed to me,

He sat proudly with his arm around—nothing that I could see,

On the back he wrote a note, “This is my family,

My wife is a ghost, she returns whenever she can,

Now I must go where I belong, I’m a family man.”

This story may sound odd, but it’s true all the same,

I was there when he died, “I heard her call his name.”

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