Dear Old Wicked Vlad

4/29/2017

Dear Old Wicked Vlad

Mighty Vlad was mighty bad,
said all the folk who knew him,
even though, as all men know,
a vampire never chewed him.

Dear old Vlad was simply bad
because of so much killing.
Stakes through heads and through the dead
Were what he found fulfilling.

Bodies flayed and blood that sprayed
Were symbols of his warning:
Don't come near or reap the fear
Of agony by morning.

So think again of all the men
you thought were really bad.
I'll bet they're not so much the rot
As dear old wicked Vlad.

0 Comments

Edgar Allan Poe's Telling of Easter

3/27/2016

0 Comments

Yes, I seem to like writing in the style of Edgar Allan Poe. It's a very old problem for which there may not be a cure. In any case, for Easter 2016 I penned this brief retelling of the Christian story in the style of Poe's "The Raven." For the sake of visually impaired, whose computers I believe cannot read from a graphic, here it is again in text form:

Once upon a Friday dreary
Jesus Christ was weak and weary
After many an hour on a cross
as we know from Christian lore.
Suddenly there came a wonder
as an earthquake and some thunder
Announced his final passing,
his passing through death's door.
But on the third day, they discovered,
he'd returned through that same door.
Only this, and nothing more.

0 Comments

An Ode to Edgar Allan Poe

1/19/2016

0 Comments

For Poe's birthday, January 19, 2016, I decided to put together this poem summarizing the great macabre author's life.

I acknowledge that some sources give different details about his life, so forgive the details and let's appreciate the challenges he went through while leaving us some impressive work.

Poe fans may notice the gentle nods to his famous poem, "Annabel Lee."

An Ode to Edgar Allan Poe

It was many and many a year ago
When Edgar Poe was born
On January 19th
To a life that would be forlorn.

An orphan at the age of two,
It really was quite sad
That little Poe would never know
His dear old mom or dad.

On he went through childhood,
In the Allan's home of wealth.
But he was booted from the UVA.
At least he had his health.

He went to serve the army,
And on to West Point then.
But Edgar Poe, as all men know,
Got booted once again.

The Allan family cut him off,
So with gambling debts and drink,
Edgar took a pen in hand,
And he began to think.

He first worked as an editor,
And poetry he wrote,
But his books won Edgar no acclaim ...
Or no acclaim of note.

Along the way he married
His cousin, Virginia Clemm.
Though she was only thirteen years,
Poe found her quite a gem.

After that, his writing soared,
Though as a critic he was a thug.
But he penned a many masterpiece,
Like "The Raven" and "The Gold Bug."

Alas, however, Virginia died
At a very early age.
And Poe drank more than ever,
His grieving to assuage.

At the age of forty,
Under circumstances strange,
Poe disappeared for several days,
Then appeared again, deranged.

Drunken in the gutter,
He was taken for some care.
"Lord, help my poor soul," he muttered,
For the man was in despair.

And with those words he left us,
Not a dime unto his name.
And yet he left us richer
With his writing all the same.

0 Comments

The Reason for Christmas

12/12/2015

2 Comments

This poem is now available as Christmas cards or a printed poster (frame available) to remind everyone of the true reason for Christmas.

Purchase Poster Here

Purchase Card Here

The Reason for Christmas

Many and many a year ago
In a land so far away,
Before any magical reindeer
and before a flying sleigh
a Child was born in Bethlehem
in a manger full of hay.

He was greeted not by princes
or by kings who ruled the day,
but by simple men called shepherds
who had heard some angels say,
"See the Savior, come for all,
who in a manger lay."

Some time after this event,
more men came from far away
to offer precious gifts to him
and to kneel down and pray.

This is the reason for Christmas,
not a man in a flying sleigh,
and while giving gifts has meaning,
it should always be to say:

"I remember that Christ was born
to show us all the Way,
and that you and I are part of Him,
a family come what may.
We're here to learn what love means,
to care; to give; to play;
and while we're gathered in His heart,
to kneel down and pray."

This doesn't mean that Santa Claus
has no role to play.
But if we cherish Christmas,
we should share him in this way:

Christ came to Earth to give Himself,
to be the Light of Day,
And we must learn to give ourselves
to others in this way.
When Santa comes with all his gifts
piled on his sleigh,
He is really just a symbol
of that Child in the hay.

So when Santa's gifts are opened
and the children start to play,
we should take a moment with them
to kneel down and pray,
and remind each child that not one gift
is truly from a sleigh,
but that all good comes from God above:
the Love, the Light, the Way.

2 Comments

A Tale Told

10/1/2006

0 Comments

A Tale Told

This tale I have, it must be told,
For I am growing weak and old,
And not much longer may I sit
Before you now to tell of it.
Oh, one thing more -- just one thing more:
There's someone at my chamber door.

Yes, that's the reason why, my friend,
I must rush on to story's end.
It must be told, it must be said;
I must release it from my head.
But I shant start with days of yore,
For someone's at my chamber door.

Instead I'll start with yesterday
And so will give the end away,
For I've no time to tell it all;
The chance has passed for me to stall.
For as I've said, and say once more:
There's someone at my chamber door.

The sweat is damp upon my brow.
I must now tell, but don't know how!
My eyes grow dim, my heart grows cold.
I fear this thing will not be told.
Quite soon, you see, I'll be no more --
'Tis Death who's at my chamber door.

0 Comments

Selling the Soul

10/1/2006

0 Comments

Selling the Soul

When dank
the plumes of colored beasts,
when shifting
are their words,
you shudder at the wretched screams
of paradisal birds.

The empty call of hollow trees,
a woman burned at stake;
you wander aimless
to your home,
a child's head to break.

You wicked thing
to follow all the people
of the devil;
you know that all your deeds of good
are for the sake of evil.

So bring your heart,
prepare it now in heaps
upon a plate,
and bow before me,
quivering,
in hunger and in hate --
quivering and bloody
for your untimely fate.

0 Comments

Forward>>

Dear Old Wicked Vlad

Edgar Allan Poe's Telling of Easter

An Ode to Edgar Allan Poe

The Reason for Christmas

A Tale Told

Selling the Soul

Topics