Tag Archives: dark

You’re Not Afraid? You *will be*!

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digital collage

The Jitters

Remember the years when we were young

And captive among our babysitters?

Sheer terror would reign with its horrid thrill,

The unspeakable chill we would call the Jitters.

Under the bed or under the house,

A mouse isn’t safe when the Jitters gleam

Reptilian fangs and rhinoceros horns;

O! The scorns we would risk to release a scream!

Anything dark and anywhere doored

Could harbor a horde of Jittery creeps;

They hide under blankets and lurk behind stones:

The wrack in the bones that never sleeps.

Do I hear the wind? Did you hear an owl?

Or was it the howl of the restless dead?

The moan of a sailor just as he drowned?

All around are the sounds of the things we dread.

That flickering light! The curtains a-moving,

And both of them proving that something is near:

We’d writhe in our agonies, plagued by deceptions

And all the perceptions of what we fear.

This, you remember, was life with the Unknown,

And all of the fun known as children was moot

Whenever night fell or a stranger came calling;

Appalling how it never stopped its pursuit.

Now deep in adulthood, responsible, sane,

We scoff at the pain of those gibbers and twitters,

Yet get us alone, in a vulnerable state,

And sooner or late, we succumb to the Jitters.digital collage + text

Endless Falling

A whisper in the gloaming just pre-dawn
A shiver or a prickling on the neck
A flutter of the eyelid, quick, then gone
And hope of any sleep is now a wreck

Above me in the dark are broken dreams
Above my brow an icicle of fear
Above the awful emptiness, the screams
In silent agony are all I hear

And under all this brittle disarray
And under skin and in the bone and soul
And under some enchantment, night and day
I know this wickedness will eat me whole

Against the dangers present in this fright
Against the door of Death I’ll knock tonight

The Insomniac

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P&I drawingR.E.M.

Under a slab

Of cement I sleep,

Wilderness heavy,

Sorrow deep;

Sorrow deep,

Archaeology old,

Running through

Corridors untold—

Racing the hallways

Of my dreams,

Ankles shackled,

With muffled screams;

With throttled throat,

I strive to wake,

Covered in cobwebs

I cannot shake;

Cobweb-bound,

Imprisoned in doom,

Under concrete,

In the dreamer’s tomb.

Phriendly Phantasms

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digital artwork + textGhost Images

Grey misty days, indigo nights and wind that whips up suddenly
without a seeming cause, are frights only to those who’d turn and flee
at provocations slim, and slightest hints of something shadowy

But I am not afraid of these faint shades and palely passing things,
instead, I wonder if they freeze in fear at me, these souls whose wings
are clipped, and on whose quaking knees are bent, to hide from mortal stings

We are, it seems, all fearfullest of that unlike what we know most,
what is familiar and best, no matter if it is a ghost
or is a friend at whose behest we once raised up our happy toast

Yet have forgot, when he is dead, and think we ought to fear him now
as though he were a cause for dread whom we once loved and would allow
was more than harmless, bless his head, and still should seek him anyhow

For company, remembered, gone, or living still, or even sheer,
transparent spirit of someone who longs enough to reappear
among us present ought to own our welcome without needless fear

The world we see and what we know are far from all that there can be,
and far from all that’s good, and so we ought to revel joyfully
when spirit friends or living, should seek out our simple company

So as the night begins to fall, or wind kick up, or day grow cold,
and chill our souls, hark to the call of friends quite new or ancient-old;
embrace their spirits one and all, and only happy tales be told

Both of those living or long fled, whether of days in blazing bright
sunshine, or seeming dark as dread, or else the middle of the night,
for all companions should be led to know they fill our hearts with light . . .