Plus some Poems from Roosevelt #7 in Garfield, NJ!
I want to talk to a blue monster quietly and softly in the peaceful wind.
- originally published in the May/June 1993 issue of ZuZu
A dark shape silhouetted in the moonlight
flies across the sky.
Its wings are those of a bat,
its head of a snake.
Two red eyes G L E A M from behind the cloak of darkness.
It pauses, lingering in the air.
Then, like a streak of lightening
it darts down towards the ground.
Its jaws open, showing a set of deadly fangs.
A shriek fills the air.
In the morning all that is left
is a dark pool of blood.
- originally published in the Mar./April 1994 issue of ZuZu
As the clock strikes midnight,
Many faces are asleep.
At the strike of midnight,
It can be very bleak.
People don't notice the faces around.
Even while they wander on the ground.
This world is made of faces.
Many people don't see.
If I were you I wouldn't peek.
I would just fall back asleep.
Because the faces can be scary.
Even sometimes very hairy.
As the clock strikes down.
A new day has begun.
- originally published in the Sept./Oct 1994 issue of ZuZu
I went for a snack late at night,
and what I saw gave me quite a fright.
One cockroach big and hissing.
Two others who were kissing.
I got so scared that I ran back.
They had given me a heart attack.
I can't write more because I have died.
Help yourself, the fridge is open wide.
- originally published in the July/August 1994 issue of ZuZu
A flash of light appears across the sky
it is as bright as the sun that shines above
The hand of lightening runs by
screaming wicked as a witch in the dark night sky.
As the shine leaps across the sky
it leaves everyone in a state of shock and disbelief
The bolt keeps flying like a jet
waiting as a bird of prey for an innocent victim to walk by.
- originally published in the Mar./April 1994 issue of ZuZu
New Spooky PoemsA Halloween poem, to get into the Halloween spirit
By night the Vampire is cousin to your nightmares;
he likes the fresh blood of a young girl.
When he finds a solitary outcast
the hunger in his spirit rages.
He lunges for her, quick and quiet;
and slowly looks into her eyes.
She makes no sound, only silence
she has no hope of getting home tonight.
His fingers curve around her neck,
her pulse is so faint we think her dead.
He searches the dark for half the night,
lurking among the shadows that face the cold, forbidding streets.
But if he brushes up against a windowsill,
we are afraid of what beats our hearts have skipped.
For something is amiss or out of place
when a demon with fangs can wear a human face.
