My Brother's Keeper.
June 27, 2017
October 10, 2016
Angels And Demons.
October 5, 2016
I Will Listen.
October 4, 2016
September 17, 2016
August 13, 2016
The Ghost of Veterans House.
July 7, 2016
July 3, 2016
Son of a Witch.
June 18, 2016
They lie a bit.
June 7, 2016
My Grandad’s old school held an exhibition in remembrance week, focusing on all the old pupils who had fought in the armed conflicts of our country. I...
"REMEMBER LAST NIGHT." A short story.
November 11, 2014
Madam Dublaze comes out of your mirror,
when you’re least expecting to see her.
Here she comes just slips through,
ready to your fear renew.
Dressed in grey a sexy bodice,
was a time she was considered a goddess.
Not anymore she’s gone a bit thin,
doesn’t help, all the rotting skin.
And of course the blood around her mouth,
and hoicked up bosom going south.
And grey hairs flowing out her nose,
thick black ones curling from her toes.
War paint white upon her face,
lips locked in a dull grimace.
Big warts too upon her nose,
flappy ears where black heads grow.
Limps a bit no muscle tone,
rancid skin and bird like bones.
And as she walks there’s a strange drip,
while from her armpits leaks her spit.
From her back maggots crawl,
from folds of dress mothballs fall.
And out her shoes come squeaking bats,
and out her belly rabid rats.
And while you sleep she looks a while,
far off gaze and fearful smile.
Contemplates your peaceful face,
bites your nose off hole in place.
Lucky you as you awake,
no nose left now ears she takes.
She likes to see you scream and duck,
with a pop your ears she plucks.
Wipes them each under sticky pits,
her old ones off she rips.
Slaps your lovely ears in place,
goes to work on her new face.
Next she sighs, ‘I want your lips,’
gently from your face she rips.
Discards her own moldy pair,
sticks yours in place, right there.
And now she says while dribbling fast,
‘I want your eyes they need to last.
My last set came from a dying Nun,
she screamed a lot it was such fun.
But they’ve only lasted a year or two,
I must have used a weak old glue.
So yours are mine please don’t scream,
If you don’t I’ll rip them clean.
And out they come with ne’er a plop,
quickly for the Nun’s she swaps.
You start to scream and wail a while,
she turns on you with ghastly smile.
‘Stop that row,’ she cruelly says,
or I’ll make your pain last for days.
Open wide there’s a dear,
I want your tongue crystal clear.’
She rips it out rolls it about,
squeezes blood and mucous out.
Takes out her own carelessly chucks,
sticks in yours makes some clucks.
Satisfied she takes your hair,
scalps you neatly it seems unfair.
Plumps and fluffs it up a while,
sticks it to hers with a smile.
She looks on down between your legs,
says, ‘lucky you dear I don’t need those eggs.
But I’ll take your bones if you please,
need to repair my knobbly knees.
And slowly pain overwhelms,
you slip into another realm.
Last thought is you see her look,
In the mirror the parts she took.
‘Thank you dear,’ she blows a kiss,
‘I like the way I look in this.
I’ll come for your children they’ll be mine,
no rush yet your face is mine.
But come I will you can be sure,
when little ones sleep, those you adore.
Unfortunately my facelift always withers,’
then she fades back into the mirror.