Dreaming

By Cooper, a child.

Pretend

dreaming

is

different

imagine

it's

magic;

fly like a bird

swim climb jump see read

whisper wish and do not ask how.



The Haunted Woman

 

 

By Jean Bush

Her hair is wild, her eyes are bright,

She holds him fast within her sight,

But demons take him in the night,

From the Lady of Alvarez.

 

Within the mists of dreams she’s weeping.

Through restless toss and turns of sleeping;

And in the night she rises shrieking,

Sad Lady of Alvarez.

 

What has torn him from her side?

She cries as vultures flap the sky.

But round her only shadows sigh

For the Lady of Alvarez.

 

Though without her heart grows fonder,

Deep inside her mind does wander;

With half-closed eyes she nods and ponders,

The Mad Lady of Alvarez.

 

With the dark there, something beckons,

She knows not what she’ll have to reckon.

And though with doom her soul is threatened,

Walks the Lady of Alvarez.

 

She steps into the coiling gloom

Beneath the chilled and shrouded moon.

She’ll find a way to join him soon.

Farewell, Lady of Alvarez.

 

 



Kiss of Death

 

 

By Jean Bush

 

She comes on sunset colors

Rocking in his head.

A dark and shimmering shadow

Like lace across his bed.

 

Beside the narrow window

The night takes up her form.

She takes his hand and beckons him

To ride the coming storm.

 

Frosty fingers touch his arm;

Her words a woman’s lies.

He looks into her smiling face

And knows he’s going to die.

 

She steps back through the window,

The stars their courses stopped.

His fate is fixed, she calls his name.

He leaps and drops the fatal drop.

 

The gathered crowd made judgment fast,

As sun poured light across the sky.

They saw love’s smile upon his lips

But called it suicide.



THE CURSE

 

 

By Jean Bush

 

At the sound of the knock, he opened the door,

And there on the porch stood his friend LeBours.

“I came at your call as fast as I dare.”

“You’re here at last, that’s all I care.”

 

He paused to clear this throat and said:

“I think tonight I shall be dead.”

“I think what you need to clear your mind

Is a smoke and a drink of your finest wine.”

 

With that, his friend stepped through the door,

And what could he do but follow LeBours.

“The curse of my family is burned in the wall.

Read it, please, it will tell you all.”

 

“It’s really quite a simple verse.”

They slid back the panel and read the curse:

 

 

An ancient crime that reeks with mettle.

An ancient score too late to settle.

A friend had helped the life that flew

So now who dies is one and two.

 

“The point, I fear, I cannot see….”

“It means there’s death for you and me!”

“I asked you here so we can fight

And keep a watch throughout the night.”

 

“Dear Mac,” said Le Bours, “I’m not afraid of your ghost.

Bring us a drink and we’ll have a toast.”

So saying, he settled himself in a chair

And watched the shadows that gathered there.

 

Mac backed slowly from the room

And disappeared in the musty gloom.

He carried the drinks back through the door

And couldn’t believe what he saw on the floor:

 

He downed a drink to clear his head for across the room, LeBours lay dead.

The tray of drinks crashed to the floor, Mac was needed in his role no more.

Now the room lay still and dim

For late last night, it had gotten him.

 

 

 

 



The Deadly Lover

 

By Jean Bush

Come to me, my pretty thing,

For killed I was and dead I’ve been.

The flowers strewn about my grave

I bring to you this lovely day.

Draw not back, my little lass.

Soon all your fears will leave and pass.

Your love I seek to give me life;

I’ve come to take you for my wife.

The coffin, Dear, is a lonely place,

And no one there can know my face.

The rattling bones of those I see

Are not a dead man’s company.

You turn away, you turn to go,

My beat less heart has sunken low.

My casket calls me with a sigh…

I’ll have to wait until you die.



THE CELEBRATION

By Jean Bush

It was shifting night of eyes and things;

Of smoky fires and spells to sing.

Where witches dance and fairies prance

And night takes flight upon its wings.

 

October wind, chilled too soon,

Blows beneath the misty moon.

Drifting clouds like ragged shrouds

Enhance the coming gloom.

 

Within the woods a cat-like tread;

A hung-still moment of nameless dread.

A flash of light then blackest night,

And there stood they, the walking dead.

 

A crackling fire they quick surround

And dance a dance of leaps and bounds.

Black hair flying, voices crying,

The dancers from the graveyard mounds.

 

The moon casts forth a deathlike sheen

On these creatures from a madman’s dream.

But to childhood’s ghosts they drink a toast,

And celebrate this Halloween.

 



 

 

 

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