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Shadow Voices

From the dark shadows of the hall
Echoing silently, softly off the walls
The voices drift to me as I sit in my recliner
With my nose buried in a book.

Although the voices are most insistent—
I do not spare them a single instant,
Nor raise my eyes from the printed page
To even take a moment’s look.

For the voices are but there to remind me
Of all the bad things that would confine me.
...

COBWEBS

Sitting in near darkness,
I watched a spider spin a silken web.
The fragile threads were wove
Into a complex pattern of crisscross
Lines, a geometric
Design that might have been difficult to
Reproduce easily.
Yet this tiny artist expected only
Her daily sustenance.
Of such humble souls is the heaven made...

Jonathan Blade
© 12/15/97
Published in The Aurorean, Winter 1997

Danse Macabre

Around the silent headstones
in the cold moonlight,
burnished bones gleaming with unearthly glow;
they dance to the beating
of each fearful heart that’s pleading
for this nightmare to simply vanish! Enough!
But as the rat-tat-tat of the heart continues
and the blue lights flicker
on the top of every tomb,
the shades weave in and out of shadows
in a ghastly tarantella,
the moonbeams dancing with ...

The Messenger

And so at last I come to thee,
Like thousands gone before
To pluck my beak at my ebon breast
And drop a black feather at thy door...

Behold the dusky down as it descends,
Regard its gyrations and pathway well—
For upon length of descent thy length of days depends—
It is a summons to Heaven or to Hell!

Other eyes than mine watch the feather fall,
The orbs of He of whom I am but the messenger. ...

and i am afraid
i'm very afraid
of taking a deep breath

and drawing
a knife
wrenching
it
into my
heart

and finding - too late -
only empty space

small flecks
of what may have
been blood

tiny shards
of what could have
been life

there are
days, Dorothy,

when i
am jealous
of the Tin Man.