In the theory of evolution
Humans have not moved far from chickens…
Getting along fine in their flock day by day
Until one sustains an injury drawing blood.
No matter how well they resided before
They all turn on the injured member
Picking and pecking drawing even more blood…
Similar to stoning in the Biblical stories.
Injuries sustained cause a painful death.
Everything goes back to normal
As the next one awaits his fate.
A very bloody habit
Up the road from where I live, there is an old, abandoned house. It sits back from the road, with overgrown shrubs obscuring the windows, a sagging front porch, a rusty metal roof, and an unlocked bulkhead that leads to what surely is an unfinished basement with a dirt floor and perhaps a tight crawlspace. I know the bulkhead is unlocked because I tried it once. It squeaked open without resistance, revealing a descent into darkness. It was a descent I did not take.
The house, you see, is haunted.
Or, at least, some of the locals say it is. And I don’t doubt them. It’s flanked by mature woodlands that encroach closer and closer with each passing year. There are no nearby neighbors. Rarely have I heard the birds sing when I visit the property, as if even they, on an instinctual level, detect a sense of malice and…
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Readers, check out this wonderful post from Ghastly Travels blog!
Unlike the sprawling area covered by the Bonaventure Cemetery in Savannah, Colonial Park can be found occupying just 6 acres at the intersection of Abercorn and Oglethorpe roads. Opened in 1750, the cemetery is considered to be the oldest in Savannah that hasn’t been destroyed, covered over, or relocated. Many reports have come from […]
For more ghosts, please see https://www.amazon.com/Jan-Olandese/e/B071FK9L75
Follow the yellow brick road? No crossing! Turn left, turn right, run in circles! Put your left foot in, then take you right foot out …
Sometimes, the road signs, especially around Boston are impossible to understand, much less follow. You can make a left unless that second light under the main light is blinking yellow. Or red. And a blinking green light isn’t really green, nor is a blinking red one necessarily a stop sign. Boston is also the only town that has post scripts on parking signs.
Except on Wednesday between 4 pm and 6 pm;
Or on any day the Bruins or the Celtics are playing;
Or if there’s snow, or the street cleaners are working.
This week I was introduced to by fellow blogger Amaya to https://dversepoets.com/, a poetry group on Word Press that challenges one another to write in various poetic forms. This is all new for me, so I am giving it a try. Today they are asking us to write Jazz poetry which, I never heard of before. It is a free verse style that has a musical jazz-like quality to the rhythm to the flow. So here is my attempt. I am writing about my experience playing the guitar and singing with a group of old folks at a local nursing home each Friday. I hope you enjoy my poem. This is my painting of The Lone Bass Man that I thought would go well with my poem.
Though she cannot speak.
Hel-l l lo
But, as the music plays
Oh can she sing
Every word plain…
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