NOTE — I borrowed lines and inspiration from my 2011 poem: Skye Fyre
The SunsetGunn is loaded, the controls, in GunnMaster’s grip
calmly concentrating, he scans the horizon with careful eyes
the golden sun having made his journey, is weary from the trip
quicksilver moon will very soon, traverse the starry skies
Gaia rolls on gently, hushed in quiet space
GunnMaster has her skyline, locked squarely in his sight
Gaia pulls a veil of stars, slowly across her face
GunnMaster has a task, he needs complete before its night
he’s to set the sky ablaze, before he falls to sleep
a fiery coral-orange, twilight-blue, and crimson-red
in patterns broad and bold, in colors rich and deep
he carefully aims the SunsetGunn, and blasts it overhead
in a brilliant, blinding flash, he sets the dimming skies a’fire
in vivid hues, and lavish shades — the dusky sky ignites and burns
GunnMaster has succeeded, so for this night, he can retire
the SunriseGunn already loaded, in early morning, he returns
~ I originally published this October of 2018, again Oct. 2019, now Oct. 2022. ~ Happy Halloween
This castle is most ominous
since becoming Voivode of Wallachia
Vlad II has not followed his father’s example
no joy and celebration reverberates
through the greattooms, hallways, and towers
of this venerable old structure
it has become dark and foreboding
and rumored dangerous
even deadly
but I know they are not just rumors
there is a murderous evil dwells here
undead and otherworldly
bloodthirsty and cruel
a ruthless predator
whom I have come to slay
I must move quickly from this light
that pools incrementally
in this long
pungent
segmented hallway
there is some safety in the shadows
that linger tight
to the arch walls
so I bolt
through the full moon’s glow
that seeps silvered through the windows
I press myself
against the damp irregular surfaces
that are the stacked-stone
boundary breaks
of this eerie chiseled passage
I pause at each
listening
casting glances all ’round
this monster moves like a vapor
so what I can see
is far more important
than what I can hear
but still
I listen
this demon has servants
soul sworn to loyalty
that must move on foot
their approach I could hear
so fully alert
I employ all my senses
in my critical vigilence
stealthily I move
from archway to archway
until I reach the last
I halt
relaxing the tension
in my right hand
I carefuly open my fingers
very slightly
to close them tight again
feeling the smooth wooden shaft
of the stake I have carved
securely in my grasp
this is the weapon I’ll wield
to bring and end
to the ungodly bloodlust
of this ghastly creature
the good people here call
Dracula
as I stand here
back to the dampened wall
relief seasons my trepidation
nothing in my being
wants this dire mission
to which I am shackled
but it is only my hand
on the carved wood dagger
tightly in my sweating grip
that can bring an end
to my uncle’s unholy
reign of horror
I am the youngest male
of our cursed bloodline
so the brutal deed
falls to me
creeping ever forward
like a shade on the dank wall
I move cautiously closer
to the iron-laden
dense wood door
of his sleeping chamber
my heart pounding
my diaphram starved for breath
I feel I may pass out
but still I pursue
the evil incarnate
that lies coffin’d
in undead repose
suddenly
a noise
immediately behind me
it echoes through these catacombs
pierces my taut raw nerves
and instantly paralyzes me
trembling
I turn
no one there
hushed
I listen intently
no other sounds
save the blood
pulsing as a roar
in my ears
I begin to move
but again
I hear it
panicked
I jerk my head around
and see
in this frozen moment
my stressed mind deduces
the source of the noise
moisture
collecting on the stone ceiling
gathers overhead
into sagging condensation
it released
as a weighty droplet
splattering on the floor
just behind me
with a sharp startling slap
I relax a bit
enough to again draw
tensioned breath
several more labored
careful steps
and I place my hand
gently on the wrought handle
of the immense door
confirming the lethal dagger
quivering in my right hand
I reach
steadily as possible
into my pocket
and withdraw a strange key
I have secreted there
that allows me access
to his chamber
it is unnaturally heavy
and seems to emanate
an unearthly energy
I clutch it firmly
fearing if I lose my grip
I will lose my nerve
I guide the key
into the slot
of the ornate handle plate
seating it fully
slowly I begin to turn it
I feel the resistance
as the key’s teeth
engage with the bolt
and begin to grudgingly
draw it from its secure well
just before I have fully retracted it
I pause
my mind racing
blood pressure soaring
overcome by the magnitude
of what I am about to do
no turning back now
this must be done
and I must do it
but I am terrified
still I hesitate
attempting to gain
my much needed composure
I slow my heartbeat
steady my breathing
steel my resolve
and turn the key
its final quarter inch
the lock clicks
the handle releases
and the door unseats inwardly
this is it
fate has dealt the deck
I am both prisoner
and executioner
in this horrible game
I swing the door open
ever so gradually
eyes rapidly scanning
this vampire lair
My daughter and son surprised, I should say shocked me yesterday, revealing the name and photo of my actual birth father — and the name of my birth mother. This information was unknown to me for 74 years. In fact, I was unaware my kids were genealogy mining. I was stunned to look at the picture my son showed me of a man, heretofore unknown to me, and quite clearly and eerily see “myself” — and the unmistakable faces of my son and daughter. Joseph Lawrence Perrmann and Evelyn Tieke — my birth father and mother. I was utterly floored. Using De’s prompt, I’ve created an imagined romantic scenario of that day they met, and I was conceived as a post WWII bastard — later to be placed in a “sealed” adoption.
she is as bright as sunshine
and as beautiful as a summer day
what a most unususl place
to find such beauty
he muses to himself
as he paints her fondly
with his admiring eyes
“come here often miss”
he rolls off his lips
with a slow sly smile
“only when my laundry’s dirty”
she smiles back
with a perky snap
“what brought you in mister”
she banters jokingly
“like you, dirty laundry”
he emphasizes dirty
“you got a big load there”
she observes coyly
with a lingered downward glance
“you got a nice full basket too”
drawing ‘nice’ to a sly sssizzle
“what’s your name”
he asks, seductively
“Evelyn, what’s yours”
she flirts back
“Joe, but friends call me JL
you can just call me
whatever feels good to you, Evelyn”
he offers with an inviting smile
“can I call you Eve”
“sure, Eve is nice
what’s the L for, Joe”
“Lawrence — Joseph Lawrence Perrmann
purr, you know — like a cat”
“I’m Eve, Eve Tieke
you know, like the wood”
she says
“wa d’ya do JL,
rather, Joe”
she teasingly purrs
“I’m now a cop,
was Navy shore patrol,
I’m just back from war”
“where’s your gun officer”
she coaxs
“I keep it holstered
until I need t’use it”
he warns mockingly
“is it a big gun, Joe”
feigning wonder
“it’ll do the job Eve
you like guns”
“not usually
but I bet yours is nice”
she says breathily
they continued chatting
and flirting
while they laundered
growing more interested
and mutually attracted
just then
buzzzzz
“well, laundry’s dry Eve
wanna help each other fold”
she looks around
“these tables are awfully small”
she replies encouragingly
“I live just around the block Joe
and I have the perfect table”
“great Eve, let’s go there
and fold together
— how does that sound”
he asks suggestively
“purr-fect, Joe
I would love to fold with you”
she says directly into his eyes
“OK,
then let’s go
show me the way Eve”
they pause
their imaginations fully engaged
smiling deeply into each others eyes
“OK” Eve says warmly
body language relaxed
eyes willing
then JL turns
grabs both baskets
full of their warm laundry
and out the door they go
