poetry – Page 3

Raven’s Night (poem revisit for this Halloween Night)

October 31, 2025November 3, 2025by Stephen J Frankenberry2 Comments

Well, time to close out a week or so then, a week or so’s worth of creepy-esque things of mine leading up to this Halloween Night.

I had already planned on finishing up the week with this one but, as a true Halloween night might call and cliche for, it is actually wildly windy out there in this Albany, NY area right now, with unrelenting cold drizzly bone seeping wet, evident all day foreboding an extra blustery, chillingly dark night and most apropos too as it was a similar night I wrote about here, in this one, for the Raven just before he came to made famous.

The post explains a bit more but. simply, to write a prequel to a literary character’s story …

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January 24, 2024

So, at a newly found for me “Poet’s Pub” of a site, dVersepoets.com, I came across a post that had a prompt to write what it refers to as a poetic Quadrille, a 44 word poem (not including the title) but in this prompt it said you need include the word “pinch” in any way you saw fit.

This I did and it is the most recent post in the Attic here, “Don’t Pinch Me”.

Well, came across another poem prompt yesterday that asked that you write a prequel for a character from literature.

Write a poem that is a prequel to a particular character from a nursery rhyme, Aesop’s fable, book , mythology etc.

And the responses that I have read thus far to this prompt are so imaginative and colorful and haunting that I can’t wait to finish them all.

But for me, after running through a few possibilities in my head, I thought to Edgar Allen Poe and the Raven and of the Raven himself.

Raven’s Night

I am not dead nor demon to be read or written of

I implore you open your door

or window

shutter’s curtains

flitting

with welcome inside out air

and any manner of candlelit care

with which to let me see your floor

please

to just walk that floor

or even alight a door

that I implore

again

you

to open

outside no place for me tonight

in weary last vestige of now blustery light

that casts shadows that scare me from flight

and I don’t scare

for I am Raven

confused of crow brethren

curse-ed cousins

but stronger than they even as they crow foot in murder of friends

what they needs simple

with simple’s ends

while I seek a just solitude and to depart nights

now

tired of taking flight in dark

reputation

just a me to be me but I am scared of he me

and what I no longer want see

in the dim

even eve’s with path clear in crisp moonlight

but worse on nights like

these

this

this one

this night at hand

and I see your light

window

harks

a place maybe to land

and

I will make amends for this slight into

your solitude

For I am Raven

I can build things from sticks and stones

peck and grab and stab and stack and foot place just right

or even

build things from thoughts and words alone

to assist you

in candlelight

I just don’t want to flight

in dark

any longer

and

not this night

in most simple order

I just need walk a floor

or alight a door

allow

please

me bring inside

at least

for

this just

one night

The Scrapbook And The Man In The Black Fedora (Flash Fiction revisit for this Halloween Week)

October 29, 2025by Stephen J Frankenberry4 Comments

And continuing with revisiting a poem or a story every day this week that fit a creepy theme as we approach Halloween. This one from a Flash Fiction prompt, August of last year.

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August 12, 2024

It’s Monday and, at the dVerse Poets Pub, we are writing Prosery, the very short piece of prose or flash fiction . It can be in any genre of your choice, but it does have a limit of 144 words; an additional challenge is to hit 144 exactly. The special thing about Prosery is that we give you a complete line or two from a poem, which must be included somewhere in your story, within the 144-word limit.

The complete line or two in this case are from Leonard Cohen and his poem “Take this Waltz” with the lines being …

And I’ll bury my soul in a scrapbook,
with the photographs there and the moss

The Scrapbook And The Man In The Black Fedora

“Hey Jaimie, check this out, just found this covered in moss behind a tree”

Presents a tattered book with dead flowers pinned to it and a warning “DO NOT OPEN”

“Well, let’s see what’s in it”

“It says not to open Billy”

“C’mon, probably just a note left by the 11 year old girl who lost it. It looks like a scrapbook”

“I don’t know, it doesn’t feel right”

Billy opening the scrapbook finds it filled with photo’s of people and notations of the date/time of their deaths and scribbled inside the cover …

And I’ll bury my soul in a scrapbook,
with the photographs there and the moss

At that moment a man in a black fedora appeared.

The air stilled.

Then Billy was gone and all Jaimie caught as the fedora’d man closed the scrapbook was a quick glimpse of Billy’s picture.

Exit 21B (another poem revisit for the Halloween season)

October 27, 2025November 3, 2025by Stephen J Frankenberry4 Comments

Thought I’d spend this final week of the Halloween season revisiting some things of mine that seem to fit the mood.

When I first moved here to Schenectady, New York, a year ago August, moved in with my Sis and Nephews and some bonus cats, I was still doing a commute a couple of days a week down to the office in Beacon from up here until I could get to the point of being good with doing all my Beacon work remotely from Latham (2 plus hours on that drive by the way, so eventually getting to NOT needing to physically be in the Beacon office was huge and couldn’t come fast enough).

But there was this spot that I passed in my to an fro’s on this ride, along the NY State Thruway, what was once, surely, a vibrant, busy truck stop. It sat/sits vacant, boarded, graffitied, among all the other alive places I passed where you could grab some gas, a bit of shut-eye or maybe a bite to eat like you could here, just at another time.

A dead spot.

(August 17, 2024)

Exit 21B

It was raining dogs and devils

a night as thick as pitch

and thieves

of the day

but there was light …

Exit 21B

a promise of respite from the drive

that took so long to not quite survive

just yet

our destination

it shone, shimmered, sparkled,

harkened

Exit 21B

brighting our way

with promise

“Oh, that’s a place we could stay”

on this dark and stormy cliché

Truckers drank coffees

of known measure

two lumps or cream or straight

at a counter

ogling Mary’s offer’s weight

to refill a cup before return

to their trucks

dreaming in back bed sleep cabs

of another mug

We shook off the rain

just a wet stain

at our feet

in stilling puddles

“Do you have a room,

to escape soon now this horrid swoon

of weather?”

“Of course, just sign here Sir, Madame”

There were tables of chance

to win without even a glance

it was

easy

night was day

peasy

There were family and friends left to the wayside

justified

besides who are they

really

anyway?

We sang in bright neon lights

our day’s night might

wonder how we could have been so lucky to have lost our way

on a night dark as stark

stark as dark

to find this haven

Exit 21B

When we woke we stood to shake off the yoke

of another day’s night’s side step

then just to skip stop to our next

next stop

to the coast

but Exit 21B made us stay

We are here today

boarded up behind nailed wood windows

doors

long dead highway signs

long dead neon

long dead Mary

to fill a cup

a mug

of coffees

for trucker dreams

the coast always so far away

it seems

now

at Exit 21B

Third Eye Harvest Moon (poem revisit for the season)

October 26, 2025November 3, 2025by Stephen J Frankenberry8 Comments

Another re-post of something for this creepy season.

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October 2, 2024

In response to Merril’s “Haunted Harvest” prompt at dVerse poets.

“You can take the themes of harvest or haunted literally or use them metaphorically in any way you wish. Harvest grain, organs, fish, or emotions; imagine the grim reaper with a scythe. Write about something that haunts you, regret, a long-ago love, thoughts of someone who has died, or actual ghosts. Explore a haunted harvest”.

You may also use the painting above “The Harvest Moon” by Samuel Palmer as inspiration.

Took a little bit of both of these ideas …

Third Eye Harvest Moon

He woke in a long field itching

of tall blades and short hungry bugs

chilled but not cold wondering of from where that single pocked light

hung high

had fell

“From my third eye” said a voice

he sudden colding and chilled now

as there was no from where for a lone voice to fall

no trees above nor craggy hills distance

far called with walls

to call back

friend or foe

score or none

to settle

or even from rock tall

smoke black

altars he may have been layed upon

in the stark

back

then

You are man are you not?

I am?

Yes, you are

Then from why where do you ask?

To see if you knew

But I just woke, food for bugs in tall grass in almost dark task

save for one light

high hung

just

right

Will you rise and pay threshed tithes

under my third eye

Why?

It is that time of harvest, of tall grasses wrapped with long blades twined

tribute

in the richness of grains

… and the harvest of souls

From why where must you have mine after such riches?

Because you are the first and quench a stronger thirst

Headstone (a gothic flash fiction video short by Stephen Murray & Frankenberry)

October 22, 2025October 24, 2025by Stephen J Frankenberry3 Comments

Was talking a little while ago with good friend and co-worker, Steve, about this current spooky season, a one still more “on the way” then when we spoke and he mentioned that he wanted to build something for it, a dramatic piece of some sort, a video short, with a haunting story as well as some music, effects, images and, of course, said story that he could voice and make a cool production of.

Besides doing what we do for our jobs, radio production, he is also a working voice actor and wanted to be creative with something as he had put together such productions in the past, plus, he also wanted to add another something to his body of voice work +.

Now when it came to a possible story I noted that he had liked some things of mine that I had sent his way in the past, plus some others I had and that a number were short, quick and might just fit into what he was looking to do.

So, I re-sent the few previously seen things and also some he hadn’t and he eventually told me that he liked a flash fiction piece I had done a year or so ago courtesy of a prompt from a writing community’s website that I frequent and collaborate at quite often, dVerse Poets, everything from poetry to fictions of one sort or another, a place that I will forever be grateful that I found and even more grateful that I was welcomed with open arms when I did join in even though, in some regards, I felt like I was sort of starting from scratch, especially with poetry.

Anyway, the flash fiction piece he liked was one I called “Headstone” and was a short story of a graveyard’s groundskeeper coming across Death kneeling at a “lost” headstone that the dVerse Poets flash fiction prompt asked to include a line from Edgar Allen Poe’s “The Sleeper”

I pray to God that she may lie
Forever with unopened eye.

This then, is Steve’s production.

Cheers and well done my friend!

Cricket the Cat Poet: Stepping In Tongues And Boo Moons / Boo Blood Moon (poems)

October 8, 2025October 13, 2025by Stephen J Frankenberry6 Comments

So the latest in the way of a Quadrille prompt at dVerse Poets is this one that asks for your 44 worder, this time around to include the word “Boo”, a something for a “pre-Halloween hullabaloo”.

Now let me explain what follows.

As I was working on the beginnings of this with an eventual thought coming to mind of current everyday nightmarish “Boo’s”, Cricket, my cat, who you have met here in the Attic before (one of my two, along with Bella, though obviously Cricket the more creative one) thought to get up out of my lap and involve herself in the writing process again with her own stepped thoughts which really are as they look in the first half of this.

All I did was finish it up for her (I think she may have even been offering to help cleanse this a bit with the 8’s after reading a little on the possible significance of 8’s ) and it is still 44 “words”.

Then I got to mine.

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Cricket the Cat poet

Stepping in tongues and Boo Moons

“Boo////////////////////////////////////////////////////8/8/8/8/8/8/8/8/8’”
said the season

Off/ering to frighten

Ag/ain

But just

corn mazes for fun

and snuck kisses

A/nd Halloween h/a21?”+?”+?”+?”+?”+?”+?”+?”+?”+?”+?”+?”+?”+?”+?”+?”+?”+?”+?”+?”+?”+?”/+?”+?”+?”+?”+?”+?”+?”+?”+?”+?”+?”+?”+?”+?”+?”+?”+?”+?”+?”+?”+?”+?”+?”/+?”+?”+?”+?”+?”+?”+?”+
/rmless haunts

But nothing frightens more this season

than

blind mice

and orange taunts

even keyboard cats stepping in tongues

with questions

can’t relieve

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Boo Blood Moon

“Boo!” said the season

offering to frighten

you

again

but

just with corn mazes and snuck kisses for fun

and Halloween housed harmless runs

but nothing to frighten more this season

than orange warning’s

bellows of demise

with a blood orange Moon to rise

Nero Fiddles Anew (poem)

September 27, 2025October 4, 2025by Stephen J Frankenberry8 Comments

Thought I would riff and stream a little amid this never ending current cluster we are mired in, tired in of never ending sleepless angers …

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Nero Fiddles Anew

Nero fiddles anew

tunes

a world askew

away from what is, was true

while strings snap

with twings and pings and discordant pops

like gunshots

and rings of liar

under a bow on fire

scratch across what was left

of body violin

once beautiful

vibrant

tune filled

a sin not to

appreciate full

the song I sing

instead

direct

song if tell

song if I tell

song if I fell you

otherwise

no correcting what

is played

askew

anew

askew new to you

Now

I am the new

found

glorious song

sung untrue all such

right the wrongs

from what allowed

perceived

once

now hallowed

blessed

crutch

I will relieve you of

old

past you’ll be glad you didn’t knew

once

relieve you of that limp

of truth

and history

to walk straight

now

step step step in dark

heavy heeled time

never too late

or will berate

till end days

just breathe with me instead

solidarity

in hate’s new stead

I am new Christian

new god

everyone else late

to the sustain

of me

and party

of me

Don’t mind the flames

A Petal’s Grace (poem)

September 23, 2025September 30, 2025by Stephen J Frankenberry8 Comments

A new Quadrille prompt at dVerse Poets this week, this one from Lillian, a 44 word poem, not counting the title, that is to include one word directed in the prompt.

Lillian’s word?

“Petal”

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A Petal’s Grace

Sitting alone outside the Market

he counts people

not known

together with those gone

in slow

hurries

from one stand

one world

to another

a young girl

holding her mother’s hand

pauses and smiles him

a petal

from the rose held under her balloon

The Failed Painter (poem)

September 9, 2025September 9, 2025by Stephen J Frankenberry6 Comments

New quadrille prompt this week at dVerse Poets from De Jackson (WhimsyGizmo) and the word to include for this latest 44 word dVerse special?

“Much”

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The Failed Painter

I amended you the canvas

that one proving

again

I am no painter

no artist

not even willing walls

of new heart’s homes

edging tape, drop cloths

always

balled, tossed

but it needed

not much

just subtle signature

later

like forger or vandal

again

A Grimm’s New Tale (poem)

September 6, 2025September 7, 2025by Stephen J Frankenberry8 Comments

From Bjorn at dVerse Poets, a Cinquain, a short poem based on syllable count, a five-line poem with a count of 2-4-6-8-2, “but there are plenty of variations”

“You may use this form as a single stanza, you may reverse and/or or do it as a mirror”

So I thought to that, to stack some, four mirrored Cinquains together into one piece.

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A Grimm’s New Tale

In dream

of dire dark wood

I stumbled, there you stood

I’d been warned stray not to dark’s could

in hood

you stood

shushing me, pointing at a wolf

of kind in his own hood