Unerringly she always knows
when I need a hug.
Or a friend to sit calmly by.
Never does she judge.

I hold her here within these arms,
when the sadness calls.
Lays her head upon my shoulder,
as my tears do fall.

With her overflowing patience,
she accompanies me.
In public, as to seem normal,
not reclusively.

She alerts me unobtrusive,
when fear overtakes.
A gentle touch and eye contact,
tells me I am safe.

Embodiment of humanity,
this hero of mine.
She gives to me daily,
healing over time.

Although she isn't human,
she has done wonders.
Emotional Support Animal,
I couldn't "Live" without her.

Murdered emotions sink deeper into oblivion.  Held captive in a tortured husk of defeat.  Their
shadows wait patiently for my last fetid breath.  Then they may be released.  For suicide is
close to me.  A silken whisper that glides among my thoughts.  A tiny shard with backwards
barbs, which rip the soul upon trying to evict it.  A deceitful promise of forgiven slumber, within
a pool of blood.  A quiet idea upon which I sit.  Icy tears chafe the skin of a hollow shell.  
Leaving acrid scars, seen in my mirror.  My eyes behold my Hell.

Though the words, you have rarely spoken.
                            You present unexpected tokens.

     With my kiss, your intent percepted.
                            Your apology is accepted.

If, entrusted were I, with a magical purse,
one that held what was needed, but not monies curse.
One that neither bulged, nor would ever be empty,
so when I reached down within, there I'd find plenty.

A handful of tolerance, I would pull each day,
to pass out to those in need, I met along the way.
I would take a fist full of hope, to toss aloft.
Scatter it among the throng, letting it land soft.

I would enter into the turf of gangs and their wars.
Trading peace for their guns, so they would **** no more.
I would go to Washington, there I would invest,
two handfuls of honesty, perhaps ten, would be best.

Charity, I would share, with those who live large.
Help them to give some away, so no one need starve.
I could change so many things and alter many lives.
But, I could also do harm and make so many cry.

As it is so easy, to think one self's above,
to take control of lives, forgetting about love.
So for myself, I'd take a bit to keep myself humble.
So that I and my purse, never, ever stumble

Courtship walks a perilous rope,
seduction and proposal.
The Rake that alludes to chivalry,
balances the act with sin.

Coincidental meetings.
At gatherings of their peers.
A dance asked with gallantry,
speculations run wild.

Carriage rides alone at night,
curtains pulled over windows.
No destination in mind,
except what the Lady allows.

And so the game has begun.
Take what is given, give nothing back.
Promise the moon, deliver promises.
Yet, the hazards of the heart rule.

Now, captivated by charms.
Caught unaware by hearts pull,
the Rogue must bow his head.
Concede to beauty and destiny

Flesh is known ephemeral
                 From birth, past death, does decay
                                         Within the wind, our essence



                 The energy which binds our molecules
                 exists in the past, present and future

Sung to the tune of:
I'll Be Home For Christmas


Oh, I got fudge for Christmas,
from my daughter-in-law.
I whined and begged,
til I got my way,
and I'm not sharing it.

Ooooh, Thanks for the fudge for Christmas,
I will repay this deed.
It was suppose to be homemade,
but she bought it all from See's.

oooooh, I got fudge for Christmas,
and you can count on this.
By the time, I eat it all,
it will be on my hips.

Oooooh, I got fudge for Chriiiiiissssstmaaaasssss
I'll be seeing it in my Dreeeamms.


Dedicated to Tammy,
My Daughter-in law.

It was his birthday, his fourtyninth year,
sat at his computer, he hadn't a clue.
Our son placed her on his chest without fear,
but, his big hands, didn't know what to do.
She looked up at him, with eyes dark and clear.
He fumbled to hold her, his discomfort grew.
She gave a big yawn, then gave a small belch.
I could see, that his smile, he tried to squelch.

He turned his attention then to our son,
who pointed at me, trying to shift blame.
Said, "Maybe you'll tell me just what you've done!"
"Happy Birthday" we cried, playing the game.
She then licked his thumb, with her pink tongue,
He tried to look stern, but his heart she did tame.
With her tiny black nose, she gave a shove
and just like that, he was in puppy love.


**Authors note:  This little 1/2 pound Chihuahua
melted his heart and let him love
a dog once more.  Not since our Siberian Husky
died over 8 years ago, had he even looked
at another dog.  "Precious" allowed him to love anew
without fear of a broken heart once again.

When we err, it is of human design.
Words spoken unhindered, without forethought,
deeds are done, not meaning to undermine.
Are we that perfect that we err not?

Yet still, our honor, is then redefined.
To offer forgiveness, true from aloft,
it is two souls you have realigned.
Are we that perfect that we err not?

Bringing closure to all those thus entwined.
Not just the transgressor, relieved of a black spot,
you placed yourself on the side of divine.
Are we that perfect that we err not?

They say the eyes are the window to the soul,
peering upon our inner being, as it were.
Upon my deep reflection, my breath it stole,
as there, within, my true self was captured.

Peering upon our inner being, as it were,
affords one, the chance, to see yourself in truth.
As there, within my true self, was captured.
I could offer no defense, against the truth.

Affords one, the chance to see yourself.  In truth,
it reveals all the lies I have lived under.
I could offer, no defense, against the proof.
No longer can I live my life with blinders.

It reveals all the lies I have lived under,
stripping away the mask I show the world.
No longer can I live my life with blinders.
I will show what lies behind these eyes of emerald.

Stripping away the mask, I show the world,
upon my deep reflection, my breath it stole.
No longer can I live my life with blinders.
They say the eyes are the window to the soul.
________

Note  Depression forces one to don the mask
of normalcy.  For the world makes you feel tainted
when you admit and show yourself, as you are now.

Silver Angels, with golden wings,                           *    
           *         wrapped in tissue, with other things.     *     *

Stockings, hand knit, by my Grandmother,
    *      *       folded neatly away, one atop the other.
        *

Favorite ornaments, growing old and brittle,                         *   *
                    that were hung, each year, when I was little.  *       *

A faded Nutcracker, that by the door, stood guard.
   *    *          A lighted Santa, that would always grace our yard.
     *

All, left alone, in the attic this year.                              *   *
                   To look upon them, only brings dry tears.  *    *

The very act, just...takes away my breath.
  *     *         There is no joy.  In fact, there's nothing left.
       *

There will be no twinkle lights on the mantle.                      *  *
                    No evergreens, fragrant and ornamental.   *    *

The radio will be silent, the baking oven cold.
  *   *           No Holiday spirit, in my heart can I hold.
    *

Just this deep, defeated feel.                                           *   *
                   A sadness that invaded, refusing to heal.   *   *

Grandchildren will call, their excitement clear.
   *    *                   In their hearts, they hold the Holiday cheer.
      *

I'll have my mask, firmly in place.                                             *   *
                   I'll answer and question them all, with false grace.  *      *

Then as I hang up the phone on the wall,
      *          I'll turn away, as though nothing happened at all.
   *

Seeing these things, listed here, in print.                                *   *
                   Just leaves me numb.  No emotions were spent.   *    *

So, I will continue, in this life that I live.
   *     *        Like a dried Christmas tree, with nothing left to give.
      

Cascading blooms on twisted vines,
wrap round the old lamp pole.
Reaching out to the night time sky,
to bare their petaled souls.
The lamp globe casts an ethereal glow,
through frosted, crackled glass.
The night moths flutter round the light,
perform a frenzied dance.

As clustered flowers drape the pole,
in a fragrant gown.
New, slender vines, twine bout the top,
like a leafy crown.
light winds caress the dew dropped blooms,
send their scent aloft.
Droplets, shimmer, as tiny jewels,
kiss, petals soft.

Blooms by day are as a rainbow,
arching against the sky.
By night, the shadows mix with hues,
baffling prying eyes.

Just as a boy grows into teenager,
he is bound, to one day, grow into man.
I think it's when he is just five years old,
he becomes a demolition fan.

At that juncture, it's all about the tools.
To dismantle what works perfectly well.
They may begin plastic at the start,
but it triggers something in their cells.

A teenager will start with something small,
a lawnmower, dirt bike, then on to cars.
Then as he ages and gains life experience,
the quest for tools is written in the stars.

It starts with a simple set of wrenches.
Then moves on to socket sets and ratchet.
Not just ASE, they need metric as well.
A tool store is a veritable banquet.

Metal worker, wood crafter, mechanic,
Plumber a welder and electrician.
Wrapped up in a testosterone package,
needing a new tool for the next mission.

Watch as his eye light, when reaching for a tool,
that's new to the market, sitting on display.
It's no longer about simple fun in an old cardboard box.
It will be tools from now till his dying day.

Their hobby horse carved from wood.
Upon metal frame and bouncy springs.
Kept our boys on the trail of good.
Rounding up outlaws and wild things.

Hot wheel cars and yards of plastic track,
racing from living room to kitchen.
They'd chase after their cars, then run back,
over and over, I should mention...

Tonka trucks and a pile of sand,
under the pear tree in our back yard.
Each one operated by little hands.
To get the boys outside, was never hard.

Forts made from sheets hung on the clothes line,
or in their bedroom if it would rain.
Turned an adventure out of lunchtime,
or "Boys Only" club when the girls came.

Blocks of wood cut different sizes and shapes,
dumped out onto their bedroom floor.
Became odd alien landscapes,
strewn from bunk beds to closet door.

Just an old ratty cardboard box.
Dented pan lid for a steering wheel.
No need for stereo or remote door locks,
as their first car, it was a steal.

So much fun, no batteries needed.
No computer generation.
Active minds cleverly seeded,
by two boys and their imagination.

The breath of life, in a poem,                  
                     comes with the first stroke of your pen.
      
Your heart and soul poured into it,
                     ink, the blood that flows within.

Imagery, becomes sinuous,
                     entwined with rhythm flowing.

Singing amongst your memories,
                     your emotions, overflowing.

Taking form, molded by your hand,
                     into an image on the page.

With depth of vision, to be shared,
                     spotlighted on the stage.

To be spoken and proudly shown,
                     or kept for your own collection.

Individual, unique art,
                     ones own personal reflection.

An echo of your breath,
softly sets upon my ear.
Lays within my very depths,
resonant words I can hear.

Softly, sets upon my ear,
the lyrics of our souls tune.
Resonant, words I can hear,
heartbeats join the gentle croon.

The lyrics of our souls tune,
sings of velvet bonds that bind.
Heartbeats join the gentle croon,
of a love that transcends time.

Sings, of velvet bonds that bind,
the essence of what we share.
Of a love that transcends time,
life has nothing to compare.

The essence of what we share,
lays within my very depths.
Life has nothing to compare,
an echo of your breath

So rare a soul, I found in you.
Grandpa, Dad.  To me you were both.
Salt of the earth, by those who knew,
you stood by your friends and your oaths.

My North Star, guiding my morals,
of fears, you were there to console.
Taught me life is color neutral.
Encouraged me to reach my goals.

Your heart, as big as all outdoors,
helping anybody in need.
Gave me the nudge, to learn to soar.
Your examples, planted the seeds.

Your one in a million, to me.
This world is less now, with you gone.
Of your counsel, I do still heed,
"Don't do it, if you think it's wrong."

With cooler nights and soft warm days.
quilts for the beds, days breeze welcome.
We say goodbye to summer's blaze.
Gold, orange and red are my Chrysanthemums,
as fall doggedly leaves the desert kingdom.

Soon will be gone, the light weight jackets.
Leaves, will finally, dance from the trees.
Goodbye to all the Farmer's Markets.
While I warm my hands round a cup of hot tea,
powdered sugar snow, in the hills I see.

The bird bath has a coat of ice,
small creatures go off and hibernate.
My home is redolent with baking spice,
red berries in the bushes, so ornate.
It's Winters time to dominate.

Cascading blooms on twisted vines,
wrap round the old lamp pole.
Reaching out to the night time sky,
to bare their petaled souls.
The lamp globe casts an ethereal glow,
through frosted, crackled glass.
The night moths flutter round the light,
perform a frenzied dance.

As clustered flowers drape the pole,
in a fragrant gown.
New, slender vines, twine bout the top,
like a leafy crown.
light winds caress the dew dropped blooms,
send their scent aloft.
Droplets, shimmer, as tiny jewels,
kiss, petals soft.

Blooms by day are as a rainbow,
arching against the sky.
By night, the shadows mix with hues,
baffling prying eyes.

I am a pandora's box.

Let loose upon an unsuspecting society.
Once my night life begins,
complications arise.

Let me pen an example.
Keep in mind, it was not my fault.
well, not entirely.

I awoke in my usual good humor.  
I dressed with my usual care.
I gave more than adequate time to
the choice of parties to crash.
I fed Crystal.  Picked up her toys; dead mice and a human ear she had gathered from some unsavory alleyway. Kissed her upon her flea ridden cantankerous little head.

Then I stepped outside of my crypt.

Pandemonium ensued!

Young lads running hither and yon.
Screaming!  ****** functions letting loose.
Not mine, I should add.

You see, it was all quite innocent.
Upon my stepping into the moonlight, one of the young bucks, at that exact same time, jumped out from behind the bushes.  Which flank my lair.

He had on the most ghastly costume.
Red cape.  Black tie and tails.  Fake fangs!  
Fake blood dripping from whitened lips.

I may have over reacted....a tad.
My preternatural instincts erupted.
I saw, briefly mind you, a rival in my territory.
I went from the Gentleman of night time adventures, to my full Monstrous glory, in the blink of an eye.

I dropped six inches of battle fang.  I bulked up to three times my normal, quite muscular, size.
Ruining yet another splendid jacket.  
Oh, what to tell my tailor?

There you have it!
Young men, out and about, on an All Hallow Eve's lark.
Running about as if the Devil himself were after them.

When it was only I.


~Lord Kellington


I hope you have enjoyed our little journey with Lord Kellington.  In what must be just a snippet of his long lived life.  
I grew to love his wit, his charm, his devil may care attitude and his kitten..Crystal.
But, the time has come.
I now close the cover on this dusty Tome, to place it, reverently, upon my bookshelf.  Maybe, on a stormy, wind swept night, I may take it down, to open it once again.
Or perhaps, Lord Kellington, is at this very moment searching for his lost Diaries.  To save them from prying eyes, such as ours.  Wanting to **** all who now know his secret.
He could be in your home right now.
Hear that sound?  It wasn't a floor board, nor the house settling.  Nor the wind.
As you are now engrossed with your reading of my warning, he could be standing behind you....right now.
Reaching out with hands like claws.  Fangs, ready to rip out your throat...
                    LOOK OUT!!

Happy Halloween  
Bwwwwwaaahahahahahaa

Being that I am a philosophical being.  I find myself pondering many unique thoughts, as I sit and stare off at the night time sky.

Earlier, I dined upon a sweet, young flower seller, down at the Square.  She wore a shawl about her shoulders ,that were stooping too soon on someone so young.  As though the weight of all her thoughts, rested upon her delicate shoulders.  Well, she has no need to worry now.  After I sampled her blood, I slipped a thousand Pounds into her skirt pocket.  It always does good for a shepard to tend his flock.  

Ah yes!  Pondering thoughts.

I wonder what would happen, if  were to awake to be mortal once more?
What if I were to conceive an allergy to blood?
Maybe I should allow myself to fancy myself in love and marry?
What if I were to enter a church in all my monstrous glory?  What fun!
Or, what if I was no longer welcomed by Polite Society?
What if my tailor quit!?
Or say, if I were to reach out to you, the reader of my night time missives, right now.  Grab you 'bout the throat and drink deep?  Ha!

But, what nonsense I ponder and write of.
For I will always be welcomed among Polite Society.  I am far too charming not to be.
My tailor, although routinely vexed with me for the late night hours I employ his services, would never quit me.  I pay his exorbinate fees without qualms.
The rest of my meanderings. Ha!  I fear not a one.

But, the mere thought of Crystal having kittens herself....GADS!

~Lord Kellington

I had gone looking for trouble.
I found it.
I had awoke in a sour mood.  Very unlike myself at all.  I am usually, always in good cheer.
Almost, always.
I was spoiling for a fight.
The need radiated from me.
Even Crystal could sense the difference in my demeanor.  
The flea bitten, sweet, craven coward.
After donning my new Peacock blue cloak, with the black pipping and carrying my gold tipped, lions head walking stick. I left straight away.
I walked for miles.  Ending up in the seediest part of the city.  The Docks.  
I aimlessly wandered the filth strewn, cobbled streets.
Passing many an Ale House.  
Finally, my preternatural hearing found the sounds of a fight.
Why, it was an all out riot.
Off I flew to join in.
Fists flying.  Daggers plunging.  Walking stick cracking skulls.  (that would be me)
What fun!
I held back from using my immortal strength.  I wanted to feel each time my fist met flesh.   To have to Pick teeth out of my knuckles.
One chap actually caught me a rather right smart jab to my chiseled chin.
Exhausted, the men crumpled to a heap.
Only I remained standing....and the fifteen or so Policemen watching the fray from a respectable distance.
I have always prided myself on being a law abiding, upstanding citizen.  As it were.
So, when they started gathering up everyone and loading them into the Jail Wagon.  I went along, as a lark.
What a buffet!
By the time we reached Central Station, I had sipped upon many a fine blood.
When the Police opened the rear doors of the wagon, I jumped down to the ground, tipped my hat to them and simply (to his eyes) vanished.
Preternatural speed can be so amusing, when used correctly.
By now, my description will be bandied about.  A well dressed gentleman ghost.  A polite wraith.  A handsome demon.  
I like that.  A Handsome Demon...very apt.
I am in a much better spirit now.


~Lord Kellington

There's a party going on upstairs,
your invited, to come and have a scare.
H.G. Wells, will meet you at the gate,
costumes required, hurry don't be late.

Vincent Price will be tonights D.J.
Halloween is his favorite Holiday.
He's spinning "Thriller", while dressed up as "Kiss".
Watching Claude Rains do the "Transylvania Twist".

Steve McQueen came dressed up as the "Blob",
he's serving up the zombie shish-ka-bobs.
Elsa Lanchester placed real bats within her hair.
While Marty Feldom keeps yelling "Frau Blucher".

At the stroke of the witching hour,
St. Peter amps up all the power.
A disco ball drops down from a cloud.
Out on the dance floor, forms a massive crowd.

Michael Jackson then leads them all in dance,
while Lon Chaney and Karloff take their chance,
to join the angels in harmony,
While "Monster Mash" is sang by Lugosi.

Even the Devil made it through the door.
He's the one sporting an Elvis pompadour.
So much fun is had by one and all,
at Heavens Annual Halloween Ball

Crystal is once again, up the draperies.
She has a veritable path of claw marks
leading from the floor to the curtain staff.

I have decided to ignore her when she does this.
But, as she is lurking behind me, atop the draperies, it is not an easy task.
At any moment, I expect her to pounce.
Ah!  Like father, like daughter.... in a sense.

I realized tonight that I excel at being a Vampire.
never a drop goes to waste.
Never a witness spies me.  Not one that lives, that is.
Never do I go hungry.
Never am I bored, or boring.

Why only earlier this night, I went to the Ballet.
A spritely tune was played by the orchestra, while dancers ran hither and yon upon the stage.
I was dressed all in black.
Bland I know.  But "Society" demands somber dress
at the oddest occasions.

I have my own box, from which I enjoy my privacy, while enjoying the entertainment.
Oh, not the entertainment on the stage.
The entertainment of playing the gallant host to my next meal.

I wine and dine them.
Regale them with lively anticdotes.
laugh at the right moments.
Look regretful, when called for.
Show shock, when due.
Outrage, when warranted.

In the end, they leave my box and my company, none the wiser.
mayhap a bit wan and listless.
But, always grateful for a lovely evening.
They always blame their condition on the wine.
Ha!


~Lord Kellington

We sat at the table, waiting for our number to be called.
Their pepperoni pizza, was our most favorite one of all.

Our number is announced, George is carrying the pizza back.
When close, he decides to act, as though he  trips in his tracks.

In slow motion, that pizza, slid so smoothly out of the pan.
George's eyes got big as saucers, he saw the folly of his plan.

There I was in my new outfit, that cost half of my paycheck.
With pizza, upside down on my lap and sauce splashed on my neck.

Amazingly calm, George scooped the pizza up in his hands.
Melted cheese, stretching and stringing, from my pants in gooey strands.

He stood there patting and pressing the pizza back into shape.
That poor pizza looked just like a badly, bulldozered landscape.

It lay there sort of twisted, pepperoni all to one side.
Crust pieces stinking out of it, like a saucy red mudslide.

Then he sat down across from me, silently as if waiting.
I must have looked like a blonde fish, sitting there, just gapping.

Then a chuckle escaped my lips, as his eyes raised to meet mine.
He looked just like a little boy, who just got caught in a crime.

I'm surprised we didn't get kicked out for making such a fuss.
'Cause, next thing you know, the whole place is laughing along with us.

We couldn't stop, there was no way we'd been able.
Not while upsidedown-lap pizza, stared at us from the table

I hold in my hand, a human heart.
A mortal heart.
A dead heart.

Yet, for the briefest of instances, I felt it beat.
That expansion of life.  The thump, that is music to my ears.
He put up quite a fight.
his will was strong.  I had to exert more than a mere thought of will upon his mind.
I had to concentrate as never before.
He was a new experience for me.
It vexed me.

He laughed at me in the end.  
Even as his own life's blood, filled my mouth and flowed down my throat.
Even as his heart slowed, he laughed.
He did not laugh when he saw his own heart in front of his cold dead eyes.

I will keep this heart to remind myself of my struggle with a strong will.  So as not to become to sure of myself and my prowess.  But, I did win.

A paper weight.   Or I could rest my quill within it, like a pin cushion.
It looks rather nice upon my desk.

~Lord Kellington

I awoke early this evening,
Just as I had planned.
I wanted to see a sunset.
I wanted....to feel.

As I sit and contemplate
the blisters upon my hand,
I realize the truth.
That ****** hurt!

What was I thinking?
What was I wanting?
What did I expect?
Why did I even seek the sun?

Am I wanting true death?
I don't think so.
Have I outlived my usefullness?
Perish the thought.

I must chalk it up to my love of beauty.
My love of all things mystery to me.
I know my tailor sews my clothes,
but how he comes up with the designs,
is a mystery.

I know my cat is hidding mice
within my lair.  I can smell them, hear them.
This is a mystery as to why she does so.

My latest cloak is mystery itself.
So dark an indigo, as to be night.
The lining so dark a red, as to be blood.
With pockets of every shape and size
sewn within.  Each pocket lined with
butter soft leather.  
There are even places to obscure the presence of a knife.

I have decided it will be my new Mourning cloak.
Worn when dining.  Perhaps a small souvenir tucked here and there within those lovely pockets.
No!  That I will never do.  There are rules and etiquette to be followed.

Ah, the moon shines now upon my desk.
The clock is ticking.  My night time
fun ends quickly.

A last stroke of the quill.  A last kiss upon a mangy, rat smelling head of crystal
and I am off.

~Lord Kellington

Once upon a time....

When the darkness came to greet me at my door,
I would simply answer "She doesn't live here anymore".
And when the darkness prowled around my house to spy,
Why, I would simply walk right up and spit into it's eye.
Should the darkness have followed me from store to restaurant,
I'd have engaged it in conversation and asked it want it wants.
If that pesky darkness had sneaked up while I was eating chocolate,
Well, then it had to run, before I kicked it in the nuts.

But now in present day....

Should the darkness come and descend at times like these,
I am sorely tempted to embrace it, beg on my knees,
Don't wait until I sleep and dream to steal me away.
I am at times willing, even in the bright of day.
Send out your tendrils, envelop me as a blanket would,
and I will snuggle deeper still, If only I could.
But yet a spark of Once upon a time, stubbornly remains,
Just enough, on days like these, to keep me this side of sane.

Roses from his garden,
grace the bedside table.
Resting there just in case,
her situation becomes stable.
He holds her hand, gently speaks,
of things he's done that day.
A tear drop slips down his wrinkled cheek,
afraid she'll stay this way.

A petal drops from a bloom,
as her breathing alters.
Buzzers sound, nurses rush,
her situation alters.
He stands aside, as they work,
the roses in his arms.
Suddenly there is too much silence,
as a nurse turns off the alarms.

Roses from his own garden,
sit in a green plastic vase.
Above the marker that bears her name,
as sunsets on his face.
He's told her that his work is done,
and soon he would be coming home.
As daylight wanes he shuffles off,
to die at home alone.

A petal drops from a bloom,
as he turns to leave.
He bends down to pick it up,
and tumbles to his knees.
He reaches out to the roses,
his heart, it stops a moment too soon.
Before he can pick her out a rose,
as a petal drops from a bloom.

Crystal, my flea bitten nuisance of a kitten, brought me a little token of affection tonight.
I deplore mice.
Even dead ones.
Filthy buggers.

But, there sat Crystal.  Mouse at her feet, mewing at me.  As if to say
"See, I love you, even if you are a blood lusting monster of the dark."

I admit, she only mewed once.  But I am certain, that is what she meant.

So as not to hurt her feelings, I donned on of my least favorite pairs of gloves and picked the rancid vermin up.
But I drew the line of pretending to eat it!

I must remember to burn those gloves.

Odd.  The candle on my desk sputters.  There is a breeze.  Although the door to my lair was tightly shut.
There is only on other way in or out.  That would be the  small tunnel I dug for Crystal.  So that she may come and go as she pleases.
Ah.  But here rests my cantankerous little fiend upon my lap.  
The breeze brings with it a scent.  One I know all to well.  
Blood.
My lair has been breeched.
Time to hunt.

~Lord Kellington

I now know why the Willow weeps
A tragedy of love it's memory keeps
For once a young man and a young maid
On tender grass beneath branches lay
Though pledged by birth to another
From clans they hid to be together
Thus the gentle Willow was their choice
Meeting beneath, till love they could voice
The Willow held these secret lovers dear
So would lower it's boughs when they drew near
Then tucked away in the Willow's womb
Could lay as one, yet this love was doomed
For jealousy lurked within the Pines
Spying the lovers thus entwined
Behind their curtain of slender limbs
He swore the maiden would yet be his
And so it came to pass one day
As the maiden softly maid her way
To their Willow deep within the glen
She saw the branches did already bend
Timidly as she did draw near
A sound of sorrow met her ears
Parting Willow branches to look within
A dampness did touch upon her skin
The Willow was shedding sap laden tears
For the young man in death was near
It was an arrow that had been used
A potent poison it's head infused
The maiden now blind with grieving mist
Removed the arrow, held it clenched in her fist
Whilst cradling his head he drew his last breath
She did plunge the arrow into her breast
And so it is that this is told
The Willow's grief could not be consoled
For unable to stop what had befell
The young love it had hid so well
With it's will broken as the lovers lay dead
The Willow, it's branches, never again spread
And because it is the memory it keeps
it is to this day that the Willows weep



Featured Poem on Poetry Soup, April 4, 2010

I am a monster.

I could be nothing less.

I murdered for three nights.

I glutted on the blood of my victims.  Their throats torn away in my need.  Bodies left strewn in the gutters, alleyways and back rooms of the brothels.

Young or old.  As long as their souls were black and evil....I fed.

I cared not for their pleas.  As I did not enthrall them.  Their screams and fear sweetened the wine.  

I am covered in their gore.   Head to toe, I reek of the rotted stench.  

I have no idea the count.  Only the recollection of freedom!  I reveled in my glory and monstrosity.  I was overcome with the very nature of my being.  I was intoxicated by the moon and the mortal beasts needs.

Yet,  I sit here, quill in hand.  Waiting impatiently for the next full moon.

~Lord Kellington

I thirst!
I Hunger!
It gnaws at me.
Pulls at me, my mind is on fire.
Through my window, I see now that the moon will soon be full.  A day or two at the most to wait.

Then will come the beasts.  The mortal men who prowl amid their madness.  Growling, baying, ripping, shredding.

I am connected to them through their blood lust.  I feel their need.  It doubles my own.

My clothes chafe.  
My skin crawls.
I need to ****.
Not hunt....****!

Yet something hold me back.  Keeping me captive in my lair.  It will not allow me to purge this keening need.
It keeps me waiting, the need to **** growing.  It is ecstasy in it's pain.

I have shut Crystal out.  I am not in control of my senses.  She smells now of food.  I will not!

Two more days at the most.
Then I feast!

~Lord Kellington

Tonight is for reflection.
Not the kind found in a mirror.  
Which of course I have none.  Mores the pity.  I would love to see how splendid I look in my new shirt with French lace and ruffles.  Under my sapphire blue waist coat and buckskin riding breeches.  All I can clearly see full of, would be my boots.  The softest leather and a shine to see ones reflection in.  Sigh, But not mine.

Where was I.. Ah yes,  I was waxing philosophical.
One can never be too busy to better ones self.  Thus
my new clothes.

Let's see...reflection.  

While looking back upon my long lived life as the Prince Of Darkness.  I realize, I have been selfish.  Not
once have I invited others to my humble home.  Not once have I hosted a party.  Not once have I allowed others to witness my grandeur.  

Tonight, I vow to remedy that.  I will have a party.  One to outdo all the others which I have had the privilege to crash.  

Hmm.  Perhaps I should start a bit smaller.
A dinner party!
For the intimates of intimates.

Let me see.  Who to invite?

Reginald Wadsworth!  He's a jolly chap.  No.  He was a late night snack a few days ago.

Hortense Mayweather!  She is always in good humor and a fair conversationalist.  No.  She had the misfortune of crossing my path last month while I was woozy from battle blood loss.  A fight with a tresspasser left me a bit worse for wear.  But Hortence fixed me right up.

I've got it!  General Clayston!  He makes for such a fun curmudgeon.  Oh,  He died of old age.

Hmm........

Oh look!  The Carlstayton's are hosting a party tonight.

Looks like I will be dining out.

~Lord Kellington

Oh, the fine attire.  
Women in low cut, grand gowns.
Men in their finest plumage.
Strutting Peacocks, aiming to draw attention.

I wore tails of silk, with fine brocade work as the trim, down the sleek lapels.  I dressed entirely in black.  From head to toe.

I looked splendid!
I stood out from the Peacocks, as a Raven would
stand out among Doves.
Cunning as a Raven too.  She had not one suspicion.

I was at my best.
Charming, witty, a mystery.  Women fall for that.

I slowly, cunningly stalk my prey.  A vision in gold.
I danced with her.  Her gold, a perfect foil to my black.
I charmed her sweetly.  I maneuvered her easily.

I had previous, had the chance to find the spot,
where she would become mine.  Such a pretty throat.  One that I will drown within.

Once outside, hidden, strategically from all eyes, I began my "dance".
I gaze down into her eyes.  Her precious heart begins to race.  I can feel her blood.  It calls to me with it's song.
A song of need.
Her breaths slowed and deepened.  Her eyes remained locked with mine.

I let her see then, the glory of what I am.  She wanted to scream.  But, I had control now.  

My incisors grew.  Their points very sharp indeed.  My muscles bulked.  I ruined my fine new coat.  Split the shoulder seams right out.


I toyed with her.  I kiss her lips so gently.  She trembled for me.  I tried to hold back, wanting to prolong her fear.

Blood lust is, what is.  I could smell her rich, thick blood.  I wanted it all.  I wanted to bathe in it.  Feel it glide over my skin.

My fangs sank deep.  Drawing up the precious blood.  Elixir of life.
As I fed, I heard her heart slowing with each draw I took.  

And just before death could claim her, I released her from her thrall, to scream.  It was the last sound I heard as the men came running.  I took my leave.

I am a monster.
I do it well and I love it so.
Soon the sun shall rise again.
I will sleep as the dead.


~Lord Kellington

Passion through years does grow anew,
when tangled, are emotions, soft.
Respect is held, with trust, aloft.
Seeing more beyond, to value.

Your eyes held mine, that's how I knew,
what became of the years that fly.
They were stepping stones , as whereby,
our years together, passion grew.

Mere words can not give justice to,
the joy in our life's adventures.
From that first kiss when love matures.
George, you are my passion renewed.

A sweeping staircase is her stage.
mahogany and marble.
Dressed to thrill, a fashion plate,
your heart she will ensnarl.

Each step she takes is calculated,
to keep your eyes upon her.
With waistline tight and neckline low,
accentuating the lure.

Her dress does slip, down behind her,
like a river, flowing red.
A sultry pout worn on her lips,
her eyes, promising her bed.

Perfection, there, before you now.
Yet, there stands an obstacle.
There's no chance, for she is just an
airbrushed, magazine model.

I have named it.

The kittens name is....Crystal.
It is an apt name, seeing as
she felt compelled to break
my crystal goblet.

The very one I "drink" from
on the occasions when someone
tries to break in.

One must see to use manners
when one is in his own home.

Crystal has not one.  
She has already used my coffin
as an outhouse.
We are working stridently on
that particular issue.

Last nights hunt was....well,
boring, to say the least.  I was
distracted.  My thoughts were of
home and what Crystal was doing now.

I need to take time.  
Feel the flavor of the hunt.  
Feel my preys fear.  
Or it is like drinking Ale,
instead of a rare wine.

Both will get you there.  
But, as I alwyas say,
One must always choose style.  It is
what separates us from...well,
uncouth mortals and such.

I am not a snob.
I may be pure evil, true.
But, I do have standards.
Few that they may be.

I believe I am fit now.
Tomorrows nights hunt will be
one of the most fun.
I am going to a party.

One I must crash, of course.


~Lord Kellington

I waited in one of the cities dark and dangerous alleyways.  The vile odors.  The Gads knows what forming puddles around my best leather boots.  The ones with the shine to blind the eye.

There she was.  A common strumpet.  Drunkenly making her way towards me.  Jingling her purse of meager coins.

Blood money.

Obtained by logging men on the heads whilst they took their fill of her.  Only to have her sell them to sea Captain's that do not ask questions of where their crew came from.  Or whether they were willing.

I could feel the evil in the air about her.  I heard her heart beat and felt her blood pulse.

She was delicious.

Not a drop wasted.  

As I sit here, the thought comes to me, that I shall
be ******.

But wait!  I am already ****** and I thrive within it.  I not only thrive...I revel in it.

Now where is that odious, rangy, mouse burping kitten gotten off to.
GADS!  She is up the draperies once again!

I will calmly go get the ladder, which I had to buy just for these occasions.  I will place it up against the drapery staff.

I will climb up.  Gently coaxing the little flea bitten darling to me.  She will hiss and claw like the ***** she is.

But, alas.  I adore her so.


~Lord Kellington

I don't believe it!
I, the blood thirsty monster
of every nightmare!
Who fills the night time streets with
a true evil unrivaled!

What am I to do
with a tiny white kitten?

It followed me home...truly.
A pathetic little thing.
Probably full of fleas.

I have to buy milk!
I have to buy stinky fish!
What else will it need?

It does have cute ears
and the tiniest pink nose.


IT JUST WENT UP MY NEW VELVET DRAPERIES!

It will not come down!
fine.  It can stay there and starve.
See if I care.

Now I have to go see if I even own a ladder.

My dinner is getting impatient.
He thinks that he is here for a job interview.
As if I have the needs of a butler.

Hmmm.  Maybe I will let him get
that flea bitten thing down
before I partake.


~Lord Kellington