Shadows and Glances by T. L. Coston

Shadows and Glances

A Gorgon Horror at the Crumbles

By T.L. Coston

It’s getting dark. Is that a distant rumble?
I’m getting goose-bumps from the prospect of thunder.
Did the temperature drop? It suddenly got cold.
For what time I have left, it’s hard to be bold

The crime I committed, and yes, it was heinous
And for that, I’m about to be hanged.
But to prosecute my execution, in these conditions,
Is more than I can take.

Oh, I don’t deserve pity, that can’t be denied.
But to dance at the gallows to a thunder’s clap,
While lightning flashes my last gasp;
Now that’s irony at its best.

Yes, she was my mistress and with child.
But to leave my wife, I couldn’t abide.
So, instead of leading a double life,
I decided to commit the most odious of crimes.

I enticed my moll with promises of love;
An elopement to some foreign land.
But to stage this getaway, we needed a place to stay.
Somewhere, no one would pry

The plan was simple enough:
I needed a cottage with a tidal rush.
To commit this deed might entail screams;
Shingle Beach would do just fine

So blind was her love that she didn’t see the club.
The blunt end of an axe I did swing.
With a thud she splayed on the rug.
So vicious, her hands twitched in a pool of blood

Realization had come to pass, I have a difficult task:
The dismemberment and disposal of my spinster lass.
As you could tell by the mess, I underestimated the rest.
A plan, as everyone knows, I half-assed.

I built a big fire and stoked the flames,
To begin the ghoulish work ahead of me.
I sawed off her head and threw it on a bed
Of glowing cinders that popped and hissed.

It was then, I witnessed the din, of a Gorgon horror.
Writhing hair waved in serpentine flames biting venomous strikes.
I recoiled from this attack, and while stepping back,
Her dead eyes opened with a Medusa stare.

And with that, a thunderous clap,
Coupled with lightning that shook the whole cabin.
I ran with a scream into the pouring night;
Not to return until daylight.

That’s it. So, now I go to the gallows pole
For the whole world knows my sins,
And soon I will pay a repentance price
Dancing in Hell to thunder and lightning.

P.S.
This poem is based on the 1924 murder of Emily Bilbie Kaye at the Crumbles in the U.K.

Apples and Snow

By T.L. Coston


I wandered through the countryside
To escape the pain of emotional tides
To be free from disappointments over the years
Looking for a sanctum to ease my mind


An abandoned farmhouse providentially found
A brook with clean water rushes abound
Fields scarred with stubbled rows
Poke through a blanket of freshly laid snow


No more fruit does the old, apple tree bear
A hopeful harvest to last this winter’s dread
No more tears can I shed
Every indication points that I should be here


I’m barely existing in this icy cave
Where a single furnace heats my way
By miracle, one vent keeps me warm
I believe God knows where I am


I can’t escape thoughts of food
Daydreaming about everything, even apples stewed
Lamb chops, turkey, a regular holiday feast
This I would enjoy with my husband, Steve


It didn’t take long for the countdown to end
I ate my last apple, now starvation begins
Weak from lack of food, I can’t make it to the brook
How am I going to get out of here?


In the mirror, I saw a ghastly sight
My drawn and haggard face gave me a fright
Clumps of hair fall from my head
If I stay here, I will die


The snow is all the sustenance I have
My head and stomach aches
I’m dizzy and lightheaded; starving is a painful thing
But don’t worry, God sees everything


The nights are longer and extremely cold
I lay down to pray for my soul:
Dear God, please save me.
I’m trying, but I don’t know what to do.


As my mind drifts away in hope of better days
I envisioned a miracle of God’s grace
That the old apple tree bloomed
Resplendent with fruit, here, in January


P.S.

This poem is based on the journal and documentary of the tragic death of Linda Bishop

Noel in the Holler

By T.L. Coston


As the sun kisses the dusk to bid a nights pleasant dream
And Winter’s crystalline blanket blinks its pinkish-blue hues
A few leaves cling to a branch in reverent stubbornness
While a gust of wind whistles through its wooden chimes


I sit on my porch on this blessed night
Wondering about the magis wonderful sight
Of a star portending God’s gift to mankind
A distant flame of hope for the lonely and forgotten


Across the holler on a distant hill
A cabin light flickers without concomitant cry of a whippoorwill
Silent are these nights when the cold air bites
Even more so on this holiday tide


Faint was the sound of a distant song
Of a neighbor’s melodious wail
About the heralded birth of Jesus Christ
And redemption for sins for which we must prevail


As I stopped rocking in my chair
I closed my eyes and listened with care
As I wiped a couple of tears away
And thanked our Lord for this Christmas Day

An Impeachment Eve Soliloquy

By T.L. Coston


Now is the time for calumnies most foul,

When inflamed passions of disaffected malcontents

Shall besmirch character and country for votes unfavored.

‘Tis responsible to protect party and power from hayseeds

Who seek liberty guaranteed in an aged document, outdated and unwanted.

A Constitution - a mere rag - unworthy of the least menstruation.

But what casualty is truth when one must suffer imbeciles for the greater good?

Words as false as the teeth that rattle in my mouth shall not be impaired.

Words shall topple a president as a sword smites a king on battlefield, or blade on scaffold.

A bloodless coup committed not in shadows, but openly and most false.

I toast my Democratic confederates. A cloudy chardonnay can be rancid or most tasteful.

May our fermented hate harvest a fruitful vintage!

Isolation and Madness

By T.L. Coston

Did you expect a slobbering fool,
Ranting and raving with spit and drool?
A wild-eyed man whose thoughts are scattered at best
Dressed in his own filth and basking in stench


Maybe I am that man, whom all consider insane
This room suggest my faculties are suspect at best
To be isolated from the general population for fear of murderous intent
No, it is to protect me from the unseen that makes me sick


Oh yes, this is the cause for all my troubles and woes
All these devices that penetrate my brain
Electromagnetic waves that induce headaches
I had to get away - to escape - from this modern-day inferno


Oh, the mountains were so picturesque, and the quiet gave me rest
A haven from a technological assault, few could understand or know
I began to feel like back in the day before this cursed age
Where ubiquitous phones turned people into slaves


This was heaven for sometime, but humans are social
As we all know. To converse, laugh and sing
Interaction with another is a necessary thing
Without it we would go...dare I say - insane


But I was fine for awhile
Conversing in my head wasn’t something to dread
But to hear a voice without a muffled sound
Found me talking aloud, and what conversations I had with myself!

It wasn’t until things went awry
A shadow in the corner came alive
At first a blob without definition or shape
But, through time, morphed into something I could not mistake


This being - this devil - an affront to nature
Assumed my aspect, tone and gestures
Until, I could not distinguish spirit from flesh
For this horror mirrored my image much to my distress


He sat there for sometime, studying my every move
As I did him, each staring at the other not knowing what to do
This went on for days and nights
He and I eyeing each other, measuring - waiting


It was he who broke the silence
I was startled by the sound of his voice
Years of being alone can cripple a mind
Hearing from another made me want to cry


It didn’t take long to know his intent
My doppleganger wanted more than a cabin
He had grand designs on the human race
While I stay imprisoned in this sanctuary


All his evil would be in my name
Death and destruction would be mine to blame
And he laughed and laughed at the prospect
Of a hapless fool stranded on mountain in a cabin getaway


I could not allow this evil to abide
My doppleganger had to die
But how do you kill a shadow turned to flesh and bone?
Easy, with a knife and strokes that are hard and bold


My doppleganger laughed and cried
As I plunged over and over to watch him die
Blood splattered on my face and eyes
Half blinded I slipped and slide in his spectral gore


It didn’t take long for a knock on my door
For a loner is cause for much concern
My neighbors kept a watchful eye
It didn’t help when a fight wakens the whole mountainside


I was arrested for murder in the first degree
Fratricide the papers decreed
They say I did my brother in
That the demon was actually my twin

I was judged criminally insane
Because all my protestations went up in flames
For the demon tested with my DNA
So now I sit here in my stench; drooling and spittling my innocence

A Park Bench Ghost

By T.L. Coston


There is a neighborhood park a couple of blocks away
Where denizens stroll and children play
As squirrels scamper, stamp and chatter
Protesting that this is their domain

‘Tis a bowl of pleasure and sometimes pain
Where laughter wafts a quarter mile away
Punctuated by a high pitched cry of a siren whine
To stutter and stop from a mother’s touch

Down the steps and to the right
There is a park bench situated under a light
And when the weather permits
You’ll see an old man sitting there until sunset

No one sees this gentleman
They pass him by without a care
They’ll sit next to him without a glance
To say hello or inquire is too much to ask

He is a ghost to the denizens of the park
A wayward spirit whose time is sparse
He is just a shadow on a bench
A being whose sunset has come to an end

The Wailing Witch of Weldon Pond

By T.L. Coston

There are no secrets in a village or town
When wagging tongues whisper
As darkness crowds in and sunlight fades out
For Fear has seeded a woeful child
Before it, Courage whimpers away - barren and fallow


Heed my warnings, stranger
The path you have taken, locals have forsaken
From harvest til solstice
This is a dangerous place
Beware of the Wailing Witch for this is her domain


No one knows from whence she came
Nor, can account when the woes began
For this tale is as old as the land
And the pond she’s claimed
Bears the family Weldon; a most unfortunate name


The Weldons made this place their home
Began a family, so the legend goes
Daughters, blessed be, were born - three
Oh, how those girls frollicked and danced
Not a care in the world when you’re not aged ten


Natives warned the Weldons of this forsaken place
For the witch has wailed for many of their race
Young and old who’ve made the mistake
Of venturing through the woods down the way
To her haunt - the pond - after harvest til solstice break

The Weldons dismissed this outlandish tale
For who can believe a barbarous breed
Whose motives are questionable to say the least
God-fearing Christians are not impressed
By heathens and their fables to which there is no end


But then came the night, regret clasped a mournful heart
So cold was the still, flames barely crackled in the hearth
When breath mingles with heat from an uncovered head
Death whispered forebodings that sleeping parents dread
Then came the wail that even the cold couldn’t bear


That’s when the parents shot up out of bed
The wailing was so loud, it could’ve wakened the dead
They dashed to their daughters, but only to see
Beds barren and cold from lack of body heat
“Where are the children?!” the mother looked around and screamed

When the witch wailed thrice, parents gasped in fright
Both ran out the door, unheeded without coat
They followed small footprints embedded in the snow
Through drifts and over ice, both battled wind and night
To the pond, where wails echo, into unearthly flight

As they crested a hill, about thirty yards away
A dark figure, silhouetted in starlight, danced and swayed
It was then they saw her face - a horrible disfigured face
This harpy snarled a toothless grin
Then wailed again and again, clawing at her tattered dress


The Weldon’s recoiled from this frightful scene
When the witch’s wailing morphed into a sickening glee
For this hag visaged a childish coquette
Mocking all that is holy and innocent
Mocking filial love and all it represents


The witch then pointed to the pond
She giggled, then clasped her putrid mouth
But evil cannot be suppressed; she stamped her feet
Then with an awful laugh, she splayed to mock the Trinity
This blasphemy, perfumed in rot and disease, engulfed the whole valley


Just as the witch mocked our lord
The three emerged from an icy vault
The Weldons screamed then jumped into the cold-cold pond
With shivering bodies and chattering teeth
They retrieved their dead daughters and began to grieve

The witch looked on in bemused satisfaction
For evil cannot commiserate, or compassion show
Only to take pleasure in others misfortune and woes
When the witch had feasted and filled
She walked away basking in parental wails


The Weldon’s woes did not abate
For the mother caught pneumonia and died a month later
The father vowed vengeance until his death
He hunted year after year until solstice end
Until, he too, was floating in his namesake's grave


Stranger, I beg you not to go down that path
Oh, I know it’s hard to believe
You’ll repent soon enough, you’ll see
When the Wailing Witch makes her call
And you end up face down in Weldon Pond

Terror by the Gaslight Post

By T.L. Coston

Oh, I do know the grasping fingers of fright

When venturing into darkness

Alone without friend and scarcity of light

For the imagination can overwhelm a weakened heart

In my advanced age, that night I almost departed

In the old harbor when the first cold air bites

A fog rolled in and the buoy bell chimed

I clasped my coat to silence the chill

And listened to my footfalls on the cobblestone road

And listened - and listened for footfalls on the cobblestone road 

Opaque was the night on this sojourn

Where even shadows hid from their dark overlord

And every sense tingled with vexation

Indeed, every sound amplified and threatened

Every sound a menace

In the distance about a block away

A gaslight flickered - waxed and waned

I was attracted to this old post as a moth to a flame

For this glow welcomed a wary traveler

Ahh, it assuaged a desperate, wary traveler

It was then I picked up the pace

And began to chuckle at my dismay

For a man of my advanced age

To be scared of spooks and ghouls?

Indeed, to be scared of spooks and ghouls

It was then He stepped out from the dark 

Cloaked in a top hat and inverness cape

The gaslight did not reveal his face

There we stood staring at each other for sometime

Nay, we stared at each other for a long-long time

Terror - if it can be named - suspended time and space

This specter’s eyes burned with immense hate

Oh, how my body ached to escape back into the dark  

To run - to run with all my strength

To fly - to fly away from this fiend

It was then the fog crept in

Then darkness joined them

These two coquettes embraced this fiend

This menace with hateful eyes

Who preyed upon a frightened mind

As the three danced around the gaslight post

I ducked and ran with my head bowed low

Their laughter shrill and hollow cut to the bone 

Echoed down the cobblestone road

Mocking an old man, who ran and ran, down the cobblestone road

An Autumnal Requiem

by T.L. Coston

As I look down upon the valley in the misty morn
God’s censer dissipates as the sunshine shorns
From His cathedral, a bucolic majesty is borne
An autumnal requiem whispers a melancholic song

Spangled hues of florid splendor reveal His masterpiece
Solemn beauty attest to our Lord’s majestical feat
Leaves of deciduous trees rain down around me
I close my eyes in this rustic fragrance and breathe

From these heights the trees are half barren and cold
Apples have turned brown, shriveled and mold
Soon the valley will succumb to Death’s enfold
Another autumnal requiem will dissipate - nevermore

Genderfluid Dolls Pepper Spray Children for Using Wrong Pronoun

It’s getting harder and harder to distinguish fact from fiction these days. It looks like Western civilization has checked into a rubber room. We’ve “collectively” decided to sit in a corner and drool on ourselves. Nevermind the piss and sh**, strap on a straitjacket and join the rest of the boobs in this Alice in Wonderland farce.

I’m beginning to think the Babylon Bee is more than a parody site. In this political climate they might be considered the next Nostradomus. Here is an excerpt from there latest:

EL SEGUNDO, CA—Mattel announced an exciting new line of gender-neutral dolls recently, causing progressives to praise the company and conservatives to foam at the mouth and demand a safe space.

But there's one feature of the dolls that hasn't yet been discussed: according to a Mattel insider, the dolls will emit a powerful blast of pepper spray and alert authorities if your child refers to the doll with the wrong pronoun.

An early, limited-release of the doll has already employed this feature several dozen times. Cleveland five-year-old Maddy Paulson excitedly picked up her doll and said, "This girl is so pretty. I want to play with her!"

Immediately, the doll's eyes turned red and its head swiveled slowly toward Paulson's face. "DID YOU SAY 'HER'?"

You’ve got to read the rest. All I can say is this brings a whole new perspective on liberal possession, which is what is happening to our country. I hope we can exorcise these demons out of our culture and send them back to hell where they belong.

Source:

https://babylonbee.com/news/new-genderfluid-dolls-emit-blast-of-pepper-spray-when-children-use-wrong-pronoun

Little Girl Buried in a Rum Keg

By T.L. Coston

I was strolling down Ann Street in ole Beaufort town
When darkness rolled in, a seaside wind bellowed through vacant halls
Alone, I was caught in a maelstrom of dirt and leaves
Under protest was pushed and shoved with relative ease

This abuse did not abate until the gate of The Old Burying Ground
There in a window of a clapboard church
A singular light pulsated and lurched
I thought it odd how this rhythmic throb mimicked a beating heart

It was then, a giggle descended from the tombs of moldered lore
As I questioned what I heard, there echoed a third
This I could not ignore
There on the gate, a beaded necklace laid
“What an odd place for a trinket,” I thought

It was then the gate swung in. At this I cried aloud

I hesitated once, maybe twice, then looked to the rolling sky
Silhouetted in the fore, great oaks groaned
Bearded sentinels wary, embraced their charge

As I entered the grounds, the smell of rum assaulted my nose

As soon as I recovered, a flash darted from stone to stone
It was a girl, around ten, if I had to guess, dressed in her bedtime gown
I saw her look back as she darted down the path
What’s a child doing in a graveyard at this hour?

She wasn’t far away,
I could hear her play
Laughing - laughing all the while
As I came around the bend
I spied her bent over a toy-ridden tomb

She shot up with a smile
Then bade me goodbye
Then faded in the nighttime air
What just happened? Where did she go?

I looked around but no one was there
This couldn’t have happened! There is no way! 

Did I just see a ghost?
The smell of liquor dissipated as I stumbled about
Shocked, I bent to read 
A wooden marker with a simple epitaph:

Little Girl Buried in a Rum Keg

Enough said.

Nation's Psychopaths Undecided About Democrat's New Gun Laws

I read this article by the Babylon Bee and had to post it. This just demonstrates how idiotic Democrats are on gun confiscation and background checks. A rational person already knew this, but it takes parody to really point out their stupidity. Here is an excerpt:

WASHINGTON, D.C.—Democrats such as Beto O’Rourke have proposed a number of new gun laws, such as universal background checks, a ban on magazines that hold more than ten bullets, and possibly even a “mandatory buyback” of some weapons such as AR-15s. While these laws are likely to be a headache for law-abiding gun owners, the nation’s murderous psychopaths aren’t quite certain how the laws will affect them.

“The background check sounds concerning,” explained deranged murderer Steve Mason, known as “Murdering Steve” to his friends. “I would definitely fail it since I’m a well-known psychopath. But I’ve never actually purchased a gun through a gun-dealer; I just steal all my murder weapons. And so far no one has proposed a background check on theft, so I think I’m good.”

You have to read the whole, it just gets better.

Source:

https://babylonbee.com/news/murderous-psychopaths-undecided-on-whether-theyll-follow-new-gun-laws?fbclid=IwAR26nspBwzMWDYvW7dtz0Qp2np4PDf7Ax-YZpfpXls-auezH_DhC7NXSPHM

An Aged Vessel

By T.L. Coston

Ah, who is this stranger staring back at me

An imposter mocking youth and vitality 

Eyes once bright and fair

Are now creviced within folds of an aged man

A lifetime seen through the prism of self

Weighted in experience; Leaden with guilt

I see the boy trapped behind hazel guile

He, who was once fair, I barely recognize

I see him standing askance in a stare

And beside him others who I am unaware

They are multitudes spanning time and space

Imprisoned in a vessel not long for this race

The hour glass has passed the pessimist test

Soon, there will be time for plenty of rest

For, this old man is about to give up the ghost

And join those in another human host 

The Pheasant and the Frost

By T.L. Coston

The morning at daybreak

On this year’s first frost

I inhale brisk air

And slowly exhaust

Undulating fields glisten a hoary head

Every blade dusted - weighted

Waiting to be awakened 

From the Imp’s chilly spell

A cackle from a cornrow disturbs the morn

The king of the fall

A clarion call

The season has commenced

His iridescent crown bobs with each stride

As he promenades Jack’s carpet with confidence - nay, pride

He cackles again, then proceeds without care

Ah, King Pheasant, if this were opening day 

President Trump Calls Out Slumlord Elijah Cummings

President Trump is the antithesis of political correctness. He is direct, to the point and damn your feelings. This is a problem for snowflakes and politicians who’ve been coddled for decades. People who use this pc nonsense to shame their opponents are at their wits end. They simply don’t know what to do about a man named Trump.

I love it. I love watching our president get in their face and tear down their facade. Nothing gives me more pleasure than an astonished snowflake wallowing in a puddle of tears, especially when it’s factually based like this third-world hellhole called Baltimore. Democrats, like Elijah Cummings, have been throwing mud at conservatives for as long as I can remember, without retribution. Well, he got his the other day, and the snowflakes have been howling ever since. Here is President Trump’s missive to slumlord Elijah Cummings:

Donald J. Trump‏Verified account @realDonaldTrump Jul 27
Rep, Elijah Cummings has been a brutal bully, shouting and screaming at the great men & women of Border Patrol about conditions at the Southern Border, when actually his Baltimore district is FAR WORSE and more dangerous. His district is considered the Worst in the USA......
27,855 replies34,239 retweets138,800 likes
 
 

Donald J. Trump‏Verified account @realDonaldTrump

....As proven last week during a Congressional tour, the Border is clean, efficient & well run, just very crowded. Cumming District is a disgusting, rat and rodent infested mess. If he spent more time in Baltimore, maybe he could help clean up this very dangerous & filthy place

4:14 AM - 27 Jul 2019

• 27,931 Retweets
• 124,014 Likes
• 

22,672 replies27,931 retweets124,014 likes

 

 

I’ve been to Baltimore and that is the truth. I was there in 2004 for the Preakness and to do a little sightseeing, and believe me, I saw more than I wanted. HBO had a show around that time called, The Wire that was filmed in Baltimore. Well, I ran into Elijah Cummings district and it was exactly like the television show. I swear, it was block after block of boarded up houses as far as the eye could see. Homelessness and poverty everywhere. I can only thank God, I didn’t happen upon this area at night. I don’t know if I would’ve lived through it.

Needless to say, I didn’t venture far from the tourist areas after that. If you want an American version of a third-world hellhole, all you have to do is visit Rep Elijah Cummings’ district. Be sure to hire a guide and bring a camera.

Source:

https://www.baltimoresun.com/politics/bs-md-pol-cummings-trump-20190727-chty2yovtvfzfcjkeaui7wm5zi-story.html

http://news.trust.org/item/20190727165259-hatmv

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Wire