READ THE LADLE

On that fateful night of carnage, he'd been downing gin and garbage,

chugging gallons past the corkage, slurring oaths I'd heard before

as I watched the bottles piling, I heard laughter turn to howling

then he sent for me to rummage filth he’d hoarded in the drawer

“Just one swig,” he croaked and staggered pointing t'ward the kitchen drawer

"Just one swig, and nothing more."

"Please", I begged, "you've had your measure, leave it be, forsake this pleasure"

But he scoffed as if at leisure, eyes ablaze like fiendish ore

"Fetch my bottle, wretched woman...I don't need your blessed sermon

don't you dare arouse my vermin...didn't I ask for just one more?"

When I stood my ground he rose and hurled my frame across the floor

Then his rage began to pour.

Then his hands began their speaking, fists like thunder fury leaking

he ignored my painful shrieking, struck with wrath to settle scores

as I faced the blows heart leaping, through the walls, the past was creeping

and the house itself was weeping, for the sins it couldn’t store

and the lantern swung like lightning, casting shadows seen before

ghastly shadows of yet another sordid tale of blood and gore

tales I'd far too long ignored.

When I stood up, body aching, every vow within me breaking

I could sense my spirit shaking, couldn't pray now anymore

suddenly there came a tapping, t'was a black bird, wings-a-flapping

and at once I started clapping, eyes transfixed upon the boor

then a ladle tucked behind me, I crept t'ward the drunken 'whore'

Quoth the Raven, "NEVERMORE!”

This poem was written for Luana Campagna's Haunted Poetry Challenge on Instagram. Participants were asked to write a poem in the style of one legendary poet from among Emily Dickinson, Edgar Allan Poe, Sylvia Plath, Federico Garcia Lorca and Christina Rossetti.

I chose to write mine in the style of Edgar Allan Poe's The Raven. Hope you like it.

PETALS FLUTTERING TO IMAGINARY TUNES

When you step into a garden

you're bewitched by blooms

you're bedazzled by colors

and beguiled by perfumes

And whilst under the spell

of those oh so vibrant plumes

you might catch glimpses of petals

fluttering to imaginary tunes

Butterflies gliding past floral fumes!

This quadrille poem is written for the dVerse Poets Pub's Open Link Night

A quadrille is a poem of EXACTLY 44 words (no more...no less), not including the title. The word prompt given was 'Petals'.

THE LADY OF THE NIGHT

Jasmine hides the night's sadness in its fragrance.

As silence seizes control,

shrouding the darkness in an impenetrable veil,

and threatening to expose the tender flesh of still-raw wounds,

I breathe her in, letting her essence seep

into the fissures of my soul,

a gentle balm soothing the ache within.

Raat Rani, the lady of the night,

she unfurls her petals,

a whispered promise of solace in the shadows,

and her magnetic aura

draws all the creatures of the dark.

I too find myself charmed,

but I dare not venture out to

witness her nocturnal dance,

instead, in the stillness,

I spend my time confronting my scars.

And when yet another night

finally passes without incident,

I claim no victory, but silently whisper a prayer,

and hum a song of gratitude,

for the quiet art of endurance.

And for the lady of the night,

who has taught me

how to mourn without breaking,

and how to find my way

through the night's desolate landscapes.

This poem was one of the winning entries in the Unicorn Magazine's Weekly Challenge dated September 20, 2025. The line prompt was "Jasmine hides the night's sadness in its fragrance".

REVISITING OLD FAVOURITES

He felt a slight quiver. But there was no one else in the room at that moment — no curious eyes to confirm whether his hands were truly trembling.

He carefully balanced the heavy photo album on his lap, whipped out his smartphone, and tried to capture a shot of the 'happy family photograph' that was smiling back at him.

A flurry of camera adjustments and shaky attempts at stillness — despite the autofocus—turned a simple task into a three-minute ordeal.

He studied the latest snapshot. It was a grainy family portrait clicked at a neighbourhood photo studio back in 1985.

His parents sat at the centre — father on the right, mother to his left.

Two children completed the frame. His four-year-old sister was nestled in their mother’s lap, while his six-year-old self was perched awkwardly on his father’s knee.

And then he saw it. A toy fire-truck — his beloved "fire-chuck" — dangling precariously from his left index finger.

When he was finally satisfied with the shot, he began thumbing through his apps, searching for the one he had installed three days ago.

The same AI app that promised to "bring your old pixeled memories to life.”

He found the app, scrolled it to find the correct feature, and uploaded the image.

He then waited, eyes fixed on the screen as the pixels began to twitch.

It took a few seconds before everything started coming to life.

His mother blinked. His father adjusted his glasses. Both shifted stiffly, hiding their scowls as they settled into slightly less uncomfortable poses on clumsy plastic stools.

The children wore sullen expressions, stretching their mouths into forced smiles. They knew better than to upset daddy.

At some point, the father half stood, readjusting. As he dropped back onto the stool, the boy flinched.

The fire-truck hit the floor with a soft thud. His father’s hand rose with a louder one.

Outside the phone, his now much older father hobbled in from another room.

"Hey buddy!", he smiled, "All good?"

“Yeah, Dad…” he replied, voice tight. He grimaced, raising the photo album to shield his face. “…just revisiting some old favourites.”

A part of him hoped that Daddy had seen him fighting back the tears.

Written to share with Poets and Storytellers United for Friday Writings Prompt #195: Revisiting Old Favourites.

CIRCUS OF THOUGHTS

Have a chat with a flibbertigibbet
at your own peril
once you’re in, I must warn you,
it’s a bottomless barrel

Thoughts & ideas spring to life
then they scatter and stray
yet that tongue keeps on wagging
in complete disarray

So if you’ve no patience
for a circus of thoughts
steer clear of the chatter
quit connecting the dots!

Thanks to Sammi Cox for the word prompt - the word is "Flibbertigibbet".