Saturday, September 30, 2017


A more beautiful place cannot be.
It faces the waves of the dark sea.
White sand and quiet beaches galore.
You can’t ask for anything more.

Life is perfect as can be.

Come and frolic with me.
Tourists visit from far and wide.
Oasis is Florida’s pride.

Beware when The Dead descend.

We can no longer pretend
This is a perfect place to be
As The Dead rise up from the sea.

Darkness brings flying creatures and death.

Beware that this won’t be your last breath.

THE DEAD GAME by Susanne Leist

Friday, September 29, 2017


Why do we write?

Our minds want more.
We need to explore the world.
To explore the unknown. 

If we can’t fulfill our dreams in our daily lives,  
Then we can fulfill them in our writing.
Stories about love, evil creatures, and deadly games.

I've always wanted to live in a small town.  
So I created a small town in my book  
And called it, Oasis.

I love to read books.  
The main character moves to Oasis  
And opens a bookstore.

You get the idea.  
The main character, Linda,  
Is living my dream life.

My mind takes a dark turn.
Life is too good and care-free.  
Oasis needs a darker side.

The original residents live in a forest  
And only come out at night.
This is when the fun and games begin. 

Do you see where this is going?
If not, you can always read my book.
I finally got my small town, 
Where fantasies come true,  
And some just don’t. 


Tuesday, September 26, 2017



The full moon casts its harsh light,
Spotlights to the left and right.
Shadows drift in the trees.
Some even on their knees.
On the shallow lake, 
they cast their cold gaze.
Reflections of bones
Flicker in the haze.
While the small town sleeps,
They walk the dark streets.
They ready for their fight.
Their march a deadly sight.
Soft snores won’t deter them.
Children’s cries won’t halt them.
From the woods, they have come.
They will return as one.

THE DEAD GAME by Susanne Leist


A fellow author is compiling poetry from authors on her WordPress site. The topic is letting go. I sat down and wrote this poem about my brother. As tears fell from my eyes, I felt sad and happy at the same time. Sad that I will never see him again, and happy that I can share my love with others.

Can I ever let go?
Can I ever let go of your touch?
At night, I dream of your fingers.
I can’t believe I miss you so much.
Your strokes through my hair still linger.
Can I ever let go of your eyes?
With great pride, you watched me grow.
I dearly pray for one last surprise.
You to return to me, I know.
I know my prayers won’t be answered.
My wishes never come true.
But I still have hopes to be answered.
And one day to see you too.
Can I ever let go of your humor?
Your wit and jokes had lightened my days.
I know this is much more than a rumor
That I’ll never have you brighten my days.
Days keep on passing.
But life must go on.
My heart is fasting
Each day it beats on.
Can I ever let go of you?
To my dearest, older brother,
My answer is a ‘no’ to you.
You weren’t only my brother.

You helped my mother to raise me.
You provided light for her blind eyes.
You’ll always be the best of me.
Until the day, I close my own eyes.

Monday, September 25, 2017


1 Nights come alive
I’m surrounded by blood,
Blood on the walls
And flowing through my veins.
Blood is thicker than water
And much more intense
As it trickles and oozes as it pleases.
It flows through family members
Like a disease that can’t be stopped,
Bringing with it torment and anguish.
I can’t escape the
Fingers crawling down the walls
And circling around me.
My only recourse is escape
From the walls caving in
As I tunnel my way out.
I want to be free from the evil
Destroying me from within,
Free from the despair and agony. 


Off to the gingerbread house, ​we go
On this fine fall day.
The country road yawns before us,
Pointing the way with pebbled arms.
Shana is laughing up a storm,
Similar to the one building around us.
Swirling gusts lead us by the hand
To a cottage made not by man.
The house floats in a dewy gauze of its own,
Shielded from any attacks or storms.
It glistens and shimmers in the fading light
As we draw closer to its unfailing might.
The front door opens at our approach,
An extended arm our only invitation.
I want to leave but Shana says,
“Linda, let’s see who lives inside.”
Before I could answer she walks in,
Leaving me alone in the dying day.
Pebbles unearth themselves in my direction
Until I’m forced to seek shelter inside.
An older couple wait for us,
Wearing clothes from days long gone.
They show us around their unusual home,
Where rooms are shrines to their grown children.
We are led to the attic to find a lone rocking chair,
Facing the forest and deserted country road.
The woman explains they are The Watchers,
Protecting the town from errant vampires.
My ears are ringing and my heart is pounding
As I listen to her words in disbelief.
She says there’s always a Watcher
Sitting in the rocking chair.
We don’t know whether to believe her story
But the chair begins to rock on its own.
​We flee the scene of our worst nightmare,
Determined never to return to this awful place.
Our games have just begun.


1 The Tree
The tree spreads its limbs wide
to absorb the light of the sun.
Its leaves glow in the waning afternoon light.
Soon the sun will leave yellow trails
around the tree’s massive trunk
as it sets for the day.
The shadows grow longer.
The colors become dimmer.
The sun bows its head goodbye.
Looming shadows signal the next stage.
The glow of the moon takes center stage.
The tree spreads its limbs wide
to absorb the light of the rising moon.


1 Path
A path is only as hard
as you allow it to be.
Take steady steps.
Never look back.
Never quit.
Face forward.
Back straight.
Walk forward.
Not only will you make it far
but you will have followers.


Perfect Melody
The air feels thick,
Laden with moisture.
Clouds roll in.
The sky grows darker,​
Then you hear the first drops.
The water pounding on the roof
in a staccato melody of its own.
Pound, pound, pound.
Tap, tap, tap.
The rain washes our streets
and clears our minds.
Preparing us for a new day.



I’m over here.
I can smell your fear.
You won’t be alone.
I can hear your moan.
I’ll be rising soon
On the next full moon.
I’ll rise from down under​
On lightning and thunder.
You will not recognize me.
I’ll be different you see.
My new body is strong.
Now do not get me wrong.
I still love you, my dear.
Of that please have no fear.
THE DEAD GAME continues


1 Fantasies are a way of life
“Come back to me my sweet.
Take a break from the heat.
An afternoon in a cool retreat.
We could make our own special heat.”
The wood door rattles and creaks open wide.
I hesitate before I walk inside.
The small room is as dark as night.
I begin to tremble with fright.
Maybe I should leave this place.
The door slams shut in my face.
I hear the voice in the air
Telling me, “what fair is fair.”
I intruded on this secret room,
​And so I won’t be leaving too soon.


black sparkle rose
A town where the snow is black,
bringing coldness and fear.
Old remnants of tears held back,
and times too hard to bear.
Woven from black sheets of rain,
fear covers in disarray.
Anguished and frozen with pain,
dark petals fall in dismay.
Hell has come to Oasis,
The Dead and gone at its side.
Now hidden behind faces
that are well-known far and wide.
Who will fall prey to The Dead?
I hope it is not me.
I’m hiding under my bed.
I’m afraid as I can be.



Source: buteverythingisred
Jagged fingers slice through the air.
A dance of the gods for mere mortals.
We hold our breaths as they sizzle and play.
The clouds keep them in place in defiance.
The ground rumbles in dismay at their power play.
The wind and rain fight to divert their direction.
Their aim is compromised by their enemies.
They hold strong and band together.
But the gods and nature block their path.
The earth is saved from ruin on this day.
But they’ll be back again another day.

My Battered Heart

rose wilted
Source: dolcemania

My Battered Heart
The rose drifts to the ground,
Petals dry and wilting in the cold breeze.
A death resembling the demise of my heart
As an unraveling of feelings turns to dust.
A shoe grinds the rose petals to oblivion,
The preferred state of my battered heart.
The wind lifts the remnants of the flower
to circle around me with its dying breath.


IMG_4842 // By Robert Guimont

The swamp holds mysteries,
Silence within its barren domain.
Eyes peek through the sheer surface,
Hinting at the dangers lurking below.
Lacking is the bird’s song of twilight.
Missing is the rustle through the brush.
Silence holds us in its thrall,
Cold fingers clasping around my neck.
Humid air coats my mottled body,
Mutilated by blood-thirsty mosquitoes.
The path teases my mind’s eye,
Offering a way out of this hellhole.
I hack at the dried branches,
Threatening to leave me with one eye.
I’ve reached the end of my journey
As my feet sink in the quicksand of despair.


Light in forest
Light the night sky with your energy.
Waves of light to shock our senses.
Sizzling sounds to move our souls.
Darkness yearns to blacken the sky.
But the streaks of light persevere.
The moon lifts its face with a grin.
Thunder will be riding soon on its horse.
Mother Nature never misses a beat.
The light forewarns us of the coming storm.


Source: ponkeee
Joy can be found in the footsteps.
A romp through the cold water.
Follow me through the sand.
Let our footsteps trail a path
For others to find their way.


It first comes slowly
In the dead of night,
Walking on silent feet.
It draws closer.
You run faster.
It speeds up.
You dash into a building.
It soon follows.
It brings silence.
You can feel its presence,
Coming closer.
It’s now moving rapidly
Down the deserted hallway.
You check the doors.
They are all locked.
You turn,
Close your eyes
And stand firm.
The darkness descends.