Selections from All Hallow's Eve and Other Macabre Poetry 

                                                                    All Hallows Eve

Wicked thing will venture on to find new easy prey,

Who moves unknowingly closer, locked on fate's cruel track.

These are only grim signposts on path through stormy gray,

But hidden within thickly gray lurks hateful, mad black. 

                                                                The Truth That's Left

Rising from the eternal pits can never be done,

A mere fantasy for those of us who are mortal.

Never again to feel the warmth of the healing sun,

Destiny, forever still, in the dark of death's hollow.

                                                                             Glorious Corpse

But this beautiful soul, full of life, will never turn.

If fingers twitch it would be a trick my eye would see,

For God was wrong to take her, please stay a dead human.

She cannot become a Gruesome, please God hear my plea.

                                                                        The Jack of Whitechapel

Thirty-one August with an ending moon sinking low,

A laborer walks along the gas lights of Bucks Row.

In the dark of morn there is a body on the ground.

His way to a long day's work halted by what is found.

It is a woman, a local middle-aged pro.

Mister Cross thinks her drunk, but then he sees the blood flow.