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 Tamara Beryl Latham - The Poet      22049 Poems Read

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Small Cat  The Christmas Angel
Small Cat  The Darkest Halloween
Small Cat  My Contribution to Politics
Small Cat  The Seasons
Small Cat  Different Worlds
Small Cat  Lost Dreams (Sonnet)
Small Cat  Without Sin
Small Cat  Between the Parchment (Rondelet)
Small Cat  The Holocaust - A Poem of Remembrance
Small Cat  Bless the Table
Small Cat  True Love
Small Cat  From This Day Forth
Small Cat  School Daze (ABC Poem)
Small Cat  The Moon Thing
Small Cat  For Yahoshua - My Final Prayer
Small Cat  The Winds of Change
Small Cat  The Branding Iron
Small Cat  Checkmate
Small Cat  Through Winter Woods (Sonnet)
Small Cat  The Spectral Lines (Rondelet)
Small Cat  Song of Lucifer
Small Cat  Thornbird
Small Cat  The Reality of Plastic
Small Cat  Shadow Dance (Pantoum)
Small Cat  It's all in the Cards
Small Cat  Lost Souls
Small Cat  The Poet's Creed
Small Cat  Searching the Heart
Small Cat  Creativity vs. Evolution
Small Cat  The Farmer
Small Cat   Bird's Eye View
Small Cat  Of Random Splendor (Sonnet)

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The Darkest Halloween

Under cloak of a midnight sky,
on Halloween, the moon was full.
An eerie sight there caught my eye,
I viewed his body being pulled.
The dirt unearthed was moist and fresh,
once the grave where he'd been placed.
A man of forty, so I'd guessed,
I could, just barely, see his face.
When I moved in closer still,
five tombstones soon surrounded me
and chanting in the night air filled
the prophesies of mystery.
On this day so prophesied,
chanting of a thousand witches
would raise the dead from all the tombs,
all the morgues and crypts and ditches.
At the stroke of twelve, or so,
while stirring fast strange witches brew,
their voices filled the midnight hour
and chanted 'til the stroke of two.
Potions, cauldrons, signs of death,
raised my hair, as I held my breath.
"Ravens, Banshees, Owls and Trolls,
raise the bones of forty souls."
Witches moved to form an arc
and in the center placed the man,
then dripped the blood of forty larks
that severed both his lifeless hands.
When the chanting nearly ceased
his hands began to fly like bats
and to the air white doves released,
soon followed by black howling cats.
Beyond fear I was a wreck.
I told my feet to pick up steam,
but one hand grabbed me 'round the neck
on this the darkest Halloween.
So, next time as you walk alone,
in the dark, on a moonlit night,
remember the rest of his bones,
are out there to fill you with fright.
The witches "sign of the five,"
are points of a star bringing death.
At this moment you're still alive,
while I am still catching my breath.
Each Halloween, at midnight,
his body still roams, that's no joke.
His hands are still able to fly,
and next time they'll fly at your throat.

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