In the Night

In the Night Moonlight comes in
through my window.
I feel the feeling grow;
welcome to the Show.

Screams and cries in the Dark
as the fur flies,
hunger, lust, and pain
pumping through my vein.

In the Dawn Night's gone and with It
so am I,
aching in my head,
sweating in my bed.

Clothes a'tattered and blood a'spattered
all across the floor.
I heard a feral scream,
or was it all a dream?

In your life let strife and want
indulge you.
You pay the Devil's toll,
ripping through your soul.

Days and Nights in the Dark
and in the Light.
Cause when you wake the Beast,
welcome to the Feast.

A Poem for the 13th of May, 2016

From on low I spied a songbird singing in the willow grove,

Who warbled such a serenade that with the woods I wept.

Come the dusk it flew away from the chorus that it wove.

So struck in awe and bound by spell, that night I hardly slept.

The next morning I returned to find the songbird singing,

A melody sweeter still from upon its branchy stage.

Home with me I thought, the songbird I would be bringing

So like a fool I caught that lark and stuck it in a cage.

The songs of rapture turned to bitter bouts of sullenness.

For children know that in a cage a songbird won’t even cry.

Without a peep, my songbird withered, in quiet cold distress.

So I took the cage back to the grove and let that songbird fly.

But worry not, our song goes on, we came to an accord.

Night after night I climb and perch within a willow tree.

I might even fear to fall if not for the divine reward.

For every night the songbird comes and sings a song to me.

From the Case Files of Spencer Covington: Surreality, Serenity, and Serendipity - the Case of the Missing Ham Sandwich: Chapter 1: The Dark Before the Dawn

By the age of 32, Archibald Tinkerton had amassed considerable material wealth, had become noteworthy within his profession, and had endured a series of meaningful but ultimately unsuccessful romances.  This morning however, he felt as though he were waking from a cold, years long depression.  He had felt that way for as long as he could remember.

The Duranfeld Express pulled into Kentshire Station at 8AM the morning of Wednesday, October 5th.  Archibald Tinkerton carried with him everything he valued. He stepped onto the platform, undistracted by the bustle around him.  He had not slept. After departing his home the night prior, the other passengers had dozed all around him as he gazed upon the rolling moon-swept landscape from his cramped, coach class seat.  He had much to contemplate, and much to reflect on.

Archibald had come to Kentshire in search of work.  His occupation previously had at times been of a perilous nature, and he thought a change of locale and change of craft would suit him well. He had no particular intention as to what that new craft would be, but his years back home had furnished him well with a diverse suite of skills, talents and trades.  He had worked under a banker, learning financial regulations and best practices, studied under a meteorologist, learning weather phenomenon and on occasion observing the cosmos, discipled under a watch-smith, learning mechanics and metallurgy, and even assisted a mortician, learning of anatomy and medicine.  Archibald never felt adequate at those tasks however, despite his advised competence.  His passion was for something else, and these occupations, engaging and respectable though they were, were mere distractions to him.

Monetary compensation was a last consideration for Archibald, so long as it was in line with what was customary for his new occupation, as to not draw suspicion.  His personal wealth would serve him best in secret.  He and his brothers, Winston and Cornelius, had inherited a substantial fortune following the passing of their father, Montgomery Tinkerton, who had prospered greatly as a shipwright and trader, and secured the affluence of his progeny for generations yet by Archibald's reckoning, should future generations occur.

Winston had died a few weeks following their father of a sudden fever that burned through him like wildfire.  Cornelius too burned, though in an actual fire at their accounting offices, the cause of which had not been determined.  A good deal of financial statements for Tinkerton Shipping and Supply Company were lost in that fire, and Cornelius's body was never recovered from the smoldering wreckage.

Both men perished without window or issue, and Archibald himself had as well not yet come into marriage or progenitorship to his knowing.  It wasn't long after the fire that Archibald felt it wise to leave town and establish a life elsewhere, his father's legacy as well as his own depended on it now.

Feeling suddenly famished, Archibald decide to patronize a sandwich and pastry shop outside the station.  He ordered a turkey on rye and a Cornish pastry.  The sandwich he ate readily, but he saved the pastry for later.  As he ate, Archibald took note of the faces and attire of the other patrons, and, out the window, that of those passing by.  He saw no one familiar or of any other type of interest, and likewise, and perhaps for the best, no one seemed to take note of him either.  Kentshire, he thought, would be a perfect place for new beginnings. He knew no one, but more importantly, no one knew him.

Leaving the eatery, Archibald noticed a community posting board near the exit.  An apt place for employment opportunities, he thought.  Then he saw it.  The words that would alter his life irreparably: "Help Wanted, Assistant to Private Investigator, No Experience Required." Perfect, he thought.

Limerick Wednesday: the Liar from New Hampshire

There once was a man from New Hampshire,
Who often was seen with his pants a'fire.
With each point of contention
Came a nasal extension.
He once claimed that he was a vampire.

Rota Fortunae: On Probability and Certainty

Two engineers were on a quest to build the world's largest wheel of fortune.  Once complete, the behemoth stood at four stories and had ten thousand slots marked by ascending number clockwise around the wheel.

For the the inaugural spin, the engineers wound a rope around the wheel's axle, and pulled it vigorously, accelerating the giant disc to a fantastic speed.  The wheel spun and spun, the wooden needle clattering against the slot pegs with tens of thousands of terse clacks.

After several minutes and numerous rotations the wheel began to slow, and eventually stopped at 7419.

One engineer turned to the other and remarked, "Wow, what are the odds of that?"

The Blind, the Deaf, and the Mute

A trio of jesters journeyed across the land to perform a lark in the court of the king.  Comprising the trio were a blind man, a deaf man, and a mute.  The blind man was said to be a legendary poet and songsman, whose voice and verse were pure as the falls first snow.  The deaf man, who though deaf could speak, was said to be an excellent archer and ax thrower, whose clout and clever where sharp and certain to win the favor of even a most discriminating audience.  The mute, who though mute could sign, was said to be a most bizarre juggler and contortionist, whose juggled fodder and entangled arrangements defied all logic.

In exchange for his entertainment, the king promised the trio a modest fortune, which enticed each member of the trio, so much so that they grew suspicious of each other.  In fact, each grew to suspect that the others were plotting a foul a scheme of murder, not realizing that from such innocent caution often arises itself the object of suspicion, which in this case, to the grave misfortune of our trio’s fates, was indeed a foul scheme of murder.

After hours of travelling, the trio stopped at an inn for a warm meal, a few pints of draft, and a night’s rest.  The three enjoyed hearty portions of sausage and mash, and retired to the bar for some pints before sleep.

After several pints, the deaf man excused himself to the toilet to relieve himself.  As he exited, a veiled merchant called to him from the shadows, but the deaf man did not hear him call, since he was deaf.  The deaf man returned to the bar and a few minutes later, the mute excused himself to the toilet to relieve himself.  As he exited, the same veiled merchant called to him from the shadows, but the mute was frightened and dare not approach, as he had in times past been duped into abduction and not been able to call for help, since he was mute.  The mute returned to the bar and a few minutes later, the blind man excused himself to the toilet to relieve himself.  As he exited, the merchant called to him from the shadows, and the blind man approached, being not afraid of the shadows, since he was blind.

The merchant offered, for a fair price, a vial of most vile poison, which would take the life of its target upon their falling asleep.  The blind man contemplated the purchase, considering how a third of the promised fortune was a meager allotment when compared to half, or even all of it.  The blind man purchased the poison, and returned to the bar, plotting in his head a foul scheme of murder.

After sitting, the blind man said to the mute, “I’ve bought an invigorating potion from a travelling merchant.  Drink some and offer some to the deaf man.  We will need our strength and wits about us if we are to impress the king.”  Then the blind man handed the vial of poison to the mute, not knowing the vial was labeled quite plainly: “POISON.”  The mute read the label and was not impressed by the less than clever ruse.  However, brewing in his greedy head was, not surprisingly, his own foul scheme of murder.

The mute concealed the vial's label, and signed silently to the deaf man, “the blind man has given me an invigorating potion that he wants to share with you, so you will have strength to throw your axes, and he will have wits to compose his verse.”  The deaf man nodded and thanked the blind man aloud, who smiled and nodded.  The mute poured half of the vial of poison into the deaf man’s pint, who eagerly drank it up, and then the mute poured the other half of the vial of poison into the blind man’s pint, right before his unseeing eyes, who unknowingly drank it up.

The trio enjoyed their pints and retired to bed, or so it was thought.  The deaf man, though poisoned and doomed, belated death by lying awake in his bed, as his greedy mind awaited a suitable nighttime hour for executing a most foul scheme of murder.  When the moon had reached high into the sky, the deaf man crept out of his room ax in hand.  He crept into the blind man’s room, who was already long dead from the poison.  Fearing to wake the dead blind man, the deaf man swung quickly and drove his ax into the dead blind man’s skull.  Then the deaf man snuck into the room of the mute, who awoke quickly, as the deaf man was creeping rather loudly.  However, the mute could not call for help, since he was mute, so the deaf man approached him, and with his strong ax throwing hands, he strangled his friend the contorting mute, who, without a whimper, gasped and died.  The deaf man retired to his own room, laid in his own bed, and fell fast asleep, forever.

The following morning, none of the trio of jesters awoke, and the king was not entertained, retaining the fortune to his own pleasure.

The END.