Poems

Hell Fire Club, Ireland — The Ritualby Dawg High on Montpelier Hill where the storm-bent heather grows wild,the lodge sits crooked, windows staring, the stones defiled.Blasted by winds that never rest, the threshold guards its sin,ruined chimney, scorched beams, shadows leaking from within. Centuries ache in the rotting timbers, blood memory stains the floor,ravens circle […]

Going Through the Motions Going Up at the approximate correct time—the clock says something close to right.Coffee before seven, check the back lock, step into the lightof the morning’s practiced opening sequence, the established runof tooth and mirror and the choosing of the shirt—the doneand done-again of every morning laid out before melike the worn

Gold Brook Covered Bridge, Vermont — Emily’s Criesby Dawg Beneath the bone-pale timber, where Gold Brook waters churn,Emily lingers–her hope a wound, her memory a burn.Paint peels from the trusses, splinters catch the moon’s white gaze,in the hush between the trees, the past refuses to erase. Each step on weathered planks reverberates with dread,carrying the

Ghosts in the Machineby Dawg In the stifling clutter of a converted garage,illuminated only by the jaundiced glow of old desk lampsand a webwork of power cords snaking across oil-stained concrete,three sleep-starved minds toiled beneath the hum of something unnatural. The room pulsed with static–monitors strobing binary like Morse code from hell,drives whirring, red and

Fortress of Defianceby Dawg Hope is shattered, scattered in the rubble’s grime,a skeleton of dreams abandoned to the storm–yet from these remains, piece by piece, in time,a fortress rises–ragged, resolute, and warm. Each stone, a memory of pain endured,each crack, a chronicle of what did not break,the mortar, made of battles long secured,the arch, a

Gentle Dark Night wraps around us, but it is not the end,just a softer room to lay our worries down,We walk out of this call with pockets full of tiny sparks,Until we meet again, let the dark be gentle,And let every quiet corner hide one more reason to stay. The lights go low, the mics

Extreme Modern Issues in Society The Factorys Toll A young girl dreams beyond the smoke, of brighter days that never woke,Her mother’s eyes, once filled with hope,now dull beneath the endless scope.The factory’s din, a constant grind, drowning thoughts of peace of mind,In every clang, a broken heart, a shattered dream.The foreman’s shout, a harsh

Fairmont Banff Springs Hotel, Canada — The Bride And The Bellmanby Dawg High in the Rockies, beneath firs that pierce the sky’s cold vein,stands Banff’s stone palace, shrouded in mist and permanent rain.Inside, the air bends with rumors–stories sharpened on the teeth of wind,a place where lost love festers and every shadow is thick-skinned. Red

Epitaph of Unshakable Willby Dawg Here lies the shadow, neither vanquished nor bent,a whisper at midnight, a specter that will not dissolve.Within every silence where the bold have spenttheir strength, it gathers–undaunted, resolved. Contours of power etched in each clandestine glide,unyielding in gloom, outlasting the day.Its presence is carved in the pulse of the tide,a

Epitaph of the Silent Echoesby Dawg In grave silence, where the ancient stones exhale,the truth’s gently spun–like thread, like breath, like bone–whispers cling to air where the daylight fails,ghost stories woven from sorrow alone. No cry louder than the sun before it falls,no courage greater than the quiet of the tomb,here, in the hush where