scatteredthoughts2

[scatteredthoughts2]

The Soul Collector

The Soul Collector https://amzn.eu/d/3fvDmga

[scatteredthoughts2]

Spiders, spiders 🕷

Spiders, spiders everywhere,

Up my nose, in my ears, and in my hair,

Spiders, spiders on my bed,

And some that got inside my head.

Spiders, spiders, it's all I think,

They fill up my throat when I take a drink,

And when I put sugar into my tea,

It's a spoonful of spiders, is what I see.

Spiders, spiders, fill up my shoes,

It makes no difference which pair I choose,

They are in my trousers and in my jeans,

They are even in my jellybeans.

Spiders, spiders, what can I do,

To find a way to banish you,

I could buy me some lizards, I could buy me some snakes,

I will do whatever the solution takes.

Spiders, spiders, I am leaving now,

I have got to get away somehow,

But what's that I see, looking back down the street,

But an army of spiders crawling after my feet.

I had to give up, but I have no regrets,

Because a million of spiders are now all my pets,

They still fill up my nose, and still live in my head,

And they sing me to sleep, when I lie down in bed.

@Ambrose Harte

@Scattered Thoughts

[scatteredthoughts2]

Check it out

[scatteredthoughts2]

sorry.

it's hard at times

i mean, it's hard to describe

little things that gnaw at you

what's eating you inside

sometimes i say

( only to myself )

things i cannot share

that should be left upon the shelf

a shelf that's all so dusty

with books i have not read

a shelf so full of memories

that play inside my head

it's hard at times

yes. and it pains me so

and im so sorry

but you will never know

@Ambrose Harte

@@Scattered Thoughts

[scatteredthoughts2]

The Saddest Sound.

( Leaving Mullingar )

The saddest sound I've ever heard,

I thought I heard the Angels sing,

It was the tolling of the bells,

From the Church of Christ The King.

It filled my heart with grief,

The bells rang inside of me,

They gave me shivers down my spine,

And I was filled with misery.

I was leaving far behind,

The town I loved so well,

And what really made me sad,

Was the ringing of the bell.

As I paused and looked behind me,

At the only world I know,

My tears rolled down my face,

In the softly falling snow.

One last look, and I started walking,

I knew I never would come home,

And the bells, they were still tolling,

As I faced the world alone.

In leaving Mullingar;

I was leaving everything,

My heart was oh so heavy,

And the church bells, they did sing.

@Ambrose Harte

@Scattered Thoughts

[scatteredthoughts2]

Nightmare.

I dreamt that I had died,

I was all alone, so no one cried.

I was taken from my home,

In a black bag zipped up tight.

And I tried to tell someone,

That I really was alright.

They placed me on a tray,

And inside, I tried to pray.

But they opened up my chest,

And started poking round inside,

And I tried and tried my best,

To say I had not died.

They lifted out my heart,

And started tearing it apart.

My kidneys, lungs and liver,

Were next to be removed,

With flueds, flowing like a river,

Running down the table's groove.

Then they opened up my skull,

And my brain they tried to pull.

I did not feel a thing,

I was numb from head to toe,

Observing everything,

And watching the whole show.

I was wishing I was dead,

With my brain pulled from my head.

Then they cut it up in pieces,

And they were talking all the time,

About their children and their nieces,

And of sharing some good wine.

I must have fell asleep,

And in my soul began to weep.

And the next thing that I knew,

I was lying in a coffin,

I could not see, I could not view,

Then my box began a rocking.

I was lowered in the ground,

People praying, all around.

I could hear them clear as day,

As I lay there in my bed,

Then the sound of falling clay,

Started pounding in my head.

I woke up in a sweat,

Gasping for some breath.

I was glad I was alright,

Relieved to be alive,

But, oh boy! what a fright!

And thanked God I did survive.

@Ambrose Harte

@scatteredthoughts2

[scatteredthoughts2]

The Soul Collector

The Soul Collector https://amzn.eu/d/3fvDmga

[scatteredthoughts2]

The Soul Collector

The Soul Collector https://amzn.eu/d/5lb7nU9

[scatteredthoughts2]

The Soul Collector

The Soul Collector https://amzn.eu/d/3fvDmga

[scatteredthoughts2]

Shadows

I don't know what is happening,

But I know it's something bad,

And I know that when it's over,

I'll be broken, beat and sad.

Even though I see it coming,

I cannot change its course,

It is always bound to happen;

A relentless, heartless force.

Though I pray for intervention,

My prayers are all for nought,

And this fight I dare not mention,

Is a fight not to be fought.

I know that when it's over,

There'll be nothing left of me,

Just a shadow of myself;

Of the self I used to be.

Ambrose Harte

Scattered Thoughts

[scatteredthoughts2]

Evil Things.

Goblins and daemons and evil things,

Trolls and Ogres and beasts with wings,

Lands of brimstone and fire and sulphur,

Screeches and screams and begging for succour.

Man-made monsters of gears, cogs and chains,

Mad Hungry Zombies searching for brains,

Banshees singing the hymns of the dead,

And laughing hyenas that fill you with dread.

Reposing Vampires asleep in their tombs,

Monsters in closets invading kids rooms,

Ghosts on the stairs to guide you to bed,

And cannibals drooling to eat you instead.

Frankenstein's monster wakes up on his slab,

The mad, crazy scientist with concoctions to jab,

Mummies all swathed in bandages so dirty,

And Siren's at sea all singing so flirty.

Aliens land in your garden at night,

The mythical Gorgon has you in his sight,

Dragons breath fire that burn up the earth,

And Gargoyles stand guard over mansions of death.

Here are some monsters ( I have named just a few ),

There are others out there who would love to get you,

But beware when you leave to go to the store;

The most evil of all, could be living next door.

©Ambrose Harte

Scattered Thoughts

[scatteredthoughts2]

Vampyre Watch.

I placed my faith in the chapels power,

As I watched the vault from the old bell tower,

High above the old church roof,

I was searching for some ghastly proof.

Then the moon was veiled by a passing cloud,

And I heard the vault doors creaking loud,

But without the moon I could not see,

What monster walked the cemetery.

Then in a clearing, as the moon peeped out,

I saw pure evil walk about,

Dressed head to toe in a shroud of white,

You disappeared into the night.

I quickly ran into your crypt,

And left for you a little gift;

A crucifix of gleaming gold,

On your coffins pillow that was not yet cold.

And as the dawn washed the night away,

You returned to hide from the light of day,

Your shroud once white, was now dark red,

And dripping with the blood you'd shed.

I heard you scream when you saw the cross,

And my heart was heavy that you were lost,

But I had to do what must be done,

As into your crypt, I let in the sun.

I thrust a stake in to your breast,

And blood erupted from your punctured chest,

And from your eyes more blood did squirt,

And turn to red the crypts dry dirt.

I washed away the blood and gore,

And pinned some garlic to my bedroom door,

With the windows closed and the curtains drawn,

I slept through day and night till dawn.

©Ambrose Harte

©Scattered Thoughts

[scatteredthoughts2]

The Body.

There's a Body in my basement,

It is buried 'neath a concrete floor;

I had to pour the concrete,

When the stench came wafting from beneath the door.

I can't remember the Body's name,

But she used to be my wife,

And I lost my head and killed her,

When she ruined my cosy life.

The house is falling down around me,

The roof is sagging and the rain gets in,

There is plaster falling from the walls and ceilings,

And the kitchen looks like a garbage bin.

The floors are warped and crooked,

The windows are all broke,

The chimneys blocked with rotten crows,

And it belches out black smoke.

Things have got so bad,

That in the basement just today,

The Body broke through the crumbling cement,

And got up and walked away.

So now it's me and my crumbling house,

That is in such bad repair,

But at last I can get the repair work done,

Now that she's no longer here.

©Ambrose Harte

©Scattered Thoughts

[scatteredthoughts2]

Night Time Noises

( and the mouse ).

I awake and listen to,

the noises of the night;

The sounds that paint a picture,

of an awesome, eerie sight,

An owl in a stout oak tree,

all poised for swooping flight,

As a frightened, befuddled mouse,

scurries quickly out of sight.

The full moon's

at its highest peak,

And, with the clouds,

plays hide and seek,

A cat so feral,

and oh so sleek,

Waits for the mouse,

to shrilly squeak.

A hedgehog chews

a juicy worm,

But some wriggles free,

and will soon reform,

A rooster greets

the dawning morn,

And the frightened mouse, away doth storm.

And when all

is done and said,

The night time noises

in your head,

They subtly change

to soft dreams instead,

And a happy mouse

sleeps beneath your bed.

©Ambrose Harte

©Scattered Thoughts

[scatteredthoughts2]

BEING CREATIVE.

Get your magic pen and write,

Get your journal out and scribe,

Write away all through the night,

And make the pages come alive.

Write of faeries and goblin men,

Write of witches on their brooms,

Write of Vampires spilling blood like rain,

As moonlight fills your dreaming rooms.

Go riding through the haunted wood,

As mist and fog swirl through the trees,

The baying hounds ice up your blood,

And leave you wobbling at your knees.

The undergrowth is filled with noise;

Of the critters you don't wish to see,

And the ghostly howling and the chilling cries,

Of cackling hags filled up with glee.

The dead don't sleep in peace no more;

The moon awakes and calls them out,

And they'll come knocking on your door,

Not knowing what it's all about.

So get your pencil out and scribble,

Get your journal and create,

On your pencil, chew and nibble,

Do it now! It's not too late!

©Ambrose Harte

©Scattered Thoughts

[scatteredthoughts2]

THE WALK.

I walk down a country road,

potholed and rutted

and behold!

I met a stranger

who

beneath his tattered hat

had a story to unfold.

“ Where do you travel

at this hour?

shelter here

in this ancient tower

and we’ll while away the hour

with tales of mystic power

and perchance

you may perceive

what mere mortals

cannot believe.

” for t'is best

to speak of them by day

when their magic

holds no sway,

they are strongest

come the night

and should not be named

by candlelight.

“ yes!

you know of whom I talk

the loathsome creatures

that do walk

the night’s shadows

they doth stalk.

destruction in their wake

innocent souls

their’s to take.

” their bloodlust to sate

your pumping heart

on a silver plate.

but

t'is not for life

that you must fear

for you a but

a morsel here,

t'is your soul

you must defend

from the daemons

they will send

to ensnare it

til creations end.

to dwell forever

in the pits of hell

to never hear

the morning bell

to see the sun

rise in the east

to be at table

to see them feast

on freshbaked bread

and heady yeast.

bees

bringing nectar

to the hive

to feel the sun

to be alive.

for

once they have you

all is lost

there is no way out

you must pay the cost

ride the devils train

endless torture

endless pain.

t'is getting late

be on your way

while you have

the light of day

get safely home

lock your doors

and kneel and pray

stay inside

til morning come

for hotel hades

greets everyone.

“ goodbye my friend

and travel well

and remember

when the day doth end

you are never far

from the gates of hell.

The mad ramblings of

Ambrose Harte

Scattered Thoughts 2.

Beautifulmesworld.

Where they belong,

they will return,

and for eternity

they will burn. 

The cruelty

and the damage cost

god has won

and they have lost.

[scatteredthoughts2]

Shadows

I don't know what is happening,

But I know it's something bad,

And I know that when it's over,

I'll be broken, beat and sad.

Even though I see it coming,

I cannot change its course,

It is always bound to happen;

A relentless, heartless force.

Though I pray for intervention,

My prayers are all for nought,

And this fight I dare not mention,

Is a fight not to be fought.

I know that when it's over,

There'll be nothing left of me,

Just a shadow of myself;

Of the self I used to be.

Ambrose Harte

Scattered Thoughts