Thursday, September 18, 2014

I was not eaten by a zombie

I would like to appologize for my absence.  It has been a long and strange journey the past two years.  I find it most amusing that the last poem was posted just after the Mayan Apocalypse.  It may have appeared to some that there really was a Zombie uprising, taking out your dear Eerie Edgar.  No, dear reader, it did not.  There have been some expansions to my creative outlets including selling a few items on Etsy.  When I get the shop back up and running, look for Chest of Wonders.  Often times, the strange and wonderful will more likely end up at Twinkleberry Cottage as I am not really good at shop keeping.  Some of those creations will end up on auction at Circus Couture, hosted by some wonderful and gifted people with hearts so big, they must share them with the community.  

Hopefully inspiration will bite me soon and there will be frightening new prose for you to mull over.  After all, in a mere week and a half, the season of fright will begin once again!   

Monday, December 24, 2012

Holiday Respite


A time for the living to make merry
feasting and drinking with friends

Tales of jest over the fire
dreaming a little dream of being alive

                                     not zombies

Sunday, October 7, 2012

Eerie Existentialism

What does death mean
     when a flesh eating corpse
          slowly stumbles through the night
               Do the undead live?

Friday, October 5, 2012

This is my time of year

Hi all.  It's my favorite time of year.  The trees start dropping their leaves (will they come back from the dead next year?).  My brain will be taxed a bit as I attempt to get you new poems.  But also check out some other creations I am dropping off in the Twinkleberry Cottage (  Some of them are already selling!  Keep your eyes peeled on the shop.

Bad News

You may want to scream
Your eyes do not deceive you
The dead walk again

Monday, September 3, 2012

"Lost" in creation

I thought that you might be interested in watching me create my latest poem, Lost.  I have heard that creative people work in messy places, but I don't seem to mind (I have my late night snack in hand, just in case).  I even have Noir and Nox helping me out.  It seems that I also left out a roll of mummy wrap.  Hmm, who do I need to preserve for later?


I find myself wandering in the city
           without haste

This is like a dream of the damned
Trudging through blood smeared streets
     rotten human corpses everywhere

I curse the foul wind of the dead
The night is dark but for some moonlight

A moan in the shadows
                          and then I run

It sucks living in a zombie apocalypse