Cashmere Illusions

Musings of a lady poet.

Moonlit Feast

By J. Lynne Moore

A rising moon sparkles bright;
Over the horizon clear in sight.

Transforms the tranquil forest vale,
Into a shadowy nefarious fairytale.

Yet no fairy or pixie flight,
Can be seen in this silvered light.

A piercing howl cuts the scene,
Soon a hulking hirsute figure is seen.

A human on any other day;
Tonight the moon has its sway.

Calling forth this ghastly beast,
In want of flesh to make a feast.

With sabered teeth and vicious claw,
He hopes, upon your bones to gnaw.

A demon lurks the forest tonight;
The werewolf hunts with great delight.

The Pack

By J.Lynne Moore

Hear the dogs bark and call,
They ran away, jumped the wall.
Wandering far, far, from home,
Knowing not, to where they roam.

A pack of brothers standing tall,
Never to be locked within the pawl.
They spend their nights among the brome;
Long days napping upon the loam.

Bay at the moon, brothers all…
Hounds of midnight, full of gaul.
Vicious fangs, mouths a foam,
Running wild and free in the gloam.