buzzard[1]Twenty plus years ago, when I was working in a laboratory, I also had a small business called “The Write Hook.” I wrote poetry that roasted individuals by getting personal information about the “Victim” from friends and family. It was to be a comedic, two page, with 10 – four line stanzas. Often when I was on a roll, they would get more than their money’s worth. I will share with you the long poem that I based my fellow co-workers’ names hidden by rearranging their names and spellings and allowing them to figure out who was who. I was always the one they came to when an employee was transferring, retiring or leaving the Lab. It was all in fun with many laughs during the go away dinner. So, following this, I will print the long Halloween poem for your reading pleasure.


‘Tis I that gaze by Crystal Glass,
Into the Magical Orb of Mystic Gas,
The time of Witching is near at hand,
I foretell to all of the murderous land.

This Night of Terror – this Hallowed Eve
Begins the haunt – the wretched grieve.
In lieu of casting spells of division,
I relate to thee tales of a grisly vision.

The first appears into my sight,
Count Zacula looms about the night.
With a blackened cape and blooded fangs,
He victimizes gathering gangs.

Within the mist is a Coven of Cackles,
The eldest two raise a raven’s hackles.
The other three stir the cauldron cuisine,
An appalling Coven – couldn’t count to thirteen.

The eldest Warlock resides in the Wood,
Had magical powers since early childhood.
Forever engrossed with measures of motion,
Puppets a magician named Bowel of Potion.

A cruising Ghost surrounds its’ haunt,
While the Wolfen beast howls with vicious taunt.
The specter, Sir WIlliam, drifts on lightly,
Their graves were robbed, now they wander nightly.

The Zombie Zoma, whose tongue is now dead,
Was found sleeping in a witch’s bed.
And Lord Bradwick, a gruesome sort was he,
He sang to his victims while sawing a knee.

The Marquis De Juse, a torturous Rogue,
His accomplice, an Ogre, named Guyster from Brogue.
Fiendishly flog the locals, ’tis sad,
Their castle screams out with poor women gone mad.

The Crystal seems a bit dense in a spot,
But wait—I spot a diabolical plot.
John the Maggot and Pattrock Pistolier,
Cursed the beggars with torture and fear.

With devious snorts they stir with motions,
On vibrating machines that need no potions.
The pain is inflicted on the wretched few,
When finally done, the wretched did spew.

James Angelicus was a militant bore,
He victimized soldiers from within the core.
A doctor of medicine he did proclaim,
With leeches, he blood-lets, so he’ll not take the blame.

The cloud dissipates to view William the Tailor,
A cruel one he’d be to each woman and sailor.
The word, a tale, about his wife and a tar,
They found both of them pickled in a large glass jar.

Robert of Telvick, the Butcher of Pigs,
With cleaver in hand, he severs then digs.
A bloody hacker, he grinned – he’s insane,
He lures poor women who walk with a cane.

Torrie of Shingra, a most vile Cur,
With polite attitudes, he answers with sir.
He stalks the wharf with a long narrow blade,
He slits throats of seamen, who just got paid.

The Crystal grows darker with stains of blood,
I cannot see through the liquid flood.
But again it clears for me to tell,
Of a man who rings the tower bell.

William Offenmad, the Hunchback of Gong,
He despised the most beauteous maidens of song.
He limps down stairs into the cold night,
He strangles young maidens with all of his might.

William Noel whose passion was quite plain,
He ate almost nothing to be thinner – such vain.
Captures victims and abuses them with garlic breath,
His ultimate torture is to starve them to death.

These tales of the macabre are shown to me,
Be assured if you wander out you will see.
So avoid the treacherous night of question,
Many more ghouls are still for the mention.

They silently called him the Eel of Brew,
A short mean scoundrel slobbered with stew.
Do not overestimate this vicious runt,
His victims’ appendages were removed with a grunt.

Burgermeister Dane, hosted parties for some,
He offered barrel upon barrel of sweet tasting rum.
Young ladies in the parlor, voicing lilts that were sung,
Sweet rum was laced with arsenic and dung.

Ludvik Von Stefon, a judging sadistic knave,
His court was composed of those who misbehave.
No matter the crime the verdict still rang,
“You steal, you maim, you rape, so you hang.”

Yingle of Hirsh was of Norman Class,
His precipitous life was notoriously crass.
He hid beneath bridges until passers strolled by,
He would gouge out their eyes and laugh while they cry.

Robert the Miller and James Coppersmith,
Worked close by – the tale’s not a myth.
They built barrels of a magnum prize,
To ensure the fit of severed victims’ size.

Farrtus the Monk – blest was not he,
Evil he wrought as he drank his cold tea.
He’d hear one’s confession, forgive them their sins,
He’d tie them and gas them, then rip off their skins.

Donald of Wolcott, the Shepherd’s son,
Cruel that he was, he had his own fun.
The staff he held tight, he used to kill,
By crushing head upon head on the adjoining hill.

Captain Heinball a seafaring slug,
Pretended to know of treasures to be dug.
Invited his victims to a far off land,
He’d gore the poor souls with his one hooked hand.

David of Carlton the storekeeper’s aid,
Fell in love with the owner’s cute maid.
She found him ugly and rebuked his advance,
He impaled her heart with a long pointed lance.

Bucktooth James, a trainer of horses,
Gave havoc to those of questionable sources.
He would ride his black stallion with vengeance and style,
Until the person was trampled, into a small, bloody pile.

Jack of Beary Castle, Keeper of the Gate,
Had tools he used to bludgeon his mate.
This crazed old man wore a long heavy coat,
His spouse was found floating in the wide castle moat.

Pablo the Wood Wright, leers with a glance,
Carved crosses and coffins—he’d work then he’d dance.
Do not ever ask to watch while he works,
Driving stakes through hearts is one of his quirks.

Gorfton Dickens lived in a wide marsh bog,
He eyed folks meandering through the dense fog.
All that ambled within his domain,
Disappeared forever, except, one that was maimed.

Kefiver Richards, the Master of Flog,
Routinely partook of way too much grog.
He subdued his captives and tied them to birch,
He flogged their backsides and donated meat to the church.

Kellton of Kierat was a minuscule flunky,
As he watched his master leave on a donkey,
He would depart on occasion ‘til he met a young girl,
He’d decapitate the lass as quick as a whirl.

Viceroy Vincent of Dills Castle fame,
He tortured his lackeys to toil in his name.
His despicable trait, he wanted to sate,
He turned men into eunuchs to protect his own mate.

Josef Kreegen worked among stone,
He hammered, carved and his acts he’d condone.
At night he would stagger, his hands all of blood,
Slaughtered felines and canines and buried them in mud.

Robert Murphy, a scurrilous scab,
He tortured women with his attire so drab.
His oratory plagiarized, his eyesight so poor,
Heartless bodies remained, so quick it would blur.

Shorty Longer, carries naught a cure,
Innocent he seemed of heart so pure.
A surprise to young lasses in the town of Keper,
They knew not his disease, for he was a leper.

George the Hermit, who lived in a cave,
He scouted for travelers – a girl or a knave.
He’d viciously drop them into a deep pit,
He later binds them as dinner, upon his large spit.

An apparition from Pavlon was the Messenger of Death,
Who once named Daniel, he cursed under his breath.
He dreamt of haunting a most enormous church,
But he terrorized his victims in an outhouse of birch.

Carig the Rapier whose skill with a blade,
He hunted down peasants and often a maid.
This vile, lecherous being belonged in a sewer,
Each torso was pierced by his blade like a skewer.

The Crest of Ronald was a distinctive shield,
It personified terror, a gargoyle on its’ field.
Notorious was he in killing his mates,
Using honey, money and charm as his baits.

Christopher Alzheimer, the Gunsmith of York,
He built weaponry that created a most vicious torque.
A tale was rumored of a friend’s poor spouse,
The blast offed her head when she called him a louse.

Twanger Jon, the Minstrel of Mirth,
Cruelty was so natural – even from birth.
His singing was pitiful, and so he knew,
He’d use a lute string and strangled you.

Garo Peck, son of Thom, we heard,
His companion was the raven – a famed luckless bird.
You’ll see him sweating while he’s chopping logs,
He axes his victims and feeds them to hogs.

Zipper the Match, he knows his game,
He taunts the peasants with his flame.
Beware of looking upon his one bad eye,
You’ll be engulfed in fire before wondering why.

Evad Youngston the denizen of Darless,
He comes once a year to sacrifice the artless.
He uses a shovel to mutilate a few,
It’s handy, you see, to kill and bury too.

Emmington Lawrence a laboratory aide,
He experiments with devices that he has made.
His deviant style is a perplexing cause,
He stuffs cadavers, with cockroaches and gauze.

And so it ends – no more, no less,
The tales of which I did profess,
Hallowed Eve is vile and ruthless,
Only I remain watchful of this gory mess.

Once again the time of hallowed tales begin,
With additions of gore, and deep chagrin,
I gaze with remorse into the glass orb,
The Crystal speaks, so heed and absorb.


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