Vol.1, No.5 •
            November 2007


            
 


            
Poetry by Shirley
            Allard


            
My Treat...I Insist

            
Beware the night

            of fear and fun

            when all us ghosts

            and demons come

            to haunt and hunt

            with ghastly goals

            and prey on

            unsuspecting souls.

            And if you fail

            my meek demands

            your soul's forever

            in my hands

            whose tricks do not

            include defeat

            and you my sweet

            shall be my treat.

            
 

            
Soul Mates


            
Out of nowhere


            
souls unite


            
their spirits merge


            
and dance.


            
Their words


            
become their music


            
as they flirt


            
with circumstance.


            
Glowing


            
in a mutual light


            
their heartfelt words inspire


            
an act of spontaneous combustion


            
now consumed by friendly fire.


            
 

            
The Middle Ages

            
I’m stuck between ages, a victim of
            time.

            Somewhere between reason, rhetoric and rhyme.

            Too young to be old; too old to be young

            Somewhere between doing, undoing and done.