Tag: Thomas Flyte

Rise do souls from slumber deep

Here’s a short extract to share with you dear reader, especially now that the hours of daylight are fading fast and the nights last longer. Make sure your doors are shut and locked tight…

Rise do souls from slumber deep

from unhallowed ground no corpse to keep

and drag death’s gait on moon lit road

to seek you out in locked abode

that they do reek and moan the dead

while you remain tucked up in bed

for do not rise and unlock the door

or your days shall be no more

Do you like, feel free to comment or continue the verse if you feel inspired to join in and we’ll post the best below…

entry by Jonathan Harker/Thomas Flyte/John Riley

artwork thanks to
phio
Frantisek_Krejci
halit52

The Ghostly World Fictional Ghost Stories

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October 25, 2018 Add Comment

The Hanging Tree

Here’s another little piece set out in verse. A dark tale for the hours of darkness. Do give it a read, comment if you so wish, for now here is:-

The Hanging Tree by John Riley/Thomas Flyte

A tender young man o’er by hanging tree
did see another maid on bended knee,
with cut briar rose for one grave urn
and silent thought until weather turn.

When lunar face shining bright and full
and night time beckons at rainfalls lull,
cast in shadow upon hillside mound
beneath tree a man waits his mistress found.

Court does this suitor a maiden so fair
and startles appearing from out of nowhere.
From behind gravestone to offer his charm
while skies turn stormy at nature’s alarm.

Their love did grow from that stormy night
a secret courting o’er full moonlight.
He feels the warmth of her tiny hand
upon the hilltop where they stand.

And so did nature send storms and rain
that crash and bang but all in vain.
Soaked to the skin they dash on foot
to shelter in old gravedigger’s hut.

She steals a kiss from lips so cold
forgetting the things she’s been told.
His skin so pale and ice to touch
now townsfolk cry its all too much.

In unhallowed plots sleep the brokenhearted
necks pulled long when life soon parted.
Bewitched by a love who never dies
those stolen kisses under stormy skies.

All Rights Reserved copyright John Riley/Thomas Flyte

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September 10, 2018 Add Comment

The Tale of Obadiah Watts

by John Riley

I got Thomas to read this the other day when he came over to visit and thought we might do a recording of it replacing the test one produced a while ago. Think it’s probably still floating around on YouTube. Feel sure it lends itself ideas and a bit of fun producing.

So here is The Tale of Obadiah Watts by Thomas Flyte

There’s a splintered old door that’s flat to the ground
all covered in moss but still can be found.
It’s in the garden of a house that you should not name
that crackled and spat as it burnt from a flame.

High in the sky tattered crows fly well clear
of the shadows that creep and bring a town fear.
Tall spear railings so sharp and black
poke hidden with the ivy ready for attack.

All the towns children don’t play there at night
’cause they know the devil dances and gives them a fright.
Red blood paint spills across a wooden sign.
Keep Out of this place or you’ll be mine.

Obadiah Watts so big and bold
ignored all the warnings he had been told.
From a town far away greedy for gold
a selfish man that takes what’s sold.

Late at night when the moon was new
and an old eagle owl hooted out a boo.
From deep inside every nook and cranny
are two red eyes that would scare your granny.

Seeking out something down on the ground
he looked and looked until it could be found.
A door that leads to treasures of gold
but guarded by a demon many centuries old.

Obadiah doesn’t care of tales that scare.
Obadiah Watts just doesn’t much care.
Out in the darkness waiting in the night
is a long legged tall man ready for flight.

With a knock and a knock and a tap and a tap
Obadiah Watts finds the door with a rap.
He takes from his coat a golden little key
stolen from a deaf man when he didn’t see.

Eager and greedy of what lay below
forgetting the warning on hearing hello.
Laughing to himself as he unlocks the door
frees it from the moss he can’t wait no more.

Within a glowing light that beats so hot
guiding his steps he knows where not.
Down and down following the light
until he finds a room and what a sight.

A long legged tall man nimble and quick
slamming the door and locks it with a click…
And Obadiah Watts so greedy and bold
faces a demon that turns him to gold!

All Rights Reserved

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March 8, 2018 Add Comment

The Ghostly World Journal

by John Riley

Such a biting cold stinging day I have kept myself indoors and fired up the heating to keep the place snug.

From the comfort of a warm room looking out from the window you’d have thought the bright sun radiating such a welcome coaxing one to come out and play on this day.

Pretending might I add, it is a masquerade my readers. No, it is certainly not a spring day and let me remind all we are still in the grip of winter here in The Ghostly World.

So I’m relaxing a little from story telling and throwing my thoughts out there, sharing one or two moments here in The Ghostly World.

I’ve invited Thomas Flyte over for a natter get the lay of the land and all that. But I must be on my guard when he offers his small gifts, you know, a token of appreciation for the hospitality.

Left me a punnet of mushrooms. Fried up nice with egg and bacon. Had an amazing six hours after that meal most of the time laid on my back swatting fairies buzzing around my face.

Anyone care to let me know what breed of mushroom they were and where to buy, don’t seem to find them in the local greengrocer’s

Feel sure Thomas will read a few poems squeezed into the fireside chair. Here’s one of Thomas’s pieces by the way hope you enjoy it, transcribed from an entity known as – The Shepherd.

Sheep

When born and do not know but follow as flocks of sheep
and gather in herds to pens that keep
watched over by eye that wolf in sheep’s clothes
that feeds on life and steals marked souls.

And when from rutted tracks you leave
those rich tapestry pastures lifetimes weave
and know you will when returned to home
that you bleated but did not roam.

Born are lambs to slaughter born on earth
to bleat and suckle and new in birth
that grazes and follows while lone wolf sees
those that count and those that flees.

All rights reserved Copyright Thomas Flyte

additions by Valentine Heart/Thomas Flyte

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March 1, 2018 Add Comment