H.M. Ridge
About
Hello and welcome fellow wordivores.
Explore my site to your black heart’s delight.
I offer prose and poems that you’ll adore
If you crave eerie stories at midnight.
My novel’s nearly ready to unveil;
The plot concerns a lad aged five whose doom
His grandma used folk magic to derail.
But Tommy still has one foot in his tomb.
A mountain god still hunts the tender boy.
It beckons him to walk in shadow world,
Where ghouls long dead scheme evil plots to d’stroy
His life and chain his soul to underworld.
The book will be in print this Halloween,
Should you be looking for a pleasant scream.
Narrative Poems
Full Moon's Curse
T’was midnight bright by moonbeam’s light aglow When I first felt my body transform cruel. I had the thickest coat that fur could grow, My fangs protruded far for hunt or duel. I ran about the woods to chase and bite. My quarry made my belly cease its growls. I always was prepared for bloody fight, And after sang to luna ringing howls. But wretched curse has stolen freedom gall’nt And turned a noble wolf to outcast beast. For now I walk among humans whose tall’nt Is letting money rule ‘till they’re deceased. Send me a silver bullet; foil foul plan. No longer shall I be a mad wereman.
The Stowaways
Before our hero took the stage, the Earth Had fallen under shadow dreary dim. Some Stowaways laid leather eggs a berth A starship traveling between us’n them. The monsters hatched and found an opulent Domain. T’was ripe for picking. Full of game. They soared with boneless bodies confident, And plunged upon their meat without refrain. Society first fractured, and then broke. Long, hungry days spawned bloody, rabid nights. Vile raiders pillaged, burned, and ravaged hope. All while the villains took to merry flight. To such a world was gentle hero born. Necessity bequeathed the lad a sling And stones as shield for woolly beasts hand shorn. His German shepherd, Blitz, kept ear for whing. Though born in an apocalypse, he swore He’d not become a vicious monster, too. Though he dispatched aliens by score, He vowed he’d never run a human through. The Shepherd never knew a world less fierce, But dreamed of paradise and peace and love. An arrow named McBride his heart did pierce, And lifted young shepherd’s spirit up like doves. T’was she for whom the lad wrote poetry. Her smile and laughter overshadowed all. The first time she said to him, “Blessed be,” He knew t’was love that caused his sudden fall. When monsters, men, attacked McBride’s blood kin, The lass amassed a mob and stoked their fury. She manifested bloodlust like dark djinn, And sentenced death without a silly jury. The shepherd boy, though torn, enlisted, too, And joined the posse hell-bent on revenge. The quest was perilous, their goal taboo: To slaughter raiders with knives bloodied tinge. They tracked the fiends across infested land, And fought off flying brutes with stones and blades. The monsters made their meals from wayward band, But still they carried on their grim crusade. A sinister plot questers hatched; They stormed The reivers camp and murdered them with flair. But by bad stroke of luck the girl was swarmed, And roughly carried off to secret lair. The boy alone had heart enough to fight And pursue fiends to save his lovely lass. His fellows said they’d not die for white knight, And warned they’d kick his sentimental ass. The shepherd could not be dissuaded, though And made a sacred vow; to kill the goons, And rescue Brie, or die her faithful beau. The dog and he pursued them by bright moon. They came upon the villains silent, dark. The brazen shepherd readied humble sling. His river stones always found lethal mark, And abduct’rs fell along with his esteem. He’d dreamed of gentler days, fraternal ways, And the return of law and order. Fool! This world repaid compassion with bouquets Of corpses. Living here turned boys to ghouls. And though his innocence was murdered savage, And blood-stained fingers shook with trauma, fright, The lad had saved his lass from brutal damage, And thought the price for it was meager, slight.
History of Half Moon Ridge
“I can remember in nineteen oh-six, When snow to water turned in time abridged; An avalanche unearthed most brut’l relics Beneath the railroad tracks by Half Moon Ridge,” My father said when I sat on his lap. This was some years ago mind you that, dear. “’Twas crime of old revealed by new mishap, The corpses they exhumed left all austere. Some bodies they found were recent and fresh, But others had long since been feasts for worms. The skeletons were stripped of all their flesh, And even more were found beneath the berms. The story they told spoke of greed of gold; The migrant workers that had laid the tracks Demanded pay with calloused hands ahold. And for their efforts they each earned their backs A shot from company’s union busting goons. The murderers dug victims one mass grave, And there they rot ‘till evil mount exhumed The dead and gave their ghosts the air they craved. All while new life was shrouded and entombed. From there on out, the mountain craved the doomed.” I was a little girl when last I heard This story, but it’s crisp now as t’was then. And though my superstition sounds absurd, I know the evil mountain hunts my kin. My dearest son was still just a young lad When Half Moon Ridge again struck hurtful blow; A cave-in claimed my husband, Dalton’s Dad, Along with half the town’s copp’r mining joes. I’d felt a dreadful tingle that cursed day, My intuition warning to beware. And I regret that nothing did I say To keep my husband from the grim affair. I feel that awful intuition now, And I don’t know what I’m to do this time. The mountain’s hunger has grown I’ll avow But I’m not sure what’s its intended crime. I fear my family is in harm’s way, Though I’m not sure the methods or design. This time Half Moon Ridge’s plot I shall allay, And safely shall I keep my dear bloodline. I vow I’ll work by day and in moonshine To cast my spells and in sand draw the line.
Jack and the Sword of Light
Jack awoke with a start and a fast beating heart. He had nearly been torn apart! He ran to his Mom and said the monsters were under his bed. He howled and cried that he’d nearly died, and his mother picked him up and sighed. “Tell me all about it,” she said with dread. “But those monsters aren’t under your bed. They’re just in your head.” “The vampires tried to drain my blood,” Jack cried in a flood. “When I tired to run I fell in the mud and was covered in crud.” “That sounds pretty bad,” his mother said to the lad. “Didn’t that make you awfully mad?” “Mad? I was scared,” the little boy blared. “The mud was nothing to the fangs he bared. It’s only by luck that my life was spared.” “What happened to the vampire?” his mother did inquire. “Did you slay it by stake or fire?” “No, a werewolf came and growled until the vampire fled. Then it howled, and after me it prowled.” “What did you do when the werewolf tried to bite and chew? Did you at least kick it with your shoe?” “Kick and fight? I nearly died of fright,” Jack shouted with all his might. “I’m not big and strong like a knight. How can I stop a monster when I’m so slight?” “Stand and fight or run and hide,” Jack’s mother did chide. “Knights were once boys who cried and shied. But there is more to you than fear and tears, if you’re willing to find it, my dear.” “I’m just a kid,” Jack said rather glib. “You say you’re ashamed that I ran and hid.” “Ashamed? No, I never said so. But I do think it’s time you grow. I have some things you ought to know.” And she told Jack how he could slay his prey. “All you need is a sword for the melee. With a blade the monsters you’ll flay until they flee and pray.” “I’m not magic,” Jack said feeling tragic. She told him how in his dream he could imagine such a thing. “All you need is calm and focus, not any hocus pocus. When you’re deep in slumber and face ghouls without number, don’t let fear keep you encumbered. Hold out your hand and simply demand, ‘Sword of might, sword of light, come to me; I have monsters to fight!’” They talked some more and Jack understood. With a sword in hand, fight he could, and fight he would, until the monsters were gone for good. The next night Jack lay in his bed, and planed for the battle that was ahead. He drifted off, and awoke in a dream that other times would’ve made him scream. The ghouls were there. They lay in wait. Zombies this time: six, no, eight! Jack was scared, but he was also prepared, and he knew he could slay them, if only he dared. He held out his hand and made his demand: “Sword of might, sword of light, come to me; I have monsters to fight!” In his hand appeared a flaming sword the zombies feared. Jack slashed and speared until the zombies disappeared. “Hooray!” Jack cried with delight. “Mom was right; I just had to stand and fight! Monsters beware, Jack is here, and he has a sword of light!” Jack strode on. His fear was gone, and he was sure he’d have pleasant dreams until dawn.
Kitchen Witchery
Grandma's Cookies
I have mixed in the flour and the sugar and chips. One ingredient more you must take from my lips; Mix in love from my heart and don’t ration it out. My beloved will want to eat loads I don’t doubt. For your sweetness and richness will only improve With this secret ingredient they’re sure to approve. My wee gobs of sweet dough please absorb all you’ll hold, And pass precious, warm love onto those hearts gone cold.
Clint Yeastwood
I have given my starter the name Clint Yeastwood. I want sourdough with courage as well as tastes good. When my dears take a bite of this bread with delight, They will gather up valor along with their might. Gooey dough I’m afraid I insist you must give People power to face what they fear and yet live. So now while I am forming this boule I shall say, “Go ahead. Make my day.”
Pâté
Shiver, quiver, I’ve a liver. Chop and dice cloves garlic, allspice. Add ambition, grit, volition, Dollop cream in butt’red terrine. Put in oven. Summon coven. Lay out spread of mustard and bread.
Sappy Poems
The Carrier Pigeon's Burden
I’ve got a message for this cooing dove, But I’m afraid the burden’s onerous; You see, he’s carrying you all of my love. I pray he lives to sing song sonorous. I hope his weary wings have strength enough To carry him and my love both to cote. Give him some grain after he’s huffed and puffed, And then take time to read demure love note. His coos are gentle kisses, listen well. The flaps of wings are hugs from me to you. He’ll bob his head reminding you, my belle, The love I have for you is vast and true. If humble messeng’r pigeon doesn’t prevail, I pray when you see his kind they’ll avail.
Rhymes for 'Love'
I wonder: will you like your sonnet, Love? I’m grasping for more words to show my love. Above, dove, glove, shove, of, and turtle dove. There aren’t enough damn rhymes for fucking ‘love’. ‘Love’ should have thousands, millions of quaint rhymes. I need more words to show you you’re adored. Whenever you’re near, my pulse quickly climbs. You’d think after all these years I’d be bored, But it’s reversed; I’m only more in love. It’s millions of the little things, one for each word that doesn’t rhyme with fucking ‘love’. I once gave reasons: list of ‘hundred scored. So pardon shitty rhymes in sonnet, mine, And wash them down with a glass of red wine.
Poets are Drolls
I ne’er believed in soulmates ‘till my soul Touched yours. I thought the poets maudlin saps With silly prose about love’s woes. What drolls. They blather on and on about that crap. They rant about their feelings, beauty, love. Ethereal and boring topics, all. They want to fall in love? Give ‘em a shove. And save me from their weary protocol. Then I met you, and now I know the reason For poetry. It’s stupid saps like me Whose hearts hold fire regardless of the season. Your soul has captured mine, it burns for thee. My soul has found its mate, a perfect match. I can’t believe I landed such a catch.
Hooker Witch
I love to watch you sitting near the fire With yarn in your lap, twitching this way, that. My Dearest hooker, craft to heart’s desire. Crochet yourself a woolen winter hat. A witch has cast her spell upon my heart. She has a needle for her magic wand. Her wand casts potent charms along with art. My witch, your beauty compels me respond. I’ll bring you snacks and cocktails over ice. You’ll be so cozy you’ll wish t’never leave. I’ll send our goldens t’snuggle warmth so nice, To keep you company while you quietly weave. My darling, let me know if anything You need. I’ll fetch it; you just play with string.