Terror Tuesday: 'Tis Not the Season

It seemed too soon, on January third,
To take down her most gorgeous Christmas tree,
And so she left it up, but gave her word
That ere the month was over it would be
Back in its box. Weeks passed, and months did, too.
Then one spring night, when she had come home late
From revels in the warmer weather -- true,
I swear it! -- she did trip and seal her fate.
The string of lights glowed red and wrapped around
Her limbs to hold her fast, as ornaments
Flew at her face and shattered! She lay, bound
And lacerated in a most intense
And gory crime scene after weeks had passed.
Was it an accident? Revenge at last?

Fantasy Friday: We Squirrels

A rodent came to me, and it knew more
About me than my mother does, I'd bet.
Its gaze did penetrate me to the core,
Although the two of us had barely met.
It hypnotized me, I believe, or did
I always have grey fur like this? A tail?
These black and liquid eyes? Where have I hid -- ?
Yes, look at me, and deeply. There's a trail
We're following into the woods. You see?
Look closer, focus, feel it 'neath your feet.
This is the place we're truly meant to be,
With acorns and such other things to eat.
You understand? Hold on, I'm coming there.
What's wrong, my friend? Now all you do is stare.

Satire Sunday: Stranger Danger

She cut her finger while she sliced some beets.
The blood and veggie juice flowed and combined
To form an image: Jesus' face! The tweets
Displaying this near broke the Web. Her mind
Resisted apophenia, but friends
Who'd been there in the kitchen roared as one:
"This is a sign! Our tribulations' end
Is soon! Your blood, an image of the Son..."
No more coherence came from them. Then, soon,
Came pilgrims to her door. Her cutting board
Was now a relic! One night, beneath a moon
Surpassing bright, a vast unruly horde
Of crazed phlebotomists arrived to drain
Her dry so they could stage portentous rain!

Fantasy Friday: Thick Ice

It hadn't been the best year for their sport,
But nothing keeps a fisher off the ice
While it is solid. This week, the report
On same said that conditions would be nice,
And one tagged fish still swam free in the lake.
So Mikel and his sister packed their gear
And ventured forth, thereby to shortly take
Their place in legend -- for this was the year
The ice troll took up residence beneath
The surface of those waters. When it took
Their bait, it took them, too, into the deep.
It used poor Inge's head to bait its hook,
And now it is a fisher, yea, of men.
How shall we make those waters safe again?