Running at Night   by   Jeff LeMond

The harvest moon is shining bright,  the air is thick and still.

An ancient battle rages on,  testing. human will.

The story is unraveling,  soon it be too late.

I shall strive to stay alive,  that I might elucidate.

Howling in the distance,  every nerve aware. 

Something runs the fields tonight,  brother, have a care. 

Don’t go walking near the woods,  You’re better off at home.

But some folks just don’t listen.  doggie needs a bone.

Young love is daring,  and seldom it’s denied. 

Officious was my warning,  they wouldn’t stay inside.

Strolling down the old mill road two lovers hand in hand.

With canine cunning fueled by something we’l  never understand. 

He follows at a distance,  watching as they talk.

Panting with erratic pace as they resume to walk. 

At last this wolf perceives his chance,  alas, he makes his move.

They see him come,  they turn to run.  But four legs out run two. 

When the wolf has made his kill and dined with lupine zest.

He pads away through wood and field,  returning to his nest.

Dreams of twilight calling him to sleep before the dawn.

It’s nearly sunrise now he knows the turn is coming on. 

Home at last he burrows in to take a nice long nap.

His den is well secluded,   not on any map. 

He starts to sleep,  he starts to dream,  he dreams he is a man.

A man who runs the night as wolf,  with blood stains on his hand.

Eventually,  he starts to wake   he starts to realize. 

something very bad he’s done,   and tears fill his eyes.

What unearthly deeds preformed by him against his will. 

Where on earth might I be?    How many did I kill? 

Blood-soaked bed sheets strewn about,  heavy is his head.

He looks around  his fear redound,   Safe at home in bed.

 The Choices We Make by   Jeff LeMond

Malefactors and benefactors, 

and who knows which is which?

If you join the wrong party,

there’s still time to switch.

Coke, Pepsi, Dr Pepper, 

name your favorite drink.

Someone gives you Mr Pibb just pour it down the sink.

Chevy, Ford or Chrysler, 

now this could start a fight.

And don’t forget Toyota,

their stuff is out of sight.

Rock N Roll or country,

which one do you sing.

Now that’s a silly question.

we all know that George Strait is KING. 

Is it Heinz 57, or A1 on that steak?

Things that make life such a blast,

the choices that we make.

Another Rainy Day by   Jeff LeMond

I made a point to rise at dawn,  

that I might take a ride.

Such utter disappointment hits me,  as I look outside.

Was not a sunrise looming bright.

Nor birds singing there.

No blue sky as I had hoped for,

Only dismal cold despair.

The day I had anticipated wasn’t coming round.

And just when it appeared its worse,

Rain starts pouring down.

The gods must be against me.

What else can I say.

What have I done to earn this wrath,

another rainy day.

But then I started thinking, 

and so I start to see.

everything that nature does isn’t just for me.

The birds and bees might need a drink for them to buzz and fly.

The grass so green, and trees Ive seen would wither up and die.

This rain might bring despair to some 

and that I understand.

consternation in the air,

when things don’t go as planned.

Raindrops that are falling now,

become the flowers of May.

Lightning strikes will clean the air to make a fresher day.

We will have our chance to walk and run.

 and go outside,

to bask in suns warm rays of light,

and take that morning ride.

So chill for now and understand

the storm is natures way.

relax or cook, read a book 

enjoy this rainy day. 

My Best Friend by Jeff LeMond

Good friends are hard to find, 

by now I’m sure you know.

You seek them out,  You let them in,

and then it’s time to go.

These days its difficult to figure out who to Shirley trust.

Everyone’s so self-absorbed;   materialistic lust.

Consider for a moment the canine at your feet.

All he asks is shelter,  love,  and food to eat.

And on occasion he just might take you for a walk.

Should you feel the need to vent, He’l listen as you talk.

You can’t describe the loving joy a baby puppy brings.

The memories will last a life, unlike other things.

And as you go, he’s always there standing at your side.

And as long as you might need his love, 

you will not be denied. 

And if the need presents itself,  He’l defend you to the end.

The precious DOG,  a gift from GOD  

Its why he’s mans best friend.

 The Old Oak Tree by Jeff LeMond

Standing as a sentinel several meters tall.

Modernity’s antithesis, with shade for one and all.

When we were young the treehouse fun

 was something to behold.

Picnic lunches neath it’s branches,

stories that were told.

Even now as I grow old 

great comfort is to see.

Just ahead, the old homestead still garden by it’s tree.

Communities of birds and bees call the OAK their home.

Much more than essential to complete our family’s tome.

What a gift from GOD above, 

this mighty old oak tree.

Magical, and majestic, 

What a sight to see.

Everyone should be so blessed to know the joy it brings.

Climbing up it’s branches.  

and all manner youthful things.

When someone asks what comes to mind,

what childhood means to me.

My heart is filled with memories

That glorious old oak tree.

 Life Is? by Jeff LeMond

Some say life's a highway, some say life is hard.

Bitch too much and you just might be hoist on your own Petard.

Fact is,  Life’s a gamble.  But we’re still in the game.

Life’s a gift,  a crazy trip.  Sometimes life’s a pain.

After all the discourse,  and all the fighting’s done.

I know this is true my friend.

All we get is one.

So don’t take life for granted.  Treat it with respect.

Love someone,

Help someone,

relax,  renew,  reflect.

So perhaps life is a highway,  And sometimes life is tough.

As we grow old and near its end,  Life’s never long enough.

So live your life the best you can, love it, keep it strong.

Live it,  share it,  make it yours,  and sing it like a song.

 The Knight Stalker by Jeff LeMond

An endless sea of ebony stretches cross the sky.

Landscapes dark and dour 

The shadows they belie.

The only light that feeds the night, 

a bloated bloodshot moon, 

it does more to eliminate .rather than festoon.

Distorted fractal movement chilling to the bone.

He moves with cunning purpose, the night is his alone.

As quiet as a tomb, with stealth he presses on.

With no remorse the hunt persists until the hunger’s gone. 

An unnamed preternatural force courses through his veins.

With vast and cool intellect he treats this like a game.

After dark achievement, and satisfaction gained. 

he rests a while in utter bliss, aggression starts to wane.

A predatory influence drives his lustful quest.

The job is done, the race is run, its time now for a rest.

Some might think it should not be,   

This wraith and all his ilk.

meanwhile he retreats to claim a saucer full of milk. 

 When we were Young By Jeff LeMond

I find myself looking back more and more these days.

Remembering a better life and wiser, warmer ways.

Humanity has lost the game, the clock is ticking down.

It’s time to pack and get away. Lets leave this one horse town. 

Lets hit the road in search of love.

Lets travel like the wind.

Light a candle, say a prayer and fight until the end.

Within without, a strong redoubt. 

and to our hearts be true.

when we were young we had it made.

‘Twas only me and you.

When we were young we ran all day, and never had a care.

The sky was blue, the grass was green, Life was mostly fair.

I wish I could somehow bring it back that better vanished time.

Yesterday lives on and on,  if only in our mind.

 On Tenebrous Wings     By Jeff LeMond

Over moonlit mountain,   woodland,   hillside streams;

A candle lighted village,   

gazing down on furtive  dreams.

Over clouds, through space and time, 

Time suspended,   …or so it seams.

I search the night for something right.

Alive,    on tenebrous wings.

A preternatural feeling deep inside my soul,

drives medieval hunger,

it dare not let me go.

Once again surrendering to what this new life brings. 

A thousand lifetimes lived at night,

aloft on tenebrous wings. 

A smile becomes a rictus,

the heart is beating fast.

A race against the sunrise.

The darkness racing past..

I contemplate the future,

and what tomorrow brings.

Alive for now,  forever night, 

Away on tenebrous wings.

And what survival does to me,  alas,  it’s hard to tell.

An endless thirst,  an agony.   a cruel witches spell.

I’l never see a bluebird fly or hear the song he sings.

Imprisoned by relentless spite.

Tenacious, tenebrous, wings.

 a boy and his bike by Jeff LeMond

45 years ago my birthday came around.

My dad and I jumped in the car and headed off to town.

First we hit McDonald’s for cheeseburgers and a pop.

Afterwords we somehow made our way to the old bike shop.

My dad knew I had been looking at a 5 speed on display.

He somehow found the money and that Schwinn was mine today.

45 years later,   yes I know it’s been a while.

But even now as I look back on that great day,   I smile.

With shifting gears and hand breaks now Im flying like the wind.

The summer haze,  those glory days,  why did they have to end. 

Funny how a gift so small could last for all these years.

The bike is gone but still lives on a gift of love and tears. 

 The Old House on the Hill by Jeff LeMond

We just arrived here in The Lot about three weeks ago.

My wife,  the kids,  the dog and me. With not much else to show. 

The townsfolk mostly seem alright when passing on the street. First impressions had me thinking small town life is sweet.

The boarding house just down the street looks busy every day.   A new antique shop opened up for business round the way.

I can’t help but thinking,  how something is not right.

These codgers moving through the day, are never seen at night.

It looks to me as time goes by,  fewer move at day.

It’s almost like when we moved in,  The townies moved away.

Fewer people in town square or hanging in the park.

And absolutely no one will be caught out after dark.

And as if all this is insufficient to give your heart a chill.

You should see the eldritch glow, 

emanating from the old house on the hill.

This place gives me the creeps, its time to leave the Lot.

We hit the road this evening.  Destination   Castle Rock. 

 grandpa   by   Jeff LeMond

When he was young he was a carpenter, 

who loved to work with wood. 

Always there to lend a hand and help folks if he could.

He met a gal and fell in love,   got married and had 9 kids.

Together they would raise a family,   work a farm,   

worship,   love,   and live. 

While giving birth his wife passed on and now he was alone.

He did his best to work three jobs and keep their family home.

Earliest memories of my grandpa are treasures I hold deer. 

Never a boring moment when that ole coot was near. 

He liked to drink,   he liked to cuss,   he loved to stir the pot.

But most of all he loved us kids He’l never be forgot. 

Take this stick and poke that nest of hornets over here.

I’l hang back and watch what happens,    grinning ear to ear.

When it’s done,  He laughs,  we run,  Snack time and we’re calm.   Plenty more where that came from.   

Just don’t tell your mom.

So,   that’s the kind of grandpa I had many years ago.

I’d give anything to hug his neck,   I loved my grandpa so. 

 The Good Stuff   by Jeff LeMond

A metaphoric highway,   with arms open wide.

LIFE,  the great adventure,  Invective not applied. 

We tend to dwell on so much rubbish wasting precious time.   

Focus on the Vinegar,  forget about the wine. 

Through the course of living, I’ve learnt a thing or three.

I want to share with one or more  so joyful you might be. 

Detritus lines life’s highway,  knee deep on either side. 

But filled with love, the sky above is blue and miles wide. 

Fireflies illuminate the deepest darkest night.

Butterflies and orchids add value to ones sight. 

A whippoorwill is calling,  its music to the ears.

Landscapes ever-changing as seasons through the years.

The fragrant honeysuckle,

a newborn babies cry.

The warm embrace of lovers.

Homemade apple pie.

Lets take some time to contemplate the good things in a life.

No more over analyzing omnipresent strife.

Smile at a stranger,

Embrace a lifelong friend.

Think about the manger, 

Help the broken mend.

Focus on the positive and leave the rest behind,

The good stuff is ubiquitous, it’s there for us to find. 

 TIME   by Jeff LeMond

Science says that space and time are perhaps intertwined somehow.

Yesterday is far away,   we live in the here and now.

Cher says if she could turn back time,  perhaps she could find a way.

But time keeps slipping slipping slipping  into the future,  

regardless of what people might say.

Only so many grains of sand in the hourglass, 

then our time runs out.

One might think it a precious gift,

a priceless moment no doubt.

Whatever station occupied in life, 

we all must face the dawn,   with arrant understanding

Know that assuredly;   time marches on.

  Why do so many treat this time with blatant disregard?

wasting precious moments,   feeding the canard.

Planning for tomorrow things you should work on today.

And being disappointed when your time has gone away.

No one knows for sure how many minutes in a life.

But lets not waste a single moment  Wallowing in strife.

Life’s too short to spend our time, 

in fear, self doubt and such.

Let us treasure every day we’re given,

as a blessing valued much.

Our time is best spent fishing,  or walking in the park.

or catching up with long lost friends,  or dancing in the dark.

Visiting with mom and dad,  revisiting the past.

Making precious memories, 

Building love that lasts.

After all is over,   it’s all been said and dun.

Our time is GOD’s allowance,

and all we get is ONE.

 seasons by   Jeff LeMond

Living in the midwest one tends to appreciate the ever changing weather,

how the weatherman will obfuscate. 

The only thing to do is face each day with a smile.

If the forecast fails to satisfy,  relax,  and wait a while.

As I am growing older,  appreciation starts to show.

With a love for each new season,  

the falling leaves,

the rain and snow. 

In winter we can burrow in and read a few new books.

Eat a pot of chili,   and forget about our looks.

Spring time gives us cause to smile,  break down and clean our nest.  Unpack all your spring time clothes 

and give that coat a rest. 

Summer time is coming soon, 

with swimming,  biking,  sun.

To sum it up in just one word,

Summer Time Is FUN!

By far the most picturesque. 

as leaves begin to change. 

September brings us Autumn, 

as seasons rearrange.  

With red and gold and milder days, 

as Halloween draws near.

Seasons serve to add an metamorphic beauty to the year.

Before you know its Christmas time,  

a season filled with love.

We celebrate our savior’s birth, 

A gift from up above.. 

Its anything but boring 

with these seasons GOD has made.

For basking in warm sunshine,

for relaxing in the shade.

For raking leaves or clearing snow,  

it gives us things to do. 

These ever-changing seasons,  a gift for me and you.

 The Power of Music by   Jeff LeMond

It’s been said that music has the power to calm the savage beast.

It stirs up memories from yesteryear, 

emotions long deceased.

It’s the sound that true love makes when growing in the heart.

Its creation can be best described as a science,   and an art.

One could use this magic to travel back in time.

or ply a certain melody to change ones state of mind.

More effective  than any drug or aphrodisiac,

its preternatural power can bring long lost feelings back.

According to the BIBLE, God loves music too.

such a strong endorsement,

the like;      we never knew.

Consider the musician with wood and metal string.

with undefinable passion, he makes his guitar sing.

The more you think about it.

The more you realize.

Our music is our magic.

Our emotions in disguise. 

It makes us patriotic,

it makes us want to dance.

Convincing us to fall in love,

or take a second chance.

Music has the power to influence kings and queens.

Our humanity is best defined by music that one sings.

 Any Other Sunday by   Jeff LeMond

Any other Sunday you might find me 

headed off to church.

Scoping out my favorite pew

Doing GOD research.

Fellowship with everyone and singing lovely hymns.

Sharing prayer and testimony, worshiping with friends.

After church is over,  it’s time for Sunday Lunch.

Another kind of fellowship. To congregate and munch.

And now we head back to the house to rest or take a nap.

Later on it’s picnic time barring any odd mishap. 

We take a walk or ride a bike enjoying the outdoors.

Clearing minds of life’s designs, 

and anxious endless chores.

A football game or some such rot will take us to it’s end.

Sundays come and Sundays go, 

a week,  it’s back again. 

Sunday is a gift from GOD,  let us not forget.

The week is done, let’s have some fun.

 Our end of week re set…

 silly things by Jeff LeMond

Your first night alone in this too old house, 

a storm is working up.

Light the candles,  brew a pot,  you sure could use a cup.

The night goes on,  you start to calm 

You haven’t got a care.

Was that a noise?  A frightful noise from down the basement stair. 

Unearthly rapping,  horrid tapping,

the flapping of hungry wings.

Just go down the stairs and have a peak.

see what knowledge brings.

As you make cold progress towards the steps your heartbeat races fast.

Each breath you take and draw in deep, 

as if it were your last. 

As the basement door moons closer 

old corruption fills the air.

Your senses pick up furtive movement 

something wrong in there. 

The end is near,  you fight your fear and turn the light switch on.

And as the dark gives way to light 

and fear gives way to calm.

Nothing in the basement but this dusty oblong box.

wrapped up tight with rusty chains,  

secured with rusty locks. 

The people who once lived here must have left the box behind.  

I wonder whats inside this thing,

kept running through her mind.

Must be quite important to have locked it up this way.

It couldn’t hurt to have a look and so without delay…

She moves off to the workbench for some tools she will need.  

to free the chains and look inside and satisfy her greed.

With tools in hand,  her wide eyes land on three antique key rings. 

she picks them up and ends the night with 

darkest  silly  things.

 more silly things by Jeff LeMond

A shortcut through the park at night, reckless and alone.

Through cold despair,   without a care  

she makes her way towards home.

Rejected by her lover,

neglected by her friends.

She drank a few too many,   too late to make amends. 

She thinks her life is over now 

no reason to go on.

Everything she worked for,

and all she loved is gone. 

so with reckless abandon, she moves into the night.

Willing to surrender,  giving up without a fight. 

And just now on the edge of things,  about to lose her mind.

She hears the heavy foot falls coming quickly from behind.

With baited breath she fights her fear to see whats coming on.

An old man walks his dog right past,

suddenly they are gone.

And once again her fear sets in 

as lonely is the night.

Relief at last,  she starts to grin,

Her home is just in sight.

But as she now approaches,  she sees the door’s a jar. 

Someone must have gained ingress,  

I wonder who they are?

She tries to sneak and have a peak 

just then her cell phone rings. 

Dark shadows fall upon her now,

quiescent  silly  things

 The Oblong Box   by Jeff LeMond

Unwittingly uncovered  in a farmhouse basement room.

Locked away securely,   to seal its owners doom.

This long forgotten relic from a dark and distant past,

Sarcophagus eternal,  

from kingdoms cold and vast.

The thing that came from loosened bonds 

requires time to heal.

But first it feeds,   my how it feeds

until its had its fill. 

With strength renewed and youth reclaimed 

the prince is making plans.

A brand-new world with so much life. 

Mere putty in his hands.

With mad desire crowding in the creature makes his play.

Without a fright he rules the night,  but dreads the light of day.

So with each night his numbers grow 

as by each day he sleeps.

This plague will never stop,   until it gets all that it seeks. 

Resembling some  foul charnel house,

that old basement with its box.

Bodies strewn about the floor,

some rusty chains, and locks. 

This could have been avoided 

and such terror never known.

If someone would have stayed upstairs 

and left well enough alone. 

If someone had resisted,  the urge to look inside.

But her need to solve  this mystery would never be denied.

So spreading like a virus  with malevolent intent.

Driven by vampiric lust 

his cause shall not relent. 

If some brave soul could breach the tomb 

during daylight hours. 

The oblong box might be destroyed , 

regardless of its powers. 

That thing inside,  that darkest wraith,

might be dispatched as well.

Good things come to those who wait.

But this belongs in hell…

 aftermath   by Jeff LeMond

In and out of consciousness,  

struggling for her life.

Emotions cascade through her mind,  

loneliness  and  strife.

A dark and unnamed hunger, 

Like she’s never felt before. 

Wrought with mass confusion, 

as she lay there on the floor.

Only for a moment,  she summons up the will.

To raise her head   and look around,   to see if this is real.

Why am I in this basement?  

What the hell is going on?

Guess I must have blacked out here, 

and slept right through till dawn.

She was far too week to notice,  tools littering the floor.

The rusty chains and rusty locks,

the crimson scar she bore. 

Just now,  all she thought about 

was heading up to bed.

A nice long nap would suit her fine,

and then   she must be fed…

As she leaves the basement,   and sunlight touches skin.

Such pain the like she’s never felt,  a burning from within.

Retreating to the viper’s nest,

seeking refuge there.

She curls up beside the box 

such an odd affair. 

Something strange just crossed her mind,

in times like these,  it will.

As closer she lie near that box,

safe it makes her feel. 

At first it seems a bit un real 

some kind of crazy dream.

Wrong or right,   Fight or flight,

…Or something in-between.

And then she drifts away to sleep 

Yes,   like us,   they rest too.

With dreams of darkest work ahead,

so many things to do…

The next thing she remembers,  

she’s alone,   it’s cold,   and dark.

She’s standing on the front porch, 

at a house down by the park.

Her thirst has been abated.

She’s never felt so strong.

Never-mind the lifeless body sprawled out on the lawn.

Never mind the blood and all the sorrow this stuff brings.

Never mind the consequences,    using those three rings .

The only thing that matters now, 

as she wipes her bloody face.

Is returning to her basement and that box,

It’s her safe space. 

 Dark Passage by Jeff LeMond

A cargo ship set sail that night on stormy waves of cold.

Nine crewmen and the captain and a manifest so old.

Half a dozen boxes of experimental earth.

Soil from Romania,  how much is it worth?

As time goes by and and crewmen die

the captain starts to fear.

This raging storm is following us.

There’s something wicked here.

One by one as nights go by, his crew all disappear.

Soon its just the captain,  his cargo,  and his tear.

The last night on dark waters,

This storm is strongest now.

The captain does the best he can 

to ground the ship somehow. 

Weeks later, on a lonely beach along NewEngland’s coast.

A cargo ship from eastern Europe driven by its ghost.

The long dead captain tied himself to the helm 

as last resort.

A noble man right to the end, Such honor and comport.

People started wondering, what happened to the crew? 

A raging storm had wrecked the ship, nearly torn into. 

Most all the precious cargo 

had been crushed by sea and rocks.

One single soul survivor. 

The strangest oblong box.