The Resident Poet Pages

 

Patricia Burton

 

In 2014, the Dracula Society Committee created the honorary post of Society "Poet in Residence".

 

The fourth incumbent was Patricia Burton.

 

Tragically, Patricia passed away having produced only a few works for us. We present them here as tribute to her memory.

 

These works have appeared in our Society magazine Voices from the Vaults, and many of them have also been presented "live" by their author at Society events.

 

Please be aware that these works are the property of the author, and should not be reproduced elsewhere without permission.

 

To read the work of our first Poet in Residence Cardinal Cox click here, our second Poet in Residence Tina Rath click here, and our third Poet in Residence Matt Thomsitt, click here.

 

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The Witching Hour

 

There is darkness outside,

It’s waiting for me

Asking the witch in my heart

Would be set free.

 

Foxes are crying, dogs howl at the Moon,

The Witching hour shall start very soon.

A distant owl’s hoot, a swish of bat’s wing,

Those are the sounds that make my heart sing.

 

I should be out there, among demons and ghosts,

Chatting with vampires about their hosts.

Exchanging recipes for the most perfect brew

With spirits of witches whom I once knew.

 

I yearn to join them, I don’t want to hide

But know very well that I must stay inside.

There’s no point to argue, no point to lurk.

I slowly exhale, and get back to work.

 

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The Guardian of the Dead

 

Greetings and welcome

To the Garden of the Dead.

Please remain silent

And watch where you tread.

 

Some of the residents

Have a light sleep,

Despite the fact

That they rest six feet deep.

 

I am the Guardian,

I’ll show you around

Though we must move carefully,

And not make a sound.

 

Sombre, inert mood

I keep throughout the day,

At night, from dusk till dawn

Dead rise and want to play.

 

Some like to walk around,

Stretch their bones so bare,

Others – just swirls of dust

Ride fresh streams of air.

 

For this very reason

An assistant I seek.

Lost souls among living

A havoc tend to wreak.

 

You’re perfect for the task.

Stop shaking your head.

You asked why are you here.

Friend, you too are dead!

 

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Family Feast

 

I bid you welcome to my castle

Please do enter if you dare.

It’s somewhat creaky, and full of shadows

But has a garden that we all share.

 

My ancestors and I reside in here

It’s been a while since we had a living guest,

I’ll show you around before the dinner

You will surely be impressed.

 

 Thirteen chambers, all en-suite

Each one with own chamber pot.

Taps are bit rusty and often drip

But water is rarely hot.

 

The hall is touch draughty, I admit

And the chandelier looks frail.

Watch out for staircase missing its teeth,

And ignore that dreadful wail.

 

Tonight's feast is prepared by chef

An old friend of mine.

You may heard of him, he's the best

His name is Frankie Stein.

 

You must be famished, and here we are

In the big dining hall.

Please be seated, here on my right,

You will now meet us all.

 

The gentleman first to enter

Is my grandma’s Uncle Vlad.

He prefers his meat to be served al dente

And the drink of his choice is blood.

 

My grandma Cara, the famous beauty,

Though do not meet her gaze.

Without her glasses, she keeps forgetting,

She sets everything ablaze.

 

These are my cousins, Eve and Willy

And their daughter Sly.

She's aware - guests are not to be eaten

But she will surely try.

 

We are all here, all but one,

This food is looking fine.

So let's not delay, let's begin.

Um, that red is not wine!

 

My Auntie Betty is last to arrive,

She loves her baths too much

They keep her young, her skin so smooth

And so soft to touch.

 

What did you say?

You don't enjoy our company or food?

Well then friend, I did not expect

That you would be so rude!

 

You may not like us, it's OK

But we like you rather lot!

And so it happens, among our graves

We have an empty spot!

 

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