1943 NICKEL


           A nickel I came upon, old is its age,


          Dirty and worn, 1943 had a name.


         When it was made, which first pocket did hold,


        A celebrity of movies or a farmer tired at night.


        Could it have been the great Joe DiMaggio, 


        As time went by, possibly a singer or Olympian.


       A little boy had a nickel in his pocket, grew did he,


       A famous writer he became, a 1943 nickel, where could it be?


      Beyond seventy years this silver-looking coin has traveled,


      Today it rests with me, who held onto it in 1943?

      Keith Garrett

             DON'T OPEN THE DOOR!

I was warned about it many times by my grandfather,
Father, and for many years, family members.

The rule was that when visiting this most unusual house
never go downstairs past the basement.

There’s a room further on that’s been built into the earth.

A fearful warning: don’t open the door! has been echoed
For a century.

I went down there one night after everyone went to sleep,
I wanted to know what was in there.

I pressed my ear to the door and listened for any sound.

Quiet, no window to look through, nothing.

I discovered a key hanging above the door.

Although I wanted so badly to see what was in that room
I wondered more about why this key was there if it was
So forbidden to open the door.

I went back to bed, night after night; dreams filled my head.

What was in there? A monster, crazy people, were there bodies
Or treasure?

Could it be just an empty old room of dust and cobwebs?

I needed to know, and soon I would find out.

I would see what no person should ever see. I took the key
Into my hand and unlocked it.

I heard the words Don’t open the door! But I did; I opened
The door. Oh God! I opened the door!

Keith Garrett

               PRISON OF FEAR

On this Island I am stranded. No one knows I am here,

I am sought out fore they know my whereabouts.

Not only am I trying to survive, but now I must hide,

Never staying in the same spot, this is no home.

Through the night, I try to sleep, but I

Must keep watch.

Prison of fear has become my existence.

Every day, each night I take refuge in a different site,

It’s morning light once more; time to move on.

I am hungry as I quietly hide, things to eat here and there,

To live this way for the rest of my life would be a most

Certain hell.

They are always on the hunt, following through the brush,

Over a hill, or in the distance,

I will eventually tire; they will find me,

They are my fear; this is my prison of fear.

Keith Garrett

      THEY LET ME OUT!

Fools! They let me out, they let me go, I’m on the loose once again,

They believed me when I said I’m sorry, I’ve learned my lesson.

My time here is complete. You have reformed me, as I agree, ha! ha!

Yes! I understand that I must be good and not do those things again.

Trust me when I say that I was wrong, and I know I have a problem,

You have my word that I’ll take my medicine and report when I should.

I was sick; I know that now. You’ll be watching me, I promise you, trust me,

They let me out! Those fools! I’ll show them what’s going to happen for
Locking me up.

They have no Idea what I’ve really done or what I’m capable of; they
Know little,

What I have been punished for is not all that I have done; they let me out!

What I am is more evil than you can imagine; bad things will happen,

It’s not my fault! Just remember, they let me out.

                  Keith Garrett

       THE LIGHTHOUSE

Tall as it rests high upon the cliff, overlooking the foggy bay,

Seems so quiet and lonely except for the waves crashing on the rocks.

The cold wind pounds against the rusty, old lighthouse under the fall sky,

What guards over this place for a century? What happened long ago?

As if dead, it slowly crumbles with time, maybe forgotten as the years go by,

Someone or something does not forget, as there exists anger, revenge.

What is it that haunts this lighthouse, cries in the night within the wind,

Whatever had happened here long ago, makes bad things come to any soul.

Stay away! There’s a force here that protects and will take the lives of those

who cross the path where once unspeakable acts of murder did happen.

Whoever it is that stands watch can not leave for certain reasons: unfinished
Work.

Possibly friends or family members who, for whatever reason, hang on to a life
Not here.

The lighthouse shines its light each night, but nobody knows just why; always fear,

Never will he or any others be at peace or leave until punishment is complete.

       Keith Garrett                   

    THE FRONT DOOR

What lies beyond the front door, within it,

Is it possible to be on both sides at once?

Perhaps in your thinking mind, dreaming thoughts,

A gateway to safety, a warm place to rest your weary head,

Home and family, all the comforts of peace within an opening door.

Beyond the front door is a big world of uncertain adventure,

There are those of fear which will bring a tearful heart down,

Places of memory and happiness, those not known or ever seen.

The front door opens and closes both ways, from different directions,

Never stuck in the middle, love and memories, pain and sorrow, both sides.

     Keith Garrett

  SOUNDS FROM THE FIREPLACE

I’m the only one who hears it. Am I losing my mind, or is it real,

Whatever this is appears most quiet when others are around.

How can this be? I’m afraid that it knows only of me,

Maybe these sounds are just for my ears alone, scared in my home.

I’m afraid to even sit there on my couch as I stare over there,

There’s something inside the fireplace, movement in the dark.

A part of me wants to go look, to see what it really is, but the fear,

I can hear something whispering, horrible things it or they say to me.

Laughter of an evil kind as it terrifies me and torments my mind,

Where they come from or why they’re even here is a nightmare.

The fear in me is known by them; what are they, what do they look like,

No one for me to tell, as they will think I’m a crazy person or sick.

Sounds from the fireplace are for only me, as from inside, silent screams,

It never stops, and slowly I am lost inside, fading away from reality.

        Keith Garrett

          ON A HORSE, SHE RIDES

On a horse she rides, this dark-haired girl,

Against the wind with a smile so bright.

No worries has she, this angel of the night,

Two separate souls, sharing this time.

Happiness shows on her face as this creature walks on,

Just a friend and a friend, riding along.

All dressed in black, on a horse she rides,

With all of her team at her side.

She gallops and trots across the land,

Just a girl and a horse, they go hand in hand.

     Keith Garrett                                                  

           ONE A.M.                                              

When they come, they come in force, from somewhere,

From everywhere they surround and take whatever is found.

These things that they are, never do you want to meet,

Their hearts are of black; you are nothing more to them than
Can be used.

There is no mercy shown when they lay their claws upon you,

Lock your doors, you already know that every year at one A.M.

On Halloween it is they who come from some place of mystery,

Horrible to you but to them a feast on this night after the midnight hour.

Hide as you do where they can not see, as they will not search for you,

For the foolish, the ones who don’t believe or don’t think it will
Happen again,

At one A.M., if you are within sight on this night, then you will
Have no more life.

         Keith Garrett

        CLOWNS IN THE DARK  

They were always supposed to be funny, at the circus doing tricks,

Making children laugh, adults who were once so young, believing.

They wear many different expressions to hide what’s really inside,

Appear do they friendly in the daylight, but in the coming days of

October, faces of clowns in the dark, only faces in the night.

On a cool, crisp October, days before Halloween, I went walking,

A breeze in the air as it is now Fall and the days are much shorter.

Laughter echoed through the swaying trees, from a distance a face known to me.

Not like before, as a child sees a clown, a quick, evil stare as he ran away,

Left behind was something that can’t be erased from my mind.

Night after night they became more and more, just one face the same,

Clowns in the dark who wear not the faces of fun but of their pain,

Revenge, Clowns from all time, wreak havoc in the night, no reason why.

                  Keith Garrett