Beware

Straight from the Heart

Beware

Beware

When darkness falls and shadows lurk

beneath the moonlit sky

When gusty winds turn icy cold

and bats begin to fly

When trees like monsters twist and bend

and hover overhead

When moans and howls pierce your soul

and all the earth seems dead

When your pounding heart nearly bursts

within your heaving chest

And your blood curdling screams and frightful shrills

are choking you to death

BEWARE

Sandi Staton

 

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The Haunted House

Straight from the Heart

Haunted House

Admit it. There’s something in the core of our being that is drawn to abandoned houses, dilapidated mills, and old barns. At least it was for my brothers and me. As kids, we’d ride our bikes through narrow, wooded country roads searching for a deserted house. One sunny afternoon, we hit the jackpot! Even now I can see it sitting far off the road, Its sagging roof nearly hidden by trees, vines, and tall weeds. Even in the sunlight, the house appeared dark and sinister, its broken windows, like hollow eyes, glaring intently. In spite of the overwhelming feeling that we shouldn’t be here, the sound of stones hitting the house, and a radio playing upstairs, we climbed the rotting steps and slowly opened the creaky door. Suddenly, crows cawed overhead, as if warning us to turn around and run for our lives. Of course, that was all part of…

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Market Street

Market Street
Market Street

 

Market Street

Wilmington, Delaware

Spending time with my grandmother was like Christmas. Although I enjoyed the peace and quiet of the outskirts of Newark, Delaware, I looked forward to the hustle and bustle of automobiles, buses, and smells of the city in Wilmington. That’s where I learned to roller-skate, jump rope, and play hopscotch with my city friends. That’s where I’d skip ten blocks to the Dairy Queen, or hop next door to the bakery. That’s where my grandmother would cook my favorite stuff, like apple dumplings, fluffy egg omelets, and fried tomatoes and gravy.

I always stood in awe of the old, two-story Victorian boarding house where my grandmother lived, with its huge parlor, quaint little kitchen, and lovely glassed in front porch. The few elderly people who lived there were always warm and friendly and a joy to talk to.

But my most favorite things were hopping the city bus with my grandmother, sitting on my favorite seat, and spending the day on Market Street. I never knew where to feast my eyes first; on the farmers in their overalls and straw hats, the candy and toy shops, or the cute little bunnies for sale.

I could hardly wait for my grandmother to finish squeezing tomatoes and melons, and asking for a pound of this and a pound of that so I could go to the Five-and Ten-Cent store. That’s where I always picked out a car or truck to take home to my brothers.

Without skipping a beat, we’d visit the candy shops and cookie shops, clothing stores and shoe stores. From one end of Market Street to the next we’d shop. By the end of the day I was hot and tired, my knee-highs were around my ankles, and my long, flowing red hair was damp and plastered to my head. But my ninety-pound, seventy-five-year-old grandmother showed no signs of wilting. Not a hair out-of-place; not a wrinkle in her dress; not a sweat drop on her face.

My adolescent mind concluded if you want to stay young and fit. . . shop on Market Street!

 

 

 

My Guardian Angel

Digi Picture Angel

It was the end of an abusive marriage and the beginning of a new adventure for me and my twenty-two month old son, Robbie. Since I had a few family and friends living in North Carolina, I decided to sell my skimpy possessions, pack my bags and move there.

I bought a one way ticket, and the day of take off, mom and daddy drove me to the bus terminal. After hours of waiting for my bus to arrive, it was announced that it had broken down and a substitute was on its way; a local that would prove to be the longest, most mysterious ride ever from Delaware to North Carolina.

Several hours later, the bus still hadn’t arrived, so mom and daddy called it a night. We hugged and kissed, said our farewells, and I watched as they disappeared down the dim, busy corridor.  And there I stood, feeling as if I had been dumped and forsaken on another planet.

I no sooner turned around to grab my bags, when a tall, handsome young man picked them up and found us a place to sit. Then he bought me something to eat and talked to me as if he had known me all my life. I felt comfortable with him. I felt safe and secure, feelings I was not accustomed to.

Finally our bus arrived and the stranger snatched my bags, escorted me to the bus, found us a seat, put my bags on the rack, and plopped down beside me. He smiled and said he was on his way to a wedding in Virginia.

A wedding, I thought. How wonderful. I was nineteen when I got married, twenty when my baby was born, and now, at the ripe old age of twenty-two, I’m getting divorced. Marriage is not what it’s cracked up to be, I sighed. Life before marriage wasn’t a piece of cake either. Home was a war zone of yelling and screaming, drug and alcohol abuse, lies and distrust. I never saw so many angry faces, glaring eyes, and heart wrenching tears. Eventually my thinking became distorted and my soul felt as if someone had poked holes in it.

I wanted out. So I married a man whose home life was as brutal as mine. Because of our brokenness and immaturity, we were not equipped to honor the vows “till death do us part” unless we killed each other.

And just when I had given up on humanity, this handsome young man appears. This man who doesn’t seem like a man at all, but a guardian of some sort. How could he possibly have known my dire situation? How could he have known how frightened and lonely I was to venture into the unknown with a baby to raise? How could he have known how desperately I needed his help?

Into the wee hours of the morning, Robbie became fussy and restless. Immediately, the stranger took him in his arms, played with him, then rocked him sound to sleep. Then, unable to keep my head from nodding, I laid it on his shoulder and he placed his arm around me. I never felt so safe and protected.

I wished this moment in time would never end. I wished for love and understanding that seemed to permeate from this stranger beside me. But all the wishing in the world couldn’t stop him form stepping off the bus and vanishing as quickly as he had appeared.

Now, forty-five years later the memory is just as vivid, the mystery just as enchanting as it was that night. But the more I’ve thought about the whole encounter the more I believe that the mystery man was a special delivery sent from God . . . my guardian angel.

The Haunted House

Haunted House

Admit it. There’s something in the core of our being that is drawn to abandoned houses, dilapidated mills, and old barns. At least it was for my brothers and me. As kids, we’d ride our bikes through narrow, wooded country roads searching for a deserted house. One sunny afternoon, we hit the jackpot!

Even now I can see it sitting far off the road, Its sagging roof nearly hidden by trees, vines, and tall weeds. Even in the sunlight, the house appeared dark and sinister, its broken windows, like hollow eyes, glaring intently. In spite of the overwhelming feeling that we shouldn’t be here, the sound of stones hitting the house, and a radio playing upstairs, we climbed the rotting steps and slowly opened the creaky door. Suddenly, crows cawed overhead, as if warning us to turn around and run for our lives. Of course, that was all part of the thrill, our minds seeing and hearing things that weren’t really there . . . or were they?

 

Beware

Beware

Beware

When darkness falls and shadows lurk

Beneath the moonlit sky

When gusty winds turn icy cold

And bats begin to fly

When trees like monsters twist and bend

And hover overhead

When moans and howls pierce your soul

And all the earth seems dead

When your pounding heart nearly bursts

Within your heaving chest

And your blood curdling screams and frightful shrills

Are choking you to death

BEWARE

Sandi Staton

 

Digital Photo Painting

Using Paint Shop Pro 2019, I turn ordinary photos into works of art. I also create picture tubes, bookmarks, Facebook Covers, cards, tags, and more. I don't sell my art, therefore, all my creations are free for your own personal use.

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Random thoughts, life lessons, hopes and dreams

THE POETIC SAGE

This site is dedicated to my amazing writing skills.

Straight from the Heart

He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds. ~ Psalm 147:3

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