This was for the latest poetry slam at PA. It is currently untitled. Inspired by Alfred Noyes' "The Highwayman." I'm told it is a more read-it than hear-it poem. You be the judge.




He rode through the thick of the forest
While the branches whipped at his face
Red from the cold and the chorus
Of the wind which ransacked his lace.
Below, the mare’s hooves sent a thunder
Down to the depths of the earth;
He feared the terrain just might sunder
And the demons would have their mirth.

From the swamps rose a mist of incitement
Urging him on through the road,
For morn’ mist could mean indictment
Should he not dispose of his load.
For ‘twas Victoria’s would-be fiancée
Who was tucked away in his pack,
Only ashes after the gainsay
Just remains of his teeth left intact.

On the outskirts of town she waited
For Garrett to appear in the night,
While watching, her hair she plaited
And anticipated her flight.
Tonight they would bury the ashes
The teeth they themselves would keep.
Then they could avoid the lashes
Which would be deeper than just skin-deep

Murder is a punish’ble act
Even when for a love done.
So Victoria and Garrett made a pact
Should either be caught and undone.
But then at dawn he fin’ly arrived,
She saw him there, by the gate.
And the remains of Ezra—disgustingly rived--
They managed to adumbrate.

Away on the mare they galloped
‘Till they reached the county line.
And all in the town did gossip
Of how there was no sign
Where Ezra, the proudest blacksmith,
Or Garrett, the village’s con,
Or Victoria, daughter of Sir Lilith
Had ran away, died or gone.