Phil Roberts


I am 64 and loves cats, rock music, and horror fiction and poetry

Camp Hell is an outpost
Within a loathsome forest,
Stunted, tortured trees grow
Evil, as most will surely attest.

Within the weed-filled woods
Abominations are prowling,
Creatures from a nightmare realm
Letting out fearsome growling.

Strangling vines proliferate
Ready to snatch up passersby,
Raising them high into the air
Where certainly they'll die.

Lethal quicksand pits abound
Not far from the campsite,
Hungry to suck down innocents
Within the darkened night.

The wise stay in their wooden huts
Until the break of daylight,
Refusing to ever venture forth
Into the doom-cursed night.

Camp Hell is the last place
That the sane would choose to go,
Deformed creatures prowl the woods
And only poisons flora grows.

Hemlock, Deadly Nightshade,
And lethal oleander bloom,
Waiting for the gullible
To pick them to their doom.

Poison ivy and poison oak
Grow wildly around the Camp,
They'll kill you if they're inhaled
Or give you horrid cramps.

So stay away from Camp Hell
If you want to stay alive,
For very few who visit there
Manage to survive.

© Copyright 2021 Philip Roberts
Melbourne, Victoria, Australia