Joseph V. Danoski

The July Featured Poet is Joseph V. Danoski

Please feel free to email Joseph at: dojonaki@aim.com

Joseph Danoski


Too many springs have sprung,
And too many falls have fallen.
Now, I’m a scarecrow in the garden
With another winter coming.

I’ve lived inside
A mansion of mystery and imagination,
In quiet contentment and contemplation.
Speaking with specters of speculation;
Searching my mind, only to find
A desert of desolation.

Having tea and toast with my favorite ghost
Like a fool at some forgotten post.
Here behind my wall where memories call,
Inside a haunted house about to fall.
The time passes so fast,
Though the hours go slow,
With the pendulum passing to and fro—
Slower and slower,
Lower and lower.

I’ve died inside
A mansion of mourning with gardens of gloom,
With the midnight moon hanging like doom;
Like a dead man in the living room,
In slow decay, day after day,
In a home that’s become a tomb.

Attics are dusty, cellars are musty;
The keys are lost and the locks are rusty.
And I wear my chains as I work in vain,
With the rain pounding down upon the pain.
Writing night after night,
Rhyming the same old slime;
Committed to commit the same old crime--
Over and over,
Over and over.

I’m lost inside
A mansion of madness with gardens of grandeur,
Somewhere between the past and the future;
With skeletons in the closets
And cobwebs on the furniture,
Crumbling away, day after day,
From a disease without a cure.


Watch out,
The clouds are weaving you a shroud;
There’s something evil in the brew.
Something nameless,
Something faceless,
Coming to turn you black and blue.

Better beware,
Because it’s always out there,
The stranger with your face,
The changeling in your place;
The danger—
The ultimate invasion
Of your space.

The storm is taking shape and form;
There’s something wicked on the way.
Something nameless,
Something faceless,
Coming to spoil your special day.


They wait
In the far corners
Of your darkened room;
Hanging from the tangled webs they weave.

Always changing and deranging things,
Waiting shapeless in the wings;
Keeping their distance till the instant
You’re resistance is low,
Or reflexes are slow.

They were waiting
The day that you were born,
Like dark clouds before the storm;
Watching you through the wastes of youth,
Mistaking and chasing their lies for truth.

They wait
In the four corners
Of your little world;
Dancing and practicing to deceive.

Rearranging the faces and names,
Sharing the shadows of your shame;
Keeping their distance till the instant
Your resistance is low,
Or reflexes are slow.

Waiting to show you
The way the path grows,
Like black crows in the shadows;
Playing their tricks upon your eyes,
But always behind a different disguise.

Joseph V. Danoski lives happily on the “plains of his imagination” in the White Mountains of New Hampshire. He published his first book of poems, Shock Waves: Letters from the Edge, back in 1987, under his pen name, Jonathan Konrad. This book is still being sold in local bookstores, and has been reviewed favorably a number of times.  

Through the years, Joseph has had quite a few of his poems published in the city’s newspaper, The Berlin Reporter, where for a time he had a byline in its poetry corner. In 1997 he was asked by the Chamber of commerce to write something appropriate for the Berlin Centennial Celebration. After researching the history of the area and the paper-making industry, he wrote a poem titled, “The City Built from Trees,” which he was subsequently invited to read at City Hall.

Joseph is a writer of letters and essays on diverse subjects, with strong opinions on many topics; but first and foremost, he is a poet of horror, science fiction and fantasy. Recent publications include Penny Dreadful, Psychopoetica (UK), Hadrosaur Tales, The Quest (India), Black Petals, Yellow Mama, and The Horror Zine.

His other activities include playing music, gardening, and stargazing.