Joseph V. Danoski is a writer of letters and essays on diverse subjects, with strong opinions on many topics. A poet of horror, science fiction, and fantasy, he has been  published in journals and webzines both in the US and abroad. Various publications include Scavenger’s Newsletter, Pegasus, Red Owl, The Ultimate Unknown, Penny Dreadful, Pivot, Psychopoetica (UK), The Nocturnal Lyric, The Quest (India), The Aurorean, The Mentor & Masque Noir (Australia), Twilight Ending, Talvipaivanseisaus (Finland), The Romantics Quarterly, Hadrosaur Tales, Endemoniada, Northern Stars Magazine, The NeoVictorian/Cochlea, The Eclectic Muse (Canada), Frisson, Black Petals, Outer Darkness, Yellow Mama, Sanitarium Magazine, and The Horror Zine.

Other activities include being a multi-instrumentalist, songwriting, and recording original music. Joseph currently resides in Berlin, New Hampshire. You can email him at Dojonaki05@gmail.com.



Well I’ve acquired an antique liquor cabinet;
But it’s not just bottled spirits that inhabit it.
The dealer told me it’s at least a hundred years old;
Handing over the keys as he quickly marked it “sold.”

Its gothic design recalls an old movie theater;
Days of Hollywood from the golden silent era.
Georgian style legs like from an ancient four-post bed;
Interior lined with leather of Moroccan red.

Sometimes it creaks at night and doors open by themselves;
Revealing shadowy bottles and glasses on shelves.
There’s a ghost who appears and joins my party of one;
My grinning host who says “cheers”
And asks me, “one and done?”

I’ll have my first dance with Brandy, then her sister Gin;
Perhaps a Scotch or some Absinth with a splash of sin.
True friends will never shut you off nor call the last call;
When the genie in the bottle is belle of the ball.

Well it seems I’ve acquired an unwanted habit;
Being bitten by the mad dog and rabid rabbit.
Now I inhabit a haunted house and habitat;
My happy home’s the cabinet--well imagine that!

Always fully stocked with bottles that never run dry;
The Bourbon ever flowing in eternal supply.
I’ve inherited a haunted liquor cabinet;
Now I’m just one of the spirits
That inhabit it.


It’s time to be aboard the northbound train
Before my life goes down the drain.
Each night I can hear its whistle blow
As the dusky diesel starts to slow.

There’s another sound getting louder now,
Like a party or a roaring row;
Or the howling of a thousand souls
Being raked over the devil’s coals.

It’s time to be aboard the northbound train,
Escape the wastes of life in vain;
And before long I’ll be born again
On the badlands of some higher plain.

See the backs of cities and border towns,
Over hills and valleys, ups and downs.
We’ll ride the rails through the wind and rain,
Over lakes of space and waves of grain.

I’ll leave my old life miles behind;
Once out of sight, twice out of mind.
You never know till you’re round the bend
If it’s the beginning or the end.

I’ll play my guitar to the stars,
To the rhythm of the rolling cars.
I’ll sing my song with a shot of rye,
One look back before I say good-bye.


Someone nodded off with the TV on,
All the lights in the house left on till dawn.
People passed on by, noticing nothing wrong,
Through dark midwinter when nights are long.
Dead man in the living room,
A still-life in the gloom.

One day some children playing hide and seek,
Noticed the neighborhood’s starting to reek.
Local teens enjoying their burgers and fries,
Wondered what was up with all the flies;
From that house across the street,
The smell of rotten meat.

A plastic snowman, Christmas lights still on,
The neglected yard and overgrown lawn.
The neighbors got concerned, to keep the peace,
One day someone finally called the police;
To report that something’s wrong,
Suspected for so long.

Someone died asleep with the TV on,
All the lights in the house left on till dawn.
When the emergency crew did force the door,
His corpse slid off the chair, and hit the floor.
Dead man in the living room,
His home became his tomb.