This is a daring experiment in writing, an adventure where most of the talking is in musical verse!  Each individual sings with a different font so keep your eyes open as the story grows.


Photo of the road to Castle Ward taken by Leah Weir, January 2018.

Castle Ward is located in the village of Strangford of County Down in Northern Ireland.  The Hierarchy of the Undead is in no way associated with the castle, we just wanted locations and buildings with a Gothic feel to them.  The Ward family took over what was originally Carrick na Sheannagh, owned by the Earls of Kildare in 1570.

It was a mystery.  The loud bang.  The tremors.  The evil stench of something escaping from the Earth’s core.  Those closest to the cracks in the ground where the vile green gas escaped started to change.  Their skin died and became mottled browns and greens.  The only noises they could make were inaudible songs that sounded like groans and growls.  And they sniffed the air, all the time.  Twenty years later it was just accepted; Zombies roamed the streets in packs of ten.  The population learned to run away if their numbers ever decreased to nine.

Ancient beings came out of hills and lakes.  The tremors may have awoken them.  They brought the ability to turn humans into powerful, cognitive, undead beings.  The only similarity between these turned humans and zombies was their hatred of noon hour.

Ashling skipped in the school yard with her seven year old schoolmates.  Through the protective chain link fence she could see ten zombies lumbering along the sidewalk.  “Let’s sing Sally and the Ten,” she said.  Her friends swung the skipping rope and she started skipping as they sang:

Sally sought to play with a zombie child

Sally ran up to the line of ten

And all the children watched to see what would happen

And all the children watched to see what would happen

Sally told the little zombie girl her name

Sally asked why the little girl sniffed her hair

And all the children saw what happened

And all the children saw what happened

Sally screamed as she was surrounded

Sally flayed her arms to get away

And all the children saw Sally disappear

And all the children saw Sally disappear

And the ten lumbered on…


Caedar Writing & Artwork at Kitchener Comic Con 2018

Great thanks to the Staff of Kichener Comic Con 2018!!!

Personal Thanks to the following Amazing People for helping out at our booth Caedar Writing & Artwork!!!


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Brother Andy Watt and co-author of Brackish; My niece Andraya Watt and one of my adopted nieces Katy for helping us set up and watching the table; Taylor N. and Joanne G. for modeling and all their support; Peter, Rowena, and Ja’Dace Samuel for wearing the Dragon t-shirts for the story Peter helped edit; our mother Helen for her constant enthusiasm, Judith Booth for editing numerous of the books and amazing promotions; my goddaughter Jessica and her friend for all their support; and Kait and Jinny of 34thandVineJewellryDesign.ca for keeping us company the entire day.

Big Thanks to R&S Screen, Inc.    http://www.rsscreeninginc.com  for making the t-shirts

and Bob Posters & Signs   carol@bobspostersandsigns.ca    for making the banners and post cards



Kait and Jinny of:


Handmade Jewellry

William Byrne wbyrne@live.ca

William Byrne


Comic book Writer and Illustrator

Ryan Toxopeus A Nbles Quest prcreative.ca-slash- ryan

Ryan Toxopeus



Author of the Noble Quest series and games

Larua Suen Tel 416 435 9150 fireandsteelonline@gmail.com

Laura Suen

Fire & Steel

Tel:  416-435-9150




Kyle Barnett

TriCity Studio

I hope you can read it off the poster


Dave Warren


Dave’s Comics & Collectibles

Tel:  (519) 636-4173



Assad Z. Quraishi

GENESIS game creator





Eggsflorentine instagram


Some Fun Pics


Kitchener Comic Con is this weekend at Kitchener City Hall (200 King Street 11 a.m. to 8 p.m.). After that I’ll be blogging The Gothic Horror Musical “Hierarchy of the Undead”

Hierarchy of the Undead


Photo of the road to Castle Ward taken by Leah Weir, January 2018.

Castle Ward is located in the village of Strangford of County Down in Northern Ireland.  The Hierarchy of the Undead is in no way associated with the castle, we just wanted locations and buildings with a Gothic feel to them.  The Ward family took over what was originally Carrick na Sheannagh, owned by the Earls of Kildare in 1570.

“On Hitler’s Mountain” by Irmgard A. Hunt (a plug for a book well worth reading)

Occasionally I’ll review a book on here, or promote a friend who is an author or artist.

A friend lent me an amazing book called: “On Hitler’s Mountain” by Irmgard A. Hunt. Irmgard lived in the mountains of Berchtesgaden where Hitler had his retreat. She relates how Hitler came into power, what happened to those who opposed him, the indoctrination of German and Austrian youth into Nazi beliefs, the effects of war, and what happened up until the Marshall Plan. Her mother makes an interesting comment later in the book about American or any other democracy: “If there were a bad economic downturn or perhaps a war with the Soviets, Americans too might accept a leader who promised to save them and the fatherland. We did not know how fast Hitler would change everything once he was chancellor. But he did.” The book reminded me how events affect different people in different ways and that, whether we want to hear it or not, it is vital not to alter substantiated historical information so those events never happen again.

New Release!

DRAGON: The Emerald Of Light (Fantasy Fiction comedy)

Is now Available as a Paperback or E-book at Amazon.com

Anastia's Dragon Art and Text with Itallics Amazon


Burnwood is relaxing his scaled body under the Dragon Orb when his friend, Sprint the wyvern, tells him Sire Hornhead wishes to speak to him. Sire Hornhead tells him his daughter has changed into a little one–a human, and he fears for her safety since the black nailed human monsters have returned. She wears the Emerald of Light, an amulet with powers the dreaded Plague Knight, would love to have. Burnwood must turn into a human himself to save her. With the help of Sprint, Bruce of the Stein, and the Page, Ambruther, he sets out to save Sire Hornhead’s daughter, retrieve the Emerald of Light and if possible, defeat the Plague Knight and his army.

Poetry: My Eyes


By Dan Watt

Author of the e-books Ruby Queen and Sylvia on Kobo.com; and e-books Lucy and the Snivel Chair and Learning the Garden of the Body on Amazon.com


My Eyes


I come to the bed of flowers

Through the lichen I peer at rustic boards

Between the fluttering butterflies a filmy window appears


I move closer to make the stream of plants less dense

A stone knob pokes my thigh

I knock into the noise of friendly creatures

My hand pulls back sheathed in dew


He hobbles out

All the holes in his face camouflaged in gray hairs

“Here to learn,” I say with a wink


We walk past the aspens and beech

Around the boulders with bristly green hairs

Under a temple of bent boughs all goes dark

A warm hand grabs my wrist and leads me to beams of light

Unhindered by the canopy of Redwood towers


His finger moves to his lips in a silent Shhh

A bear roams near

Muscles rippling with each quiet step it sniffs along a berry bush

“Can you see him?” Says his soothing accent

“Yes” wide-eyed I reply

“Watch him step” he says while I taste his cider breath

“Can you feel his foot touching the forest floor?

“Can you feel his nostrils flair with each breath?”

I could not

But as I turn to say so

His eyes change and I know he does


Upon his return shadows grow to cover the place

I follow him to a small clearing in sight of his hidden house

He makes flames with a click of flint as he gazes straight ahead


In the flicker of orange his face and hands glow sanguinely

“Your hands are paws

“You stand on all four

“A tail swishes at your rear

“What does each step feel like?” he asks me

I rest my elbows upon my knees and slap my hands together

“I don’t know” I ruefully admit


His chin raises and drifts down

He squints into–somewhere

“I could teach you,” he says with dark eyes

“How much?” I exhale

“Your soul” he hisses
“Not to me” he continues before I can guffaw

“To power”

My eyes glitter

“And,” he says as a twig fallen from his raised hand burns

“With power must come pain”

Under bushy eyebrows he stares into me

“Still?” he asks

I look from side-to-side and shrug “Yes”


“See that owl in the branch under the moon?” he asks without looking up

I do

“Look into the eyes—“

“Will I control him?” I interrupt

“No.  He is himself.  But you can become his brethren”

I tilt my head to one side and gaze

“Feel your eyes shape like his

“Feel your ears point and flutter…


Of that night I remember the wind under my belly

As if I were sliding on a polished floor

And his voice calling me back

Before I became what I am not




Dan Watt March ã 2000


(From:  I know what I have said, but I do not know what you have heard)


I’ll let poetry rest for a while…

And turn from depth to darkness

Next week!

The Beginning of the horror comedy:  The Von Bucati Mansion

Poetry: Open Flower, Lament


By Dan Watt

Author of the e-books Ruby Queen and Sylvia (Children of the Myth Machine series) on Kobo.com.  E-books Lucy and the Snivel Chair and Learning the Garden of the Body on Amazon.com



Open Flower


She came to me with her mother as a teen

Shy and in a long blue wool sweater

With the left sleeve stretched and clenched in her hand

I told her I train people safely

She would have to pull the cuff over her hand


She sank into her mother’s arms

I did not kneel and speak softly

I did not smile cruelly

I just waited

Until the sleeve was pulled up


Her hand had only two fingers and a thumb

Not an accident but misunderstood medicine

Her mother blurted out

I said, holding out my right hand, “Nice to meet you”

She clenched her two fingers under her thumb and pressed her shaking fist, to her side

Now I stared into her eyes


“People will think I’m strange,” she said with wet streaks along her cheeks

I spoke softly, “That they will.”

She stared everywhere but my way

I said, “If they look, smile back and tell them why, then you are no longer strange

But hide your hand, it becomes suspect”


Her hand slid into mine and I surrounded it in the warmth of my grip

As we worked out in the gym, the first and tenth time, she shivered

She looked all over and kept her bare left hand near her side

I said then, “Come on your own, some days”


On the hundredth and one time I arrived early

In a corner I saw her chatting with a young man

At the end of the two hundredth time she showed me her ring

Smiling, I turned away to face a wall of mirrors

Where I saw, half in shadows, my own eyes


DW © 2000





I have seen all your tears

Heard all your cries

I think for a while

I’ll sit back and listen to your laughter


©DW 2014

Poetry: Gaia, If I Could


By Dan Watt

Author of the e-books Ruby Queen and Sylvia (Children of the Myth Machine series) on Kobo.com.  E-books Lucy and the Snivel Chair and Learning the Garden of the Body on Amazon.com


You keep walking by in all your guises

The rim of your summer dress caressing my bare shins

As I stand on this self-imposed island waiting

For your image behind the jaded glass


Gaia you tore out my heart

Like a plucked flower

To wear in your hair

Until the vibrant colour of the petals dried to dull

Crumbling into the wind as dust


Now you sit beside me

Pressing ever closer

Telling me your woes

Once again


© DW 2014




If I Could


If I could I would build you a log cabin

Make you hot chocolate in the night

And coffee in the morning

If I could I would start a roaring fire

And cover us in a blanket till dawn

If I could I would take you to the opera

Laugh with you at our own shortcomings

If I could I would be strong in every storm

Fix all the problems with our car

Do all the house repairs with a jovial smile

I would beat down your frustration with boyish charm


If I could I would buy you chocolates

And send you flowers at work with naughty messages

If I could I would argue light-heartedly

Then let you win

If I could I would never be sick or angry

I would fit your desires like a perfect nylon that never needs stitching


If I could I would be weak when you felt strong

And sturdy when you felt down

If I could I would be this everyday

But no matter how much I try

I can’t be that perfect man



Dan Watt © 2000




CATHEDRAL (poetry)


By Dan Watt

The Author of the e-books Ruby Queen and Sylvia from the Children of the Myth Machine series Kobo.com.

Couldn’t find or draw a picture to describe this so the heading picture is the best I can do, taken by the Grand River in Cambridge, Ontario.  As you read, it might help to listen to Hans Zimmer and Lisa Gerrard’s “Elysium” and “Now We Are Fee” from the Gladiator soundtrack.



See the chestnut grove

We’ll pass through it on the pebbled path

Notice to your right, the cypress in a blanket of poppies

Yes, only carnations and buttercups, grow along the left

Keep in mind though; the path leads from the cathedral


I hear that the colours of the marble arch before you are inscriptions

The grey veins, of the keystone, represents the soul, considered the second conscience

The left side, with the veins of red, the body

The right side, with the veins of green, the mind

All those little azure flakes throughout, the internal blue flame


It is a strange feeling, when you walk into the wilted garden, isn’t it

The underside of the stream that runs from the pond to the Cathedral, is coated in silver

We’ll take that shallow bottomed boat with the oars

See those Carrera lions to either side of the stream’s mouth

One is looking into the distance while the other stares straight ahead


As we go towards the entrance you’ll notice the wind-worn gargoyles on the upper ledges

Still they appear menacing

The lichen grows vibrantly where the sun shines greatest over the walls

But the rest is draped in dead vines


Here, just inside, please light that torch

Very few have ever come here

These scratches along the obsidian interior

Are believed to have come from the few who have entered

And left with stolen pieces


Can you feel it

I don’t know why it is, but that feeling has always been here

There are more cracks in the walls now

Statues have fallen out of their niches and broken

I’m afraid it is too late to make repairs

What is damaged cannot be replaced


A choir sang here once

But the acoustics can no longer reverberate…a song

If I hold the flame higher you can see the upright statues

The cloaked figure with the bowed head

Farther on is a Herculean character of sandstone

That effigy, over there, on its own, stares eyeless

As if he could still see


Take the torch and hold it over here more

Can you see the row of women wearing shawls

All walking towards the exit

They are called the Goodwomen

Look at the floor

The elliptical imprints in the dust belong to that naked statue before the jaded glass

See how he presses his palms against the pane

It is believed she resides there


This is where the stream ends

I see you can sense it to

We will have to leave soon

Upon that altar of books is an ark

In the ark is said to be the child

That arch behind the ark leads to a path no one has ever entered

Rumours say…that is where the spirit…took flight





Dan Watt ã 2000