Cat Lover.

Here, Kitty, Kitty.


Midnight Snack. From Dark Oak’s sketchbook.

From a poet:

Perhaps this moment is a dream

And you are in my mind

Please bring me a nice bowl of cream

And leave those tweets behind.

This is the last stanza from the poem The Cat and the Tease, by Theo van Joolen. You can find the poem in its entirety at

I took a few liberties and added a Dark Oak twist to the original art work by Daniel Merriam.   Merriam is a fantasy artist. You should check it out if you like that sort of thing. I would give an example but my own sketch would be devastated by comparison.


Halloween Mini-Monsters

Gee, Uncle Dark Oak, why don’t you ever make something for us?


Two little nieces, both deserving to be spoiled to the limit and who know more about horror


Broken Bonds. And, hungry!

movies than this old man, asked for some “horribles.”

Halloween was shuffling at a deceptively fast pace toward me. I grabbed some sticks and glue and got busy.

I managed to snap these shots before sending the creations off to the girls.


These were fun to make. Perhaps one day I will have time to indulge myself and make more of these little wall-hangers.










Crazy lil’ winged thing. I cheated and used a store-bought skull.


A Closer Look at the Escaping Prisoner.

God, I love Halloween.


A Sketch for a Winter’s Night

Years ago, I went hunting deep in the woods. Late that day, at the end of my hunt, I fell from a bluff and twisted my right ankle. Alone, I started for home.


A sketch for a winter’s night. From Dark Oak’s sketchbook. 2017

Night fell and the moon came up.

The Mind is a Terrible Thing.

Icy fingers, clumsy, cold feet, and throbbing pain in my ankle traveled with me across the rocky, snow-slick ground, seldom seen dead fall branches plucking at me in the night. Anger, as much as self preservation, fed my determination  to return.

Breaking at last from the trees, I again wondered where were the sweep of flashlights? Where were the strained and muffled shouts of action? Where were the 4×4’s racing here and there intent on my rescue?

As I limped from the watching woods onto the moonlit snowfield, the yellow light of home a warm beacon in the far distance, a thought flitted like a crazed bat across my mind: That I had died at the bottom of that bluff, perhaps years ago, and just now had the strength of spirit to return. For a just a flash, the resentment of the Dead flowed through me.