Halloween

Halloween is the oldest holiday in the English-speaking world, second only to Christmas. Many of us celebrate the eve of All Saints’ Day without knowing the origins of the holiday. People used to ask their ancestors’ spirits to help them to get a good harvest in the coming year through placating with treats and gifts. However, if we do not go back in history, now it is quite a cheerful holiday.

«A Halloween Poem For Children» by Kevin Greenwood

No one heard the old Gal make a word
A sound or noise any Christian ever heard
As she walked through the village once every moon
To buy some few vittles and leave none too soon.

Her purchases gripped in a dark burlap sack
Which she’d owned forever and fit ‘cross her back.
Town folk would glance up from their every town’s chore
In hope this time they’d see her no more.

Now a young girl called Mattie, a postal clerk’s lass
Sat curly and giddy as the yon harridan passed
Unlike her town folk whose fear made them shy
She stood next to the mile marker and caught the hag’s eye.

“Go home my plum lassie, you’ve nothing with me,”
Spoke the old woman coarsely as she turned round a tree
But Mattie had studied about a reply
And was soon to speak it when a trick caught her eye.

For the old tree was rotten and hollow inside
Mattie thought the old woman crawled in it to hide
With her eyes wide as saucers she peeked curiously within
Two wrinkled arms grabbed her and she was not seen again.

***

«A Rhyme for Halloween» by Maurice Kilwein Guevara

Tonight I light the candles of my eyes in the lee

And swing down this branch full of red leaves.

Yellow moon, skull and spine of the hare,

Arrow me to town on the neck of the air.

I hear the undertaker make love in the heather;

The candy maker, poor fellow, is under the weather.

Skunk, moose, raccoon, they go to the doors in threes

With a torch in their hands or pleas: “O, please . . .”

Baruch Spinoza and the butcher are drunk:

One is the tail and one is the trunk

Of a beast who dances in circles for beer

And doesn’t think twice to learn how to steer.

Our clock is blind, our clock is dumb.

Its hands are broken, its fingers numb.

No time for the martyr of our fair town

Who wasn’t a witch because she could drown.

Now the dogs of the cemetery are starting to bark

At the vision of her, bobbing up through the dark.

When she opens her mouth to gasp for air,

A moth flies out and lands in her hair.

The apples are thumping, winter is coming.

The lips of the pumpkin soon will be humming.

By the caw of the crow on the first of the year,

Something will die, something appear.

***

«Autumn Offering» by Judith A. Lawrence

I shall be Autumn
this Halloween,
with leaf draped skirt,
and folds of
boysenberry velvet wine
flowing to the ground.

Brown stained face,
eyes rimmed in gold,
nails dripping sunset,
a crown of twigs
to cover my head.

You may gather from me
the spring of my youth,
my summer of maturity,
and hold onto with me,
the solace of these days
of remembering
before the frost.

***

«Beyond The Last Lamp» by Thomas Hardy

While rain, with eve in partnership
Descended darkly, drip, drip, drip
Beyond the last lone lamp I passed
Walking slowly, whispering sadly
Two linked loiterers, wan, downcast:
Some heavy thought constrained each face
And blinded them to time and place.

The pair seemed lovers, yet absorbed
In mental scenes no longer orbed
By love’s young rays. Each countenance
As it slowly, as it sadly
Caught the lamplight’s yellow glance
Held in suspense a misery
At things which had been or might be.

When I retrod that watery way
Some hours beyond the droop of day
Still I found pacing there the twain
Just as slowly, just as sadly
Heedless of the night and rain.
One could but wonder who they were
And what wild woe detained them there.

Though thirty years of blur and blot
Have slid since I beheld that spot
And saw in curious converse there
Moving slowly, moving sadly
That mysterious tragic pair
Its olden look may linger on –
All but the couple; they have gone.

Whither? Who knows, indeed … And yet
To me, when nights are weird and wet
Without those comrades there at tryst
Creeping slowly, creeping sadly
That lone lane does not exist.
There they seem brooding on their pain
And will, while such a lane remain.

***

«Black Cats, Beware!» by Melissa A. Herod

To all black cats, please listen keen!
Do fight the urge to see, be seen.
Tonight, avoid all humans mean.
My dears: Stay in on Halloween!

Resist the call to go outside!
Best inside your house to hide!
Resist the siren call of night
And ponder on the firelight.

Sit by the hearth and warm your toes,
Whilst evil comes and evil goes.
Resist temptation on this night.
Avoid a dark, nightmarish fright!

Your human knows to keep you safe.
Against her will, please do not chafe!
Curl up beside her, let her know
There’s no place else you’d rather go!

And while she strokes your raven mane,
Please calm your wild and keep your sane.
For danger lurks on such a night,
From humans who are human blight,
Who must do wrong, and ne’er do right.
And search for victims till the light–
Black cats they seek, and not the white!

For they believe the ancient tales
Of witches and their potent ales,
Of feline consorts, black as coal,
Whose green eyes mask an evil soul.

And even in these modern times,
Those gothic bells of fear still chime. 
Those ancient fools of superstition
Tell modern ghouls: Fulfill your mission!

And what if you are all alone?
My dear black cat, and have no home?
Are homeless night and homeless day,
No bowls for you, you hunt your prey.
And pray you find a home someday. 

Dry bags and garbage for your bed,
Each night to rest your weary head.
You too must hide and seek the safe–
Oh, heed my plea, dear feline waif!

To all beloved felines black,
Stay safe this night and watch your back! 
For Halloween will soon be o’er,
And you are safe for one year more!

***

«Black Hood» by Amy Pan

You know you’ve seen it around before
Tailing your car to the grocery store.
Just out of sight from where you stood
That fleeting and unforgettable black hood.

From the back of the line in the coffee shop
To the streets, hidden behind a bus stop.
‘It’s following me,’ you decide for good.
That evasive and eerie black hood.

Taunting you, holding a bouquet of flowers
A haunting feeling you remember for hours
Frightening you more than it should,
That ominous and daunting black hood.

Jolting awake in the middle of the night
It’s outside of your window; your fear ignites.
Losing more sleep than you ever thought you could,
That sinister and possessive black hood.

Now you can’t even walk down the hall
Without panicking; it’s everywhere…yet nowhere at all
Your crutch is the wall and its sturdy wood
That terrifying and ubiquitous black hood.

It’s paralyzed you, with fear and uncertainty
Snatching your thoughts and seizing your clarity
If you knew a way to stop this, you would
That uncontrollable and engrossing black hood.

Today is Halloween, the day of the dead.
Trudging home with feet heavier than lead,
You hear footsteps behind you, so you stop in your tracks.
You’re shaking with terror, that feeling is back.

But this time, it’s different; something’s wrong.
Though your fear is the same, ever so strong,
Now it’s closer, behind you, there’s a knife at your back!
The last thing you see before the world turns black…
is
a
Hood.

***

«Black Trees, Ghosts, And Bumble Bees» by Coral Leffew

Lying on your bed just like every other night,
There is something that’d give grown men fright,
There’s a black figure stalking in the night,
And it won’t go away until dark turns to light,
It’s the very thing that we all give up breathing,
It’s the latest toy it’s a werewolf being,
It’s so scary and it’s breathing in the night,
The creature jumps off and it takes to flight,

You can scream all you want to but that won’t scare,
Too small for a dragon but too large for a bear,
Leave your lights turned on and turn up your favorite song,
Call in your parents but they won’t help you now,
You’ve gone too far so you can’t get back out,
It’s not that silly monster in your closet,
Your Aunt’s picture in your heart shaped locket,
No old black magic or any trick of the mind,
It pulls you in and soon you’re entwined

***

«Fearful, Foggy Night» by Patricia L. Cisco

Damp darkness befalls as gray fog settles in.
Frightening shadows lingering within.

Footsteps echo through the black, eerie night
With scrapings and rustlings, yet nothing in sight.

Misty clouds floating across the dull moon.
Heart stopping feelings of horror and doom.

Howling squeals pierce the smoggy air.
My heart pounding harder in panicky fear.

The faster and faster I try to race,
My shaky, weak legs won’t keep up the pace.

A scary, awful blood-curdling scream.
I feel so faint, as if in a dream.

Ghostly eyes glowing in bushes distant,
Getting closer and closer in an instant.

Frozen stiff, I shut my eyes tight,
Holding my breath with all my might.

Then swishing past in the chilly breeze,
Opening one eye, I suddenly breathe.

Finally putting my fears at ease.
Oh, it’s just Trick or Treaters on All Hallows’ Eve!

***

«Field of Skulls» by Mary Karr

Stare hard enough at the fabric of night,   

and if you’re predisposed to dark—let’s say   

the window you’ve picked is a black

postage stamp you spend hours at,

sleepless, drinking gin after the I Love   

Lucy reruns have gone off—stare

like your eyes have force, and behind

any night’s taut scrim will come the forms   

you expect pressing from the other side.   

For you: a field of skulls, angled jaws

and eye-sockets, a zillion scooped-out crania.   

They’re plain once you think to look.

You know such fields exist, for criminals

roam your very block, and even history lists   

monsters like Adolf and Uncle Joe

who stalk the earth’s orb, plus minor baby-eaters   

unidentified, probably in your very midst. Perhaps   

that disgruntled mail clerk from your job

has already scratched your name on a bullet—that’s him   

rustling in the azaleas. You caress the thought,

for it proves there’s no better spot for you

than here, your square-yard of chintz sofa, hearing   

the bad news piped steady from your head. The night   

is black. You stare and furious stare,

confident there are no gods out there. In this way,   

you’re blind to your own eye’s intricate machine   

and to the light it sees by, to the luck of birth and all   

your remembered loves. If the skulls are there—

let’s say they do press toward you

against night’s scrim—could they not stare

with slack jawed envy at the fine flesh

that covers your scalp, the numbered hairs,   

at the force your hands hold?

***

«From The City Of Dreadful» by James Thomson

The City is of Night, but not of Sleep;
There sweet sleep is not for the weary brain;
The pitiless hours like years and ages creep
A night seems termless hell. This dreadful strain
Of thought and consciousness which never ceases
Or which some moments’ stupor but increases
This, worse than woe, makes wretches there insane.

They leave all hope behind who enter there:
One certitude while sane they cannot leave
One anodyne for torture and despair;
The certitude of Death, which no reprieve
Can put off long; and which, divinely tender
But waits the outstretched hand to promptly render
That draught whose slumber nothing can bereave.

***

«From The Lady Of The Manor» by George Crabbe

Next died the Lady who yon Hall possessed;
And here they brought her noble bones to rest.
In Town she dwelt:- forsaken stood the Hall:
Worms ate the floors, the tapestry fled the wall:
No fire the kitchens cheerless grate displayed;

No cheerful light the long-closed sash conveyed;
The crawling worm, that turns a summer-fly,
Here spun his shroud and laid him up to die
The winter-death:- upon the bed of sate,
The bat shrill-shrieking wooed his flickering mate;
To empty rooms the curious came no more,
From empty cellars turned the angry poor,
And surly beggars cursed the ever-bolted door.

***

«From The Rime Of The Ancient Mariner» by Samuel Taylor Coleridge

The loud wind never reached the ship
Yet now the ship moved on!
Beneath the lightning and the Moon
The dead men gave a groan.

They groaned, they stirred, they all uprose
Nor spake, nor moved their eyes;
It had been strange, even in a dream
To have seen those dead men rise.

The helmsman steered, the ship moved on;
Yet never a breeze up-blew;
The mariners all ‘gan work the ropes
Where they were wont to do;
They raised their limbs like lifeless tools –
We were a ghastly crew.

The body of my brother’s son
Stood by me, knee to knee:
The body and I pulled at one rope
But he said nought to me.

“I fear thee, ancient Mariner!”
Be calm, thou Wedding-Guest!
‘Twas not those souls that fled in pain
Which to their corses came again
But a troop of spirits blest:

For when it dawned – they dropped their arms
And clustered round the mast;
Sweet sounds rose slowly through their mouths
And from their bodies passed.

***

«Ghost Bus» by Joe Wayman

Underneath the lamp post,
In the middle of the night,
A ghost bus make a silent stop,
A strange and fearful sight.

At the bus top at your corner,
Something big and green climbed down.
It’s looking for your bedroom,
And it has searched all over town.

You thought it couldn’t find you,
That you were safe and you were sound.
You thought that you could hide,
Where you never could be found.

But now it’s almost here,
You know it loves the dark of night.
There’s only one thing you can do,
Quick! Turn on the light!

Whew!

***

«Hallowe’en» by John Kendrick Bangs

Bring forth the raisins and the nuts –
To-night All Hallows’ Spectre struts
Along the moonlit way.
No time is this for tear or sob
Or other woes our joys to rob
But time for Pippin and for Bob
And Jack-o’-lantern gay.

Come forth, ye lass and trousered kid
From prisoned mischief raise the lid
And lift it good and high
Leave grave old Wisdom in the lurch
Set folly on a lofty perch
Nor fear the awesome rod of birch
When dawn illumes the sky.

‘Tis night for revel, set apart
To reillume the darkened heart
And rout the hosts of Dole.
‘Tis night when Goblin, Elf, and Fay
Come dancing in their best array
To prank and royster on the way
And ease the troubled soul.

The ghosts of all things past parade
Emerging from the mist and shade
That hid them from our gaze
And, full of song and ringing mirth
In one glad moment of rebirth
And again they walk the ways of earth
As in the ancient days.

The beacon light shines on the hill
The will-o’-wisps the forests fill
With flashes filched from noon;
And witches on their broomsticks spry
Speed here and yonder in the sky
And lift their strident voices high
Unto the Hunter’s Moon.

The air resounds with tuneful notes
From myriads of straining throats
All hailing Folly Queen;
So join the swelling choral throng
Forget your sorrow and your wrong
In one glad hour of joyous song
To honor Hallowe’en!

***

«Halloween Chills» by Denise M. Cocchiaro

On this night of spooks and gnomes
Of swooning leaves and cringing crones
Of legends told from ear to ear
Of shrieking cats that grin and sneer

Over the hill and past the tree
A haunted house there said to be
With chill and mist to pierce your soul
And whispering winds to keep you cold

Heed the whispers straight from hell
To keep you safe from witchy spells
For through this night of devilish play
All who tread will rue the day

***

«Halloween Eyes» by Larry E. Myers

Elegant in burnt orange afterglow,
Sparkling darkness opens the show.
Strangers arriving from all around;
Some even, from the bad side of town.

They come afoot and driven by car;
Toddlers in strollers, they can’t walk far.
Mothers shouting orders to stay in sight,
Transgressors will rightly rue this night.

Flickering lights and untied laces;
Stomping feet going through their paces.
Scampering legs are willing accomplices,
To smiling eyes and hideous faces.

Through the gauntlet of terror they swarm;
Decked to play in pillaging uniform.
Tree and flower tremble and waiver;
Bumped and trampled in their fervor.

Garish masks obscure excited grins.
Shrieks of joy emanate from within.
Ghostly spirits from the bowels of earth,
Hang from limbs, grinning in ghoulish mirth.

Silken chains embracing all who stray,
Beckons the widow to her frightened prey.
Garnished by howling cries of certain demise;
Steaming cauldrons await their fleshy prize.

Engraved heads from the garden of Hades,
Impotent charms to appease candied fantasies,
Festooned arches bedecked in orange and black,
Ornate ornaments to win the neighborhood plaque;

Hostiles charitably looting town;
Sacks of booty slowing them down.
With bulging bags filled with plunder,
The advancing hordes scatter asunder.

Like tocks from a clock they continue to arrive,
Will the morrow find villagers still alive?
Spades of woe befall each who rashly ignore,
Ominous omens glued to shop window and door.

Pass me by, to my neighbor grace his stage;
Assuage with him your gluttonous rage.
Rapacious hands swaying in ritual dance;
Exuberance untethered in blitzing advance.

Eyeing my castle the motley mobs charge in,
Guarded but by growlin’ dog an’ smilin’ pumpkin;
Upon my stoop they brazenly climb,
My breath on hold, I hear the chime;

My time I fear is near at hand,
My blood or treasure they demand;
Hunkered down and hidden from sight,
No mercy presented for my plight;

With sweaty palms and pounding heart,
Please Lord I pray, make them depart;
For a shot of Scotch I silently scream,
Cuz I forgot the candy on Halloween!

***

«Halloween in the Anthropocene» by Craig Santos Perez

Darkness spills across the sky like an oil plume.

The moon reflects bleached coral. Tonight, let us

praise the sacrificed. Praise the souls of  black

boys, enslaved by supply chains, who carry

bags of cacao under West African heat. “Trick

or treat, smell my feet, give me something good

to eat,” sings a girl dressed as a Disney princess.

Let us praise the souls of   brown girls who sew

our clothes as fire unthreads sweatshops into

smoke and ash. “Trick or treat, smell my feet, give me

something good,” whisper kids disguised as ninjas.

Tonight, let us praise the souls of Asian children

who manufacture toys and tech until gravity sharpens

their bodies enough to cut through suicide nets.

“Trick or treat, smell my feet, give me,” shout boys

camouflaged as soldiers. Let us praise the souls

of  veterans who salute with their guns because

only triggers will pull God into their ruined

temples. “Trick or treat, smell my feet,” chant kids

masquerading as cowboys and Indians. Tonight,

let us praise the souls of native youth, whose eyes

are open-pit uranium mines, veins are poisoned

rivers, hearts are tar sands tailings ponds. “Trick

or treat,” says a boy dressed as the sun. Let us

praise El Niño, his growing pains, praise his mother,

Ocean, who is dying in a warming bath among dead

fish and refugee children. Let us praise our mothers

of  asthma, mothers of  cancer clusters, mothers of

miscarriage — pray for us — because our costumes

won’t hide the true cost of our greed. Praise our

mothers of  lost habitats, mothers of  fallout, mothers

of extinction — pray for us — because even tomorrow

will be haunted — leave them, leave us, leave — 

***

«Halloween Is Here» by John P. Read

Dark and mysterious creepy night.
Pumpkin masks shining bright.
Scary monsters, witches’ brew.
Trick or treat you have to choose.

Some dark stranger knocking at my door.
Is he the devil? I’m not too sure.
All I can see is hiss silhouette.
I’ve never believed in ghosts, yet still I sweat.

Yes, Halloween’s arrived; there’s no place to hide
When ghosts and demons come alive.
Halloween night has lost its way.
Too many crazy people now come out to play.

So, I’ll close my curtains,
Switch off the lights.
They’ll be no Trick or Treat
For me this night.

***

«Halloween Night» by Denise M. Cocchiaro

When days grow short and nights get cold
And autumn trees turn red and gold,
Move, we may, through sun drenched days
‘Midst leaves and berries and bales of hay.

In our hearts we feel the lure
Toward darkness, shivers, and things not pure,
While ghostly shadows creep slowly by,
Spying on witches and brooms that fly.

Icy fingers that grab their prey
And do bad things ’til night turns to day.
Heed this plea to stay inside.
Find covers and blankets and sheets to hide.

Slowly this night will fade to day
And fiends and monsters will crawl away.
Once a year, on this dank night,
We’ll shake and shiver ’til morning light.

***

«Halloween Night» by Charlotte Bancroft

Halloween night is not what it seems;
Ghosts and ghouls haunting your dreams.

I walk among the spooky, old shack.
Clenching my fists, I am ready for attack.

A witch flies by on her broomstick,
Trying to steal my candle’s wick.

Leaving me in the dark,
Hearing only the echo of a bark.

The wolves howl,
As the black cats prowl.

Zombies rise from the ground,
Buried graves cannot be found.

These things may give you a fright,
But it is only the beginning of Halloween Night.

***

«Halloween Party» by Kenn Nesbit

We’re having a Halloween party at school.

I’m dressed up like Dracula. Man, I look cool!

I dyed my hair black, and I cut off my bangs.

I’m wearing a cape and some fake plastic fangs.

I put on some makeup to paint my face white,

like creatures that only come out in the night.

My fingernails, too, are all pointed and red.

I look like I’m recently back from the dead.

My mom drops me off, and I run into school

and suddenly feel like the world’s biggest fool.

The other kids stare like I’m some kind of freak—

the Halloween party is not till next week.

***

«Halloween Passes Us By» by Alice Mae

Each nose is twitching, excitement is itching.
Bats in our belfry are shy.
The hour of witching is rather bewitching
Halloween will soon pass us by

Dressed as a witch, in a pin and a stitch,
Hoping to fly over the sky.
Inspired with fun, Halloween has begun,
But soon it will pass us on by.

The flying broom skips out of the room
Where black birds catch up on the fly.
Owls run away when sun breaks the day
Before Halloween passes us by.

Scarecrows and witches with patches on britches,
Wild corn grown hang on the husk.
Children all happy in costumes so snappy
With parties and dress ups till dusk.

Boil and bubble a pot of fun trouble.
Halloween pumpkin pie.
From out of the rubble, excitement will double
Before Halloween passes on by.

***

«Halloween Scream» by Jeff Opperman

One ghostly ghoul, one green eyed goblin
The headstones say; You got a problem
To venture on my porch tonight
Might want to hold your mummy tight
Lit with jack-o-lantern heads
And zombies that we haven’t fed
The bushes sing with raven calls
Behind the webs the spiders crawl
The lab that’s in the basement lit
Where Dracula and Wolf man sit
With Frankenstein just playing cards
While mother hangs out in the yard
Now candies dandy, but a tricks a treat
Oh I love the sound of running feet

***

«Halloween Sonnet» by Paul Cleere

When leaves start turning orange and golden-brown,
Kids start to dress in costumes so dandy.
For one day a year, all throughout the town
It’s time for kids to amass some candy.

Every fun boy and girl shall don the mask,
and with happiness, shall knock on the door.
They all know what question they are to ask
Trick or Treat? I want candy! Give me more!

Up in the sky, with the orange moon so full,
A witch is joined by her fuzzy black cats.
A scarecrow is leaning against a pole.
The silence is broken by shrieking bats.

Halloween is not always full of fright,
for anyone can be a kid that night.

***

«Halloween» by Ronald Doe

Halloween, blood gurgling scream
Little children run and hide
Ghost costumes and flying brooms
On which evil witches ride

Haunted house, a shredded blouse
A scarecrow in the backyard
Graveyard love, vampire’s blood
Can make this night seem so hard

Halloween, enchanted scene
A night filled with pure terror
Freddy Krueger, plastic Luger
There is no room for error

Rotten eggs, a neighbor begs
“Please don’t use toilet paper.”
Pranksters prey and run away
Like they just pulled a caper

Halloween, big eyes of green
A black cat is hissing loud
Ghosts say “Boo” and Mom warns you
“Don’t stray too far from the crowd.”

Trick or treat, a candy sweet
Also calories galore
Get off track and circle back
Maybe you will get some more

Halloween, number thirteen
A night of goblins and ghosts
Pumpkin patches, bag snatchers
And a Jack-O-Lantern host

Pitch black night, kids filled with fright
Enchanting and scary scene
A full bag will make them brag
And long for next Halloween

***

«Hallowe’en» by Joel Benton

Pixie, kobold, elf, and sprite

All are on their rounds to-night,—

   In the wan moon’s silver ray

   Thrives their helter-skelter play.

 

Fond of cellar, barn, or stack

True unto the almanac,

   They present to credulous eyes

   Strange hobgoblin mysteries.

 

Cabbage-stumps—straws wet with dew—

Apple-skins, and chestnuts too,

   And a mirror for some lass

   Show what wonders come to pass.

 

Doors they move, and gates they hide

Mischiefs that on moonbeams ride

   Are their deeds,—and, by their spells,

   Love records its oracles.

 

Don’t we all, of long ago

By the ruddy fireplace glow,

   In the kitchen and the hall,

   Those queer, coof-like pranks recall?

 

Every shadows were they then—

But to-night they come again;

   Were we once more but sixteen

   Precious would be Hallowe’en.

***

«Hallowe’en» by John Kendrick Bangs

Bring forth the raisins and the nuts—

To-night All Hallows’ Spectre struts

            Along the moonlit way.

No time is this for tear or sob,

Or other woes our joys to rob,

But time for Pippin and for Bob,

            And Jack-o’-lantern gay.

 

Come forth, ye lass and trousered kid,

From prisoned mischief raise the lid,

            And lift it good and high.

Leave grave old Wisdom in the lurch,

Set folly on a lofty perch,

Nor fear the awesome rod of birch

            When dawn illumes the sky.

 

‘Tis night for revel, set apart

To reillume the darkened heart,

            And rout the hosts of Dole.

‘Tis night when Goblin, Elf, and Fay,

Come dancing in their best array

To prank and royster on the way,

            And ease the troubled soul.

 

The ghosts of all things, past parade,

Emerging from the mist and shade

            That hid them from our gaze,

And full of song and ringing mirth,

In one glad moment of rebirth,

Again they walk the ways of earth,

            As in the ancient days.

 

The beacon light shines on the hill,

The will-o’-wisps the forests fill

            With flashes filched from noon;

And witches on their broomsticks spry

Speed here and yonder in the sky,

And life their strident voices high

            Unto the Hunter’s moon.

 

The air resounds with tuneful notes

From myriads of straining throats,

            All hailing Folly Queen;

So join the swelling choral throng,

Forget your sorrow and your wrong,

In one glad hour of joyous song

            To honor Hallowe’en.

***

«Hallows Eve» by Shelly Kuhn

Trees die and bleed onto the earth an ocean of orange, yellow and red
Whilst you lay comfortably in your bed.
The atmosphere thins, energy levels decrease.
Souls emerge from the deceased
To snack on your children’s sugary feasts.
Little Joey pumped full of Hershey Kisses, Tootsie Rolls and candy corn.
Never knowing they had been sucking the life out of him since the day he was born.
They creep up from their graves each hallows eve.
They have until sunrise before they have to leave.
They come as shadows on the wall.
Some are three inches and some are six foot tall.
They wait until you are fast asleep.
To the foot of your bed they begin to creep.
With hallowed eyes and a hallow nose,
They bend over to smell your toes.
The aroma of your sugar hunt stirs up their deadly appetite.
They feast on you all night.
When the sun light peeks through the trees
They are back to their resting place in a breeze.

***

«Haunted Houses» by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

All houses wherein men have lived and died
Are haunted houses. Through the open doors
The harmless phantoms on their errands glide,
With feet that make no sound upon the floors.

We meet them at the door-way, on the stair,
Along the passages they come and go,
Impalpable impressions on the air,
A sense of something moving to and fro.

There are more guests at table than the hosts
Invited; the illuminated hall
Is thronged with quiet, inoffensive ghosts,
As silent as the pictures on the wall.

The stranger at my fireside cannot see
The forms I see, nor hear the sounds I hear;
He but perceives what is; while unto me
All that has been is visible and clear.

We have no title-deeds to house or lands;
Owners and occupants of earlier dates
From graves forgotten stretch their dusty hands,
And hold in mortmain still their old estates.

The spirit-world around this world of sense
Floats like an atmosphere, and everywhere
Wafts through these earthly mists and vapoursdense
A vital breath of more ethereal air.

Our little lives are kept in equipoise
By opposite attractions and desires;
The struggle of the instinct that enjoys,
And the more noble instinct that aspires.

These perturbations, this perpetual jar
Of earthly wants and aspirations high,
Come from the influence of an unseen star
An undiscovered planet in our sky.

And as the moon from some dark gate of cloud
Throws o’er the sea a floating bridge of light,
Across whose trembling planks our fancies crowd
Into the realm of mystery and night,—

So from the world of spirits there descends
A bridge of light, connecting it with this,
O’er whose unsteady floor, that sways and bends,
Wander our thoughts above the dark abyss.

***

«I Wouldn’t Live In A Haunted House» by Rick W. Cotton

I wouldn’t live in a haunted house;
It’s something I just wouldn’t do.
Not in creepy haunted house.
Not with me or even with you.

There’s ghosties that hide in the shadows,
And spiders spin webs down the walls.
Things going bumpety all night long,
And footsteps go stomping down halls.

Voices that whisper when nobody’s there
And shadows abound in the nighttime.
And just when you think all the ghouls have moved out,
They return for some serious fright-time.

They’ll give you a poke on the back of your neck,
Or someone unseen tugs your hair.
You just know there’s someone standing behind
If you dare to look…nobody’s there.

I wouldn’t live in a haunted house,
But on the last of October,
I might drop in for a quick little stay
And bring all my candy right over.

When the sun goes down at the edge of town
And the moon rises glorious yellow,
There’s something in Halloween’s glowing time
That makes all the ghosties quite mellow.

Then little ones come, dressed in costumes galore.
A haunted house might be just dandy
For you and I, Love, to spend our Halloween
On our haunted porch, handing out candy!

***

«In Darkest Woods He Wandered» by Steve Mckee

In darkest woods he wandered,
one moonless stormy night.
The tree limbs made him shiver
reaching out through lightning’s light.

The thunder rumbled its deep warning
and spoke of dreadful things;
for he was out on Halloween
with all its dark heart brings.

His path led through the woods for miles
and eyeballs watched him travel;
He could feel their wicked smiles
while trying hard not to unravel.

Would he live another hour
or would dark forces take him down?
Would they this traveler overpower?
Did he hear hoof beats on the ground.

The thunder clapped the lightening flashed.
The tree limbs reached to slap at him;
He heard the evil cackle while
all his senses seemed to dim.

The rain was in his face now
as the storm just seemed to grow;
he was lying on his back
and how, he didn’t know.

The fear engulfed his total being
he couldn’t even speak
and all the evil he was seeing
only served to make him weak.

He jerked awake and saw beside him
another frightened form.
Somehow they both were now
together in this awful storm.

He looked at her beside him
and said with eyes quite wide;
I don’t feel like sleeping out,
I think I’ll go inside!

***

«Macbeth, Act IV, Scene I» by William Shakespeare

The three witches, casting a spell

Round about the cauldron go;   
In the poison’d entrails throw.   
Toad, that under cold stone    
Days and nights hast thirty one   
Swelter’d venom sleeping got,   
Boil thou first i’ the charmed pot.   

     Double, double toil and trouble; 
     Fire burn and cauldron bubble.   

Fillet of a fenny snake,   
In the cauldron boil and bake;   
Eye of newt, and toe of frog,   
Wool of bat, and tongue of dog,   
Adder’s fork, and blind-worm’s sting,   
Lizard’s leg, and howlet’s wing,   
For a charm of powerful trouble, 
Like a hell-broth boil and bubble.   

     Double, double toil and trouble;   
     Fire burn and cauldron bubble.  

Scale of dragon, tooth of wolf,      
Witches’ mummy, maw and gulf     
Of the ravin’d salt-sea shark,     
Root of hemlock digg’d i’ the dark,     
Liver of blaspheming Jew,      
Gall of goat, and slips of yew     
Sliver’d in the moon’s eclipse,     
Nose of Turk, and Tartar’s lips,     
Finger of birth-strangled babe      
Ditch-deliver’d by a drab,     
Make the gruel thick and slab:     
Add thereto a tiger’s chaudron,     
For the ingredients of our cauldron.

     Double, double toil and trouble;   
     Fire burn and cauldron bubble.  

***

«Mermaid» by Jeff Opperman

I bought a mermaid costume.
Somehow I lost the scales.
Wore it Halloween night
And looked just like a whale.

Thought I’d dress as Dracula,
On my face a little blood.
Tripped on a cape that’s too long
And now my name is mud.

White curly locks like Bo Peep,
A staff there in my hand.
All the old men gave me Snicker
As down the street I ran.

Dressed as Richard Simons
Right down to the shorts.
All I got was fruit
And exercise of course.

Dressed up like the king,
And you thought Elvis dead.
Of course I couldn’t sing.
Just shook my booty instead.

Dressed up as a turkey
Last Thanksgiving Day.
Missed Halloween completely.
What else can I say?

So have a happy trick-or-treat.
Use your imagination,
But when it comes to costumes,
I’m thinking ramification.

***

«Monster» by Richard Maxson

Love was in the hopelessness of you,
each word a part of how you would be.

Imaginings have a way of forming themselves
from a wish for light, a wager to conceive a ghost.

This is how you were born from her, barely born herself.
You, created twice, a story and a story’s child.

A god less knowing watched her write each page,
the glory and the fear that was your life,

rising out of her desire, rising from a myth
before her eyes, piece by piece, from dream to fire.

***

«Mr. Macklin’s Jack O’Lantern» by David McCord

Mr. Macklin takes his knife

And carves the yellow pumpkin face:

Three holes bring eyes and nose to life,

The mouth has thirteen teeth in place.

Then Mr. Macklin just for fun

Transfers the corn-cob pipe from his

Wry mouth to Jack’s, and everyone

Dies laughing! O what fun it is

Till Mr. Macklin draws the shade

And lights the candle in Jack’s skull.

Then all the inside dark is made

As spooky and as horrorful

As Halloween, and creepy crawl

The shadows on the tool-house floor,

With Jack’s face dancing on the wall.

O Mr. Macklin! where’s the door?

***

«My Friend Jack» by Rick W. Cotton

Jack comes every year to visit me,
And his grin just makes me smile.
Nearly toothless, he doesn’t care.
He happily laughs all the while.

Eyes glowing in mirth and merriment,
He makes this time of year happy,
Though he’s not much in conversation,
And he has no repartee snappy.

Jack just stays for a few weeks
Every year when the leaves turn yellow.
He’s as welcome as he could possibly be.
He’s quite the fun old fellow.

Now the sun goes down and the moon comes up,
And the costumed monsters come calling.
Light a candle to get Jack going!
Fast! The eventide’s falling!

All Halloween night he sits with me,
Grinning to greet the neighbors
‘Til his candle’s gone and he goes to sleep.
These are hours that I truly savor.

So long old Jack, tomorrow’s November!
We’ll see you again next year!
When you come to visit from the pumpkin patch,
We will all be waiting right here!

***

«Mystic Magination Night!» by Patricia L. Cisco

On one mystic, magic night,
Jack O Lanterns glowing bright,
kids with bags of candy sweet,
roam door to door and street to street,
all dressed up for trick or treat!

Wizards with wands, pirates with hooks,
monsters and clowns with spooky looks,

kings and queens with capes and crowns,
a princess in her royal gown,

witches with warts and fairies with wings
movies stars with sparkling rings,

vampires with fangs that bite,
ghost that boo all dressed in white.

Imaginations taken flight,
on that one mystic, magic night.

Oh, the fun of Halloween,
be young or old or in between!

***

«One Good Scare» by Patricia A. Fleming

I saw a shadow passing by,
Thinking it just a trick of the eye.
I turned on the light, but no one was there,
Though I noticed a fragrance, thick in the air.

Convinced all was well, I lay myself down,
But then, without warning, came a frightening sound.
I could hear right beside me, so crystal clear,
Someone was breathing right in my ear.

I turned on the light and jumped out of my bed,
This time I was certain it was not in my head.
The quiet that followed seemed abnormally loud,
And there, in the doorway, I saw a dark cloud.

It floated right toward me as fast as could be,
And then it just stopped, quite suddenly.
And there I could see an old woman’s shape,
Dressed in a flowing, black, hooded cape.

Slowly her eyes looked straight into mine,
I felt locked in her stare for what seemed a long time.
But then she just smiled a sick, toothless grin.
As she lapsed into a wild and swift, twirling spin.

I felt mesmerized by this terrible sight,
Unable to move, paralyzed with fright.
And then once again came that sweet, sickening smell,
Perhaps, I was smelling the doorway to hell.

A sinister cackling filled up the room,
She sounded like a murderous, malevolent loon.
She reached out her hands with black, claw-like nails,
And then from her mouth came a torturous wail.

Her spinning slowed down and came to stop,
Just like a child’s toy, spinning top.
And then she was gone, she just disappeared.
But I sat there unmoving, still lost in stark fear.

Then I crawled back to bed and curled up by the light.
Grasping my Bible with all of my might.
Praying and praying with heartfelt concern,
That this monstrous spirit might make a return.

I watched as the clock ticked the long night away,
Longing for the light of a brand new day.
And over and over, I relived what I’d seen,
And then suddenly remembered, it was Halloween.

Well it gave me relief; I now lay there quite calm,
The horror I felt was suddenly gone.
That crazy old woman was supposed to be there,
On this day, above all, I deserved one good scare.

Well I felt like a load had been lifted from me,
And as I relaxed I fell quickly to sleep.
But I never forgot what that night I had seen,
And when I was treated to a true Halloween.

***

«Pumpkin, Oh Pumpkin» by Christopher R. Riddels

Pumpkin, oh Pumpkin,
Your candle light’s bright.
Pumpkin, oh Pumpkin,
You shine bright through the night.

Pumpkin, oh Pumpkin,
You sit on the porch.
Pumpkin, oh Pumpkin,
You’re a decorative torch.

Pumpkin, oh Pumpkin,
Your teeth so messed up,
As you smile at the kids,
As cute as a buttercup.

Pumpkin, oh Pumpkin,
You bring me much joy.
Pumpkin, oh Pumpkin,
You make the children overjoyed.

Pumpkin, oh Pumpkin,
You’re really a Jack-O’-Lantern

***

«Some One» by Walter de la Mare

Some one came knocking
At my wee, small door;
Some one came knocking,
I’m sure—sure—sure;
I listened, I opened,
I looked to left and right,
But nought there was a-stirring
In the still dark night;
Only the busy beetle
Tap-tapping on the wall,
Only from the forest
The screech-owl’s call,
Only the cricket whistling
While the dewdrops fall,
So I know not who came knocking,

At all, at all, at all.

***

«Song of the Witches: “Double, double toil and trouble” » by William Shakespeare

Double, double toil and trouble;

Fire burn and caldron bubble.

Fillet of a fenny snake,

In the caldron boil and bake;

Eye of newt and toe of frog,

Wool of bat and tongue of dog,

Adder’s fork and blind-worm’s sting,

Lizard’s leg and howlet’s wing,

For a charm of powerful trouble,

Like a hell-broth boil and bubble.

Double, double toil and trouble;

Fire burn and caldron bubble.

Cool it with a baboon’s blood,

Then the charm is firm and good.

***

«Song Of The Witches» by William Shakespeare

Thrice the brinded cat hath mew’d.
Thrice and once the hedge-pig whined.
Harpier cries “‘Tis time, ’tis time.”

Round about the cauldron go;
In the poison’d entrails throw.
Toad, that under cold stone
Days and nights has thirty-one
Swelter’d venom sleeping got
Boil thou first i’ the charmed pot.

Double, double, toil and trouble;
Fire burn, and cauldron bubble.

Fillet of a fenny snake
In the cauldron boil and bake;
Eye of newt and toe of frog
Wool of bat and tongue of dog
Adder’s fork and blind-worm’s sting
Lizard’s leg and howlet’s wing
For a charm of powerful trouble
Like a hell-broth boil and bubble.

Double, double, toil and trouble;
Fire burn, and cauldron bubble.

Cool it with a baboon’s blood
Then the charm is firm and good.

By the pricking of my thumbs
Something wicked this way comes.

***

«St. Mary’s Cemetery in Missoula» by Anne M. Doe Overstreet

Richard walks among the stones
his own ghost surely meets him there.

     Some tilt or sag, others deeper sunk slink or
     have slunk beneath the yew to hear its hiss.

He scrolls the names, wets his lips, begins
again reciting the dead and dying, giving each

     a living sound. The tongue can honor bones
     long after they are dust. The pool of an eye fills up,

the ear crackles with static exhaled from that strange
conversion back to stone and soil. From there,

     mouth full of German women, he prays.
     Among their conscious breath’s small ceasings

his lovers, students, compose their forms
for sleep, exhale a last and incoherent I am.

***

«The Apparition» by John Donne

When by thy scorn, O murd’ress, I am dead
And that thou think’st thee free
From all solicitation from me
Then shall my ghost come to thy bed
And thee, feign’d vestal, in worse arms shall see;
Then thy sick taper will begin to wink
And he, whose thou art then, being tir’d before
Will, if thou stir, or pinch to wake him, think
Thou call’st for more
And in false sleep will from thee shrink;
And then, poor aspen wretch, neglected thou
Bath’d in a cold quicksilver sweat wilt lie
A verier ghost than I.
What I will say, I will not tell thee now
Lest that preserve thee; and since my love is spent
I’had rather thou shouldst painfully repent
Than by my threat’nings rest still innocent.

***

«The Ghost» by Richard Jones

I live in a house with no windows
a black curtain hangs on my door.
The voices of conscience torment me
I live in a room with no floor.

There’s dirt in the corner I can’t see
there’s water that runs down the wall.
There’re mice in the attic above me
and rats playing games in the hall.

I live in a house with no windows
and sleep in a room with no heat.
The darkness of life that surrounds me
Keeps out the sounds of the street.

I wake when the shadows have fallen
and walk when the memories cease.
When purpose in life has no meaning
and only the wicked find peace.

Each night you sense that I’m by you
you feel my breath as you sleep.
You hear the faint creak of the floorboards
as out from the shadows I creep.

I live in a house with no windows
I live in a house that’s now yours
It’s my voice you think that you’re hearing
for I died in this room with no doors.

***

«The Hag» by Robert Herrick

The Hag is astride
This night for to ride;
The Devill and shee together:
Through thick, and through thin
Now out, and then in
Though ne’r so foule be the weather.

A Thorn or a Burr
She takes for a Spurre:
With a lash of a Bramble she rides now
Through Brakes and through Bryars
O’re Ditches, and Mires
She followes the Spirit that guides now.

No Beast, for his food
Dares now range the wood;
But husht in his laire he lies lurking:
While mischeifs, by these
On Land and on Seas
At noone of Night are working.

The storme will arise
And trouble the skies;
This night, and more for the wonder
The ghost from the Tomb
Affrighted shall come
Cal’d out by the clap of the Thunder.

***

«The House of Ghosts» by Margaret Widdemer

The House of Ghosts was bright within,
     Aglow and warm and gay,
A place my own once loved me in,
     That is not there by day:

My hound lay drowsing on the floor:
     From sunken graves returned
My folk that I was lonely for
     Sat where the hearth-fire burned.

There was no lightest echo lost
     When I undid the door,
There was no shadow where I crossed
     The well-remembered floor.

I bent to whisper to my hound
     (So long he had been dead!)
He slept no lighter nor more sound,
     He did not lift his head.

I brushed my father as I came;
     He did not move or see—
I cried upon my mother’s name;
     She did not look at me.

Their faces in the firelight bent,
     They smiled in speaking slow
Of some old gracious merriment
     Forgotten years ago.

I was so changed since they had died!
     How could they know or guess
A voice that plead for love, and cried
     Of grief and loneliness?

Out from the House of Ghosts I fled
     Lest I should turn and see
The child I had been lift her head
     And stare aghast at me!

***

«The New House» by Edward Thomas

Now first, as I shut the door
I was alone
In the new house; and the wind
Began to moan.

Old at once was the house
And I was old;
My ears were teased with the dread
Of what was foretold,

Nights of storm, days of mist, without end;
Sad days when the sun
Shone in vain: old griefs and griefs
Not yest begun.

All was foretold me; naught
Could I foresee;
But I learnt how the wind would sound
After these things should be.

***

«The Night Of Halloween» by Sandi VanderSluis

The Harvest moon fills the sky
A wicked witch goes flying by

Ghosts and goblins..skeleton’s too.
Moaning and groaning, waiting for you

Black cats prowl the graveyard plots
Witches cook in cauldron pots

Cemetery ghouls roam the ground
Not one unopened grave is found

Tombstones are an eerie sight
Shadows dance in full moon light

The haunted house on the hill
Walk in there and you get a chill

Jack-o-lanterns eyes so bright
Trick or Treaters scream in fright

It’s a time like you’ve never seen
Tonight’s the night of Halloween

***

«The Poor Ghost» by Christina Georgina Rossetti

“Oh whence do you come, my dear friend, to me
With your golden hair all fallen below your knee
And your face as white as snowdrops on the lea
And your voice as hollow as the hollow sea?”

“From the other world I come back to you
My locks are uncurled with dripping drenching dew.
You know the old, whilst I know the new:
But to-morrow you shall know this too.”

“Oh not to-morrow into the dark, I pray;
Oh not to-morrow, too soon to go away:
Here I feel warm and well-content and gay:
Give me another year, another day.”

“Am I so changed in a day and a night
That mine own only love shrinks from me with fright
Is fain to turn away to left or right
And cover up his eyes from the sight?”

“Indeed I loved you, my chosen friend
I loved you for life, but life has an end;
Through sickness I was ready to tend:
But death mars all, which we cannot mend.”

“Indeed I loved you; I love you yet
If you will stay where your bed is set
Where I have planted a violet
Which the wind waves, which the dew makes wet.”

“Life is gone, then love too is gone
It was a reed that I leant upon:
Never doubt I will leave you alone
And not wake you rattling bone with bone. “

“I go home alone to my bed
Dug deep at the foot and deep at the head
Roofed in with a load of lead
Warm enough for the forgotten dead.”

“But why did your tears soak through the clay
And why did your sobs wake me where I lay?
I was away, far enough away:
Let me sleep now till the Judgment Day.”

***

«The Unreturned» by Wilfred Owen

Suddenly night crushed out the day and hurled
Her remnants over cloud-peaks, thunder-walled.
Then fell a stillness such as harks appalled
When far-gone dead return upon the world.

There watched I for the Dead; but no ghost woke.
Each one whom Life exiled I named and called.
But they were all too far, or dumbed, or thralled
And never one fared back to me or spoke.

Then peered the indefinite unshapen dawn
With vacant gloaming, sad as half-lit minds
The weak-limned hour when sick men’s sighs are drained.
And while I wondered on their being withdrawn
Gagged by the smothering Wing which none unbinds
I dreaded even a heaven with doors so chained.

***

«The Vampire’s Kiss» by Jim Ellis

Beware the kiss of the living dead.
It will leave you wanting.
Hunger delays once he’s fed
But soon restarts the hunting.

Daylight breaks and brings the night
As deadly sleep takes over,
And when the moon renews its light
The corpsed shell grows colder.

A woman walking down the street,
An invitation to dinner.
She never hears the silent feet
That carry the deadly sinner.

And as the fangs sink down deep,
The hunter takes his prey.
He prays the Lord her soul to keep
Then slowly backs away.

Beware the kiss of the living dead.
It will leave you wanting.
Hunger delays once she’s fed
But soon restarts the hunting.

***

«The Vampiress» by Stephannie Mossiah

Seduction, leaks off her flesh,
attracting men, like bees to honey.
With her long black hair shinning with smoothness,
and a sexy snake-like body.

Her eyes, they pierce through you,
with that unearthly beauty.
Blood red they glow, magnificent hue,
as they stare with a look; predatory.

Slim corpse-like fingers,
caress the face of her testosterone filled meal.
The smell of blood on her body lingers,
making any man, a slave to her deadly appeal.

She smiles sinisterly,
her face slightly distorted.
Every move she makes is bewitchingly sexy,
a glamor dance, readily accepted.

Fingers nails, as fast a lightening,
cut through her prey’s throat like hot knife to butter.
With outrageous moaning and groaning,
she drinks the dark gore as it sputters.

She swallows the warm thick liquid
to quench her insatiable thirst.
Gaining strength from the fluid,
and finally pops the head of first.

Her elongated canines,
stained with the breath of life.
She alone dines,
on this unlucky soul, late tonight.

With the sun, her immortal enemy,
In her world, behold the Dark Impress.
Kneel before this heartless Queen,
surrender your blood, to the Vampiress.

***

«The Witch Has Told You a Story» by Ava Leavell Haymon

You are food.

You are here for me

to eat. Fatten up,

and I will like you better.

Your brother will be first,

you must wait your turn.

Feed him yourself, you will

learn to do it. You will take him

eggs with yellow sauce, muffins

torn apart and leaking butter, fried meats

late in the morning, and always sweets

in a sticky parade from the kitchen.

His vigilance, an ice pick of   hunger

pricking his insides, will melt

in the unctuous cream fillings.

He will forget. He will thank you

for it. His little finger stuck every day

through cracks in the bars

will grow sleek and round,

his hollow face swell

like the moon. He will stop dreaming

about fear in the woods without food.

He will lean toward the maw

of   the oven as it opens

every afternoon, sighing

better and better smells.

***

«The Witch’s Song, from Macbeth» by William Shakespeare

Double, double toil and trouble;
Fire burn and caldron bubble.
Fillet of a fenny snake,
In the caldron boil and bake;
Eye of newt and toe of frog,
Wool of bat and tongue of dog,
Adder’s fork and blind-worm’s sting,
Lizard’s leg and howlet’s wing,
For a charm of powerful trouble,
Like a hell-broth boil and bubble.

Double, double toil and trouble;
Fire burn and caldron bubble.
Cool it with a baboon’s blood,
Then the charm is firm and good.

***

«The Witch» by Mary Elizabeth Coleridge

I have walked a great while over the snow
And I am not tall nor strong.
My clothes are wet, and my teeth are set
And the way was hard and long.
I have wandered over the fruitful earth
But I never came here before.
Oh, lift me over the threshold, and let me in at the door!

The cutting wind is a cruel foe.
I dare not stand in the blast.
My hands are stone, and my voice a groan
And the worst of death is past.
I am but a little maiden still
My little white feet are sore.
Oh, lift me over the threshold, and let me in at the door!

Her voice was the voice that women have
Who plead for their heart’s desire.
She came – she came – and the quivering flame
Sunk and died in the fire.
It never was lit again on my hearth
Since I hurried across the floor
To lift her over the threshold, and let her in at the door.

***

«Theme in Yellow» by Carl Sandburg

I spot the hills
With yellow balls in autumn.
I light the prairie cornfields
Orange and tawny gold clusters
And I am called pumpkins.
On the last of October
When dusk is fallen
Children join hands
And circle round me
Singing ghost songs
And love to the harvest moon;
I am a jack-o’-lantern
With terrible teeth
And the children know
I am fooling.

***

«This Place Is Haunted» by Richard Jones

In screaming woods and empty rooms
or gloomy vaults and sunken tombs;
Where monks and nuns in dust decay
and shadows dance at close of day.

Where the bat dips on the wing
and spectral choirs on breezes sing;
Where swords of ancient battles clash
and shimmering shades for freedom dash.

Where raging storms at midnight howl
and distant rolls of thunder growl.
Where the hounds of hell take flight
and ghost clouds race across the night.

Where silver webs of spiders weave
and star-crossed lovers take their leave.
Where curses lay the spirits low
and mortal footsteps fear to go.

Where death holds life in grim embrace
its lines etched on the sinner’s face.
Where e’er the march of time is flaunted
voices cry – “this place is haunted.”

***

«Trick Or Treat» by Jim Ellis

Candy, candy in the bag.
It’s that time of year.
Funny clown, witchy hag.
Another house is near.

Popcorn balls and tootsie rolls.
A handful is the best
Taken from the biggest bowls
At homes that pass the test.

Ding dong, ring the bell.
Trick-or-treat is said,
And if it does not go so well,
Then mark the first word said.

Trees draped in toilet paper,
Fecal bags on fire.
Dressed like an undertaker,
The trick was their desire.

Midnight comes, all bags are full.
Time to count the bounty.
The night is done; we’ve played our role
All throughout the county.

Enjoy this yearly fun-filled night,
Feast upon its riches
From the first and final bite
Of Hugs and Hershey Kisses.

***

«Witches’ Moon» by Rod I. Eaton

On ‘Tober nights ere Witches’ Moon,
spirits sway and creatures croon.
As darkness falls and shadows grow,
haints and haunters fain to show.

Dry bones rise up to join the fun,
clink and clacking as they run.
A straggly scarecrow ‘stride a broom.
rides beside her ghastly groom.

And long before faint daylight comes
banshees beat upon their drums.
Well shivers creep along your spine,
wolves and wildies woof the time.

Then ghosties in the woods do soar,
shrieking loudly with a roar.
A caterwauling in the gloom,
wailing at the Witches’ Moon.

With all the ghoulish guests now here,
time to dine, since dawn is near.
Please pass the wildroot, pass the cake.
Plates begin to levitate.

Now pale light creeps across the sky.
Morning’s nigh, ’tis time to fly.
So with a whimper, not a bang,
vampyre bares his single fang.

Pale zombies pass the graveyard gate
with their clumsy, stumbly gait.
And with a quiver and a moan
howling dogs slink home alone.

Your heart slows down within your chest.
Beastie souls lie down to rest.   
As spirits sway and creatures croon,
bid goodnight, wan Witches’ Moon.