It’s Halloween night alright, sit tight the ghouls are out don’t scream, don’t shout what’s under your bed it’s scary, but it’s dead just crawled onto your hand this terror I can’t stand the witching hour’s here and the night’s full of fear
So I took a trip down Jack O’Lantern Lane Where skeletons and ghosts were raising Cain The crows they cawed The mockingbirds squawked And the treetops flared like a fire engine.
So I ran back home to ink an angry complaint Against shuffling monsters that make one faint But I tripped over boxes Left by masquerade foxes And I cursed like the dickens cuz a saint I ain’t.
So then I opened my eyes, took in the wide blue skies And I laughed at the beauty that around me lies The anthem of the trees As they sang in the breeze And I thanked the Lord with my heartfelt sighs.
As if by magic my anger disappeared and the doorbell rang And I rose from my chair with a clatter and a bang See, I had my nutty nurse costume on A green glowing needle and a wig of blonde I was going trick or treatin’ with my neighborhood gang.
I’ll meet you in the goblin grove My love, if you should ask As if to test me with a task My love for you to prove.
My fears and frights I will forget In truth, that you may not be grieved; I’ll hold aloft no blame, nor false regret, In truth my love you’ve ne’er believed.
Should I die to prove love true, My spirit uncowed by ghosts that roost O’er lazy bones in goblin’s brew, My spirit on All Souls morn be loosed
To haunt you through and through!
Written in honor of Christina Rossetti, a Christian poet who is well known for her work as a member of the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood, a group of English painters, poets, and art critics, founded in 1848. Every year when Halloween comes round her long poem, The Goblin Market, makes the rounds around the world to spook children and adults both! Shay’s Word Garden List engages us to pick three words or more from words she’s chosen from Rossetti’s poetry and Sammi’s 13 Days of Samhain for Day 2 prompts us to use the phrase “Lazy Bones.”
He gave me starlings, dark dowry, Hidden betrayals in gardens, Houses muttering in the rain, Hoarding secrets in rosaries.
Then sent he catbirds three, to kill True love, their mimicry like The day’s news, veiled, shifting half- Truths, eyed over coffee and tea.
Crows by the murder he hastened, Choreographed in gothic, Cawing incessant, evil Conniving to see my end.
Bedeviled, accursed, he must then Bequeath me bats, like foreigners Bearing plagues, designed to cause fear— But now I’m more deadly than he.
The above poemis in response to Shay’s Word Garden Word List (inspired by poet Dave Kelly) and is the first of two as I experiment with a new (to me) poetry form: the Traditional Mongolian Meter. This form requires quatrains written in lines of 7 to 8 syllables, each line head-rhymed with alliteration being a prominent element of the form. Grace at dVerse explains a head-rhyme as being “the first consonant of each line matching. However, while still alliterative, with the matched consonant heading the line, it is often seen as the first syllable in each line rhyming with the first syllable of the ensuing lines.”
The wine that Jesus made runs sweet To quench my thirst like rain in spring That falls on ground which hardened lies Till it yields to softening streams.
No Cana wedding had I to go Nor hear His mother’s firm request Nothing but His love for me Nourishing remembrance brings.
See wine in cup and bread on plate Speak His body and His blood Shed upon the Cross for me So from guilt, from sin to free.
Jesus is my God and King Joy unspeakable He gives Just to know He loves me so Joins my heart, my soul to Him.
Are you a member of a mob, Is there a crowd you’ve joined? Do you volley a round of jeers, A record number aimed to mock Those it crowns with contempt To curry your crowd’s acclaim?
When mob zombies throw you a bone, An IG, Twitter or a Facebook like, Oh, how you preen with pride As prowling for that perfect target, A victim for your mob’s consumption You deny it’s a wicked game.
Natural bullies, mobsters we Who crowd to assemble hate Shaming those with whom we disagree In social media where we congregate To acclaim the noble popularity Of the monsters we create.
Like cartoon lemmings we march off To follow them over the cliff Buying the wicked conjurings Sold by all the best, Warding off independent thought That bane of every crowd.
Are you a member of a mob, Is there a crowd you’ve joined? Your membership will last as long As you make their idols yours. But when the day is done you’ll find Alas, the mob was not your friend.
--For Sammi's 13 Days of Samhain (volume ii)
Day 3: "A Wicked Conjuring" prompt for October 22, 2021
--"The Monster in the Woods" photo for Cee'sPPAC: #19:
Photographing Public Art Challenge (PPAC)
Public art is encompasses any form of art you see in a public place,
large or small, statues, murals, graffiti, gardens, parks, etc.
The art should be visible from streets, sidewalks
or outdoor public places.
The night was thick with Southern mist the road steamed where darkness sifted
sweet desire: the devil smiles the basket away and disappears like will-o’-the-wisp
sifted, sifted my soul like chaff, alone at the crossroads looking after him
Mish at dVerse Poetics: "Always in Season" asks us to write about fruits or berries, giving us a broad flexibility of topic, from concrete to abstract. This poem was inspired by legendary blues singer and guitarist Robert Johnson's "Crossroads" (1936).