Halloween Poems

[ampoule]

Fun or frightening? Do you have a spooky poem to share with us? For inspiration http://www.history.com/minisites/halloween/

[ampoule]

Misery

It was a cold and rainy night

[Xillus_Xavier]

I liked these, but especially the second one "Misery".
Not a big fan of nonryhming material but these were good in my opinion.

[mazHur]

this is also nice,,,smooth and spontaneous. Did you write it?

[ampoule]

Thank you. Yes, I wrote them both.

Halloween is not my favorite holiday but it is the one that is upon us. In fact, it is at this time of year that we begin rehearsing for our Christmas cantata.

Anyone else have a Halloween memory?

[AuntShecky]

I liked both of these, but the second one slips a little into
prose.

[Pendragon]

Danse Macabre

Around the silent headstones
in the cold moonlight,
burnished bones gleaming with unearthly glow;
they dance to the beating
of each fearful heart that’s pleading
for this nightmare to simply vanish! Enough!
But as the rat-tat-tat of the heart continues
and the blue lights flicker
on the top of every tomb,
the shades weave in and out of shadows
in a ghastly tarantella,
the moonbeams dancing with them
in unrestrained revelry.
The heartbeats pick up the tempo
and the dancers keep the rhythm,
finger bones all clattering, clinking
like Spanish castanets;
whirling, spinning, bowing
‘til the heart reaches a crescendo,
and the sleeper jerks awake
with a horror filled scream!

Dale Harris
© 6/28/97

[Pendragon]

Encrypted

I may as well admit it right at the start: I am a coward.
And yet there is a certain morbid fascination with the old crypt
In the graveyard behind my mansion that draws me like warmth from the coals.
I wonder just who lies there in some dank, moldy coffin—
Sleeping throughout the centuries in an oaken box carved,
Perhaps, with the flourishes of the craftsman in a family crest?

Tonight, ere the moonlight kisses the fanged crest
Of yon mountain, I shall explore. (Although I am a coward!)
The polished marble walls of the sepulcher seem not so old, richly carved
With grotesque gargoyles. Well, the place is well-built, a crypt
Intended to withstand the revenges of time. Within somewhere lies the coffin.
Strange that a mist should fill the inside of a crypt like smoke over coals…

What was that? By God, I would swear I saw two eyes that burned like coals!
My pulses pound and my heart heaves like an oceans’ wave surges towards its crest.
I have dropped my torch and reaching down to retrieve it, I encounter the coffin.
“Steady yourself, gutless wretch!” I scold myself. “Pantywaist little coward!
What did you expect? Hallucinations can be caused by the stale air of this crypt!”
I flashed my torch at the coffin, trying to make sense of the carved

Letters across the lid. Runes. Why would one have such ancient writing carved
Into the lid of a coffin? I bump my knee and hear something sigh like a dying coal.
What the devil was that? I know there was movement that time, near the back of the crypt,
Underneath that elaborately designed family crest.
“Bah! Mice, you miserable little sniveling coward!”
A sudden loud creak riveted my attention to the dark oak coffin…

Movement, all right. The massive lid of the coffin
Rose slowly upward and open. I gazed upon pallid features that seemed carved
From soap or perhaps wax. I prepared to run, who cares about my reputation as a coward!
The eyes snapped open, two bloody, blazing coals.
“F-fa-father?” He arose. Upon his silk tuxedo jacket the same family crest
Was embroidered. There was no room for doubt. My father, and the occupant of this crypt…

“Look, now. I-I-I made a mistake in coming in and disturbing your crypt.
Now, dad, you-you just get away from me now, and get back in your coffin.
You’re dead.” He laughed mirthlessly and ran his fingernail around the family crest
On my jacket. Those nails of his were long and sharp enough to have carved
Those runes into the hard oak of the casket. “I think not.” The eyes were blazing coals.
“You set me free yourself so come to Father, Johnny, you poor little coward!”

News Item: John Wilson was found today in the old crypt that bears his family crest.
He lay near the coffin of his late father; his eyes simply pale, burned out coals.
Strange markings seemed carved into his flesh and he would say only one word: “Coward”…

Dale Harris
© 5/15/97