The sun fails suddenly
Beyond the standard horizon
Springing dark upon us
Like a trap.
The moon comes out
And pokes around among the stars,
Glowering and full,
As haggard streaks of clouds race
Insanely across the foreboding apparition.
Quietly, we put on the masks,
Bringing our fears to the surface
In these horrific plastic expressions.
Bravely we clench our paper bags
And go out into this crazy
Miniature spirits, imps, wildlings
Of questionable nature.
Friend or foe? Fearsome or funny?
Solemnly we collect
Our various booty with some risk,
Making the rounds of the neighborhood,
And tracing our small anger on the windows
Dark and empty against us
With crayons of pure soap.
Then race home through the whirling leaves
Scared silly and laughing, anxious to
Eat the treats and tell the tales
Of our treacherous tricks
And the stalking goblins
Sifting through the shadows, at our heels.
It's PoMo! To learn about PoMo, click here and then scroll down.
This one is from my only collection of poetry, "The Godtouch."
This is a not so scary poem about Halloween in a more innocent, less bloody time, when scared silly was just that; more silly than scared. Frankly, I abhor the boundless horror that has attached itself to what once was a much more fun experience. There were no worries about razor blades in apples. Kids roamed the neighborhoods safely searching out treats. No one would have thought to try to scare any of us "to death" in the now much too literal sense. Wouldn't mind returning those kinds of Halloweens with more fun and far less terror.
You can get "The Godtouch" using these links:
• Kindle version.