Archives for posts with tag: Halloween

Carved monstrous faces, magic light
bends the trees with molten sneers,
street bobs with orange globes,
channel markers to guide the dread.

Wind carries small goblins and cats over
houses wreathed with whispering leaves
that tremble by warm blind windows,
deaf to last gurgling chokes for help.

The night is measured by small eyes
sometimes fierce as dragons, now small
and frightened by someone too large,
perhaps wearing a death’s head mask.

Streets squalls of pirates, princesses,
vampires and witches, sudden silences of
tossed, crumbling leaves kicking on a slick
black vinyl street, rain wet, lightning lit.

Sitting behind the wheel of your car,
peering out, is that house OK? Is anyone home?
I’d feel safer if they had a jack o’ lantern
on that gothic verandah. Come on in.

© Ward Maxwell, 2014

(a hallowe’en romp)
baby’s looking funny since she died
got me feeling like suicide
baby I can’t wait until you speak
thru that rip in your cheek

C’mon baby, dare to be mine
You went and ate me out of my mind
you’re no valentine, you Hallowe’en queen
now give me back my liver and spleen,

oh, oh, oh,

give ‘em back, give ‘em back to me,
no more post amorous history
zombie love all gone wrong, give’ em back,
or I’ll get you with my heart attack

people say you’re a pretty ghoul
they say they like the way you drool
it’s alright I’ll just lock the door
cause once I’m gone
they won’t see you no more

baby likes the look  of human being
and you’re the best she’s ever seen
how about this Hallowe’en
you bring the meat

she provides the scream

it’s apparent to me this mutual misery
there’s no need to talk, we’re beyond all that
just one last attack, I’ll take my heart back

oh, oh, oh
oh

Carved flickering monstrous faces, magic light
bends the trees with molten sneers,
street bobs with orange globes,
channel markers to guide the dread.

Wind carries small goblins and cats over
houses wreathed with whispering leaves
that tremble by warm blind windows,
deaf to last gurgling chokes for help.

The night is measured by small eyes
sometimes fierce as dragons, now small
and frightened by someone too large,
perhaps wearing a death’s head mask.

Streets are squalls of pirates, princesses,
vampires and witches, sudden silences of
tossed, crumbling leaves kicking on a slick
black vinyl street, rain wet, lightning lit.

Sitting behind the wheel of your car,
peering out, is that house OK? Is anyone home?
I’d feel safer if they had a jack o’ lantern
on that gothic verandah. Come on in.

baby’s looking funny
since she died
got me feeling
like suicide
baby I can’t wait
until you speak
thru that rip
in your cheek

C’mon baby
dare to be mine
You went and ate me
out of my mind
you’re no valentine
you Halloween queen
now give me back
my liver and spleen,

oh, oh, oh

give ‘em back to me
no more post amorous history
Give ‘em, give’ em back
Or else I’ll get you
with my heart attack

people say you’re a pretty ghoul
they say they like the way you drool
it’s alright I’ll just lock the door
cause once I’m gone
they won’t see you no more

baby likes the look
of any human being
she’s howling you’re the best
she’s ever seen
how about this Halloween
you bring the meat
she provides the scream

it’s apparent to me
this mutual misery
there’s no need to talk
we’re beyond all that
just one last attack
I’ll have my heart back

oh, oh, oh
oh

Leaves shift in the wind like planes of being,
the homeless push shopping carts through the market of life;
the costumes are what we wish we could wear all the time.
Evening winds skirl as evening winds always do, at least
since the Irish introduced the bagpipe to the Scots
(that’s just a joke.) We await the arrival of the dead—
the knowledge they carry, the deeds done, no lies, stories,
all that was avoided, forgotten, buried with them.
The moon hides behind convenient clouds. Witches fly lower —
ahh, the ladies. Their brooms exhale illuminated letters
that everyone reads as truth in need of explication.
The point of the pen keeps chasing the moment we all want
to understand, we keep reading, unwrap each new word
from cellophane, eager to feast upon our new treasure
once we’re safely back home — we can’t get enough
of that sweet thing; it’s there at our fingertips
some sort of tune you can’t recall, you heard
someone trill it once, but the wind just blew it away.

hallowe’en 2007

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