"hallows" poems
There’s a Devil of a night each year, the night of Mr. Haim!
When the devilish and ghoulie ones come out to play their monster’s game.
And why some would seek to trick or treat on this scary day of dead?
Careful now cause gremlins, trolls …sprites and wolves, will offer up their dread!
Quiet, shush, I hear a pack of creepy-crawly boots…
Ra’atan-Zu and the Boogedy-Boo!
And the skeleton bones, clink…
And the skeleton bones, clink…
The skeleton bones clink.
That crafty-smith of horns and hooves is spying on these kiddies,
As Ra’atan-Zu and the Boogedy-Boo are hunting strays to do their dastardly-ditties.
Quiet, shush, I hear a pack of creepy-crawly boots,
And their costumes, oh-so-foul, the evilest of suits!
And there she is, that little girl who can’t keep up, in a tasty mushroom ensemble.
And the skeleton bones clink in her path to give her quite a tomble!
Ra’atan-Zu and the Boogedy-Boo!
And the skeleton bones, clink…
And the skeleton bones, clink…
The skeleton bones clink.
And Sammy Haim, that smithy-devil, a ***** hoof -igniting ghoul’s desire,
He’s howling out, demanding now, “Put that child to the fire!”
And little does he know, no little bit, not even a small clue,
Neither Ra’atan-Zu nor Boogedy-Boo intend on giving him his due!
For once a year on Halloween they get one night to spaz,
Get down and ***** wild and crazy and play a little jazz!
That little mushroom of a girl will play a tiny fiddle,
Ra’atan-Zu and the Boogedy-Boo, a jazzy duet with child in middle!'
Ra’atan-Zu, Boogedy-Boo and a little girl too as they get down actin’ a spaz! Playin’ all night, howling to the moon and kickin’ out some wicked jazz!
*And the skeleton bones, clink…
And the skeleton bones, clink…
The skeleton bones clink.* *
Jun 6, 2016
Jun 6, 2016 at 6:31 PM UTC
High above dear Maple Street
There looms a cold iron curtain of fear
That dares to drop and let all the monsters
Unleash their dreaded promise of chaos
As in Europe despots gift a new World War
Trembling parlors hug the radio
Hallows Eve: the radio
Begins to sing throughout dear Maple Street
The Seventh Trumpet declares all out war
And that heavy iron curtain of fear
Eclipses the sun and invites chaos
In vacant hearts of men into monsters
Halloween Night: the monsters
Now dance to the tune of the radio
Raiding the stores, jumping bridges, chaos
Entombing the stretch of this blood strewn street
Parlors gorging on endless waves of fear
Riding hysteria, imminent war
O great catalyst of war
Twisting the minds of men into monsters
Diving your hands in that great pit of fear
Now throbbing with screams from the radio
No fences nor faces can save Maple Street
Now plunged in the throes of sweet sultry Chaos
And we call it Chaos
This boiling of minds all stewing with war
Once masked with humanity on this street
Now reveals good neighbors make great monsters
Skies of martians (n)or men, the radio
Hissing, twists the knobs and tunes in to fear
And when that curtain of fear
Draws, and shadeless light casts on the chaos
And the broadcast fades on the radio
And mere fiction rescinds the throne of war
What will we make of all of these monsters
Scattered about in a daze through the street
Where there are minds of fear and war,
Chaos reigns and calls to the sleeping monsters;
Tune in to Welles’s radio on Sterling’s street.
Oct 30, 2018
Oct 30, 2018 at 6:07 PM UTC
your first step on the road to "recovery"
was to tape words on your reflection
colors littered with senseless lessons
colors littered with senseless rules
your second step on the road to "recovery"
was to trail words on the thin walls
tainting the white trim of your door
the words were like water seeping from
your demon flooded bedroom
your third step on the road to "recovery"
was to illustrate the words in unsustainable images
literally photoshopped to the unachievable
recovery became self indulgence
you have a skewed sense of progress
thinking consuming the clean will clear you of your sins
but your sins are buried deep in the abandonment you kept hidden
in the hallows of your debt
self recovery cannot be found with words spat out of context
hanging on your reflection
self recovery is found when you reflect those words into context
Jan 2, 2014
Jan 2, 2014 at 4:13 AM UTC
Harry Potter marathons
Keeps my mind going strong
Feeds my imagination
Hogwarts is my destination
Fun times can be found
Magical abilities will abound
Harry has a path to follow
Leading up to Deathly Hallows
Ron and Hermione his best friends
Stick with him to the bitter end
Dumbledore a blessing to behold
Guides Harry as his life unfolds
Snape was such a scoundrel
Turns out he's quite wonderful
In the end you will see
There's nothing better than family
Jan 9, 2014
Jan 9, 2014 at 4:14 PM UTC
The two brothers wait for me arrive home,
They call themselves Anxiety and Fear,
Fear with his grimace smile,
Welcomes me in with his rigid glare,
He takes one look at me,
Reminds me I am vulnerable and fragile,
Anxiety plays along,
With his insolent tone,
Tells me I am an ignorant fool,
Mocking me of my wisdom,
Fear reminds me I am blind,
I know deep down they are right,
Fear is talking with a big smile to Anxiety,
The two brothers begin to laugh as I sit and calculate,
My heart begins to ache,
Anxiety points out the truth,
I can’t deny how I went wrong,
Fear places his hands on my shoulders,
I start to cry as I am unable to conceal these thoughts,
He whispers in my ear he will always be there,
Anxiety places his hands in mine
He always said one day I will suffer
No one to save you,
Like vultures they begin to circulate,
I must stay calm,
I rise firm to my feet,
So you want to mess with me?
Fear retreats to the corner and hisses,
It doesn’t matter what you have to say,
How long you keep these thoughts at bay,
Anxiety continues to linger around,
Analysing every inch and sound,
I was naïve and innocent to follow to your dark psyche,
Fear attempts to shut me up,
Yelling nonsense in my ear,
Anxiety joins in playfully,
Twisting and turning my stomach,
I take a deep breathe,
I will not follow blindly to the devil in disguise,
I will not tolerate these fears and let them ride me,
I will not let anxiety take over my strive,
My devotion will be dedicated to creativity and insanity,
You are just made believed.
The two brothers wince at my capability to be brave,
Anxiety recoils and hallows a piercing shriek,
Fear grimaces and spits venom at me,
I catch the venom and throw it back at Fear,
I owe you nothing
Oct 9, 2018
Oct 9, 2018 at 8:19 AM UTC
All hallows-eve does she dance,
A nimble skip in her steps.
All hallows-eve does she dance,
Grace lighter than a thimble.
All hallows-eve does she dance,
A fairytale entwined by her alone.
All hallows-eve does she dance,
Her beauty far greater than the light shone.
I watch her constantly by hallows-eve
A beauty held by thee.
Thine eyes far more than the jewels of thieves,
A being deemed only for me.
All hallows-eve does she dance,
A lost angel of the dawn.
All hallows-eve does she dance,
Her watcher constantly drawn.
All hallows-eve does she dance,
With sisters of threescore by her side.
All hallows-eve does she dance,
A daughter of evil, one of a kind.
She is no angel of heaven,
A beast that roams the earth,
With a lucky number of seven,
No holy is she to say the least.
All hallows-eve does she dance,
A beast that changes form.
All hallows-eve does she dance,
A feast meant for the eyes.
All hallows-eve does she dance,
My love for her never dying.
All hallows-eve does she dance,
A love made with lying.
I am a creature of the sea,
Thine caller and sinker of ships.
She is a beast of the land
Thou’s hands of blood at her lips.
All hallows-eve does she dance,
As light steals through.
All hallows-eve does she dance,
When morning light is due.
All hallows-eve does she dance,
By light does she return form.
All hallows-eve does she dance,
A newer different sight.
She has returned to the truth,
A beast of cruelty and sin,
With fur of golden sunshine youth,
A sad but noble thing.
All hallows-eve does she dance,
No longer does she dance.
All hallows-eve does she dance,
Her glorious stance done.
All hallows-eve does she dance,
Return once again to her true form.
All hallows-eve does she dance,
A beauty gone by dawn.
Nov 13, 2020
Nov 13, 2020 at 4:16 PM UTC
Dragged out screaming, senseless from the hallows of martyrdom
My father's mother's wayward brother
Baptized in propaganda and searing lead
Kamikaze death machine to paranoia fever dream
A noble experiment in utter catastrophe
Half measure, interstellar tourniquet
Stem the free flow of blood like inconvenient statistical evidence
Dripping down born-again ****** America's chin
Vector-like, everything explodes outwards
And on trajectories like these only friction is holy
Murphy's law in ecstatic altercation
A furious life lived under an anachronistic magnifying glass
Truly the only thing worth decaying for
Dec 23, 2014
Dec 23, 2014 at 3:38 PM UTC
You stepped foot out of the car and sauntered over
I was sure I could watch you come home to me everyday
But we only had 94 hours together
Although, I craved for you to stay
We watched through the tale of The Boy Who Lived
(And you dozed through all my favorite parts)
We relived another seven years in the castle and hallows
While it was really only nineteen hours on the couch
Still, time was of the essence
It had been far too long since your hand was in mine
So, I strived to make the most of it
Before you drove back across the state line
It was during those 94 hours
When you whispered all your affection to me
The glow across your face from the television
When you told me you were falling in love with me
Those 94 hours came to an end and you packed up all your things
You placed my hand on your beating heart, sorting out every feeling
Your car then left the driveway just as easily as it came
All of our time spent apart made me realize one commodity
Absence does make the heart grow fonder
Jun 23, 2015
Jun 23, 2015 at 12:44 AM UTC
"Do not judge them,"
She whispered softly,
"You may be old,
But you have yet to live as well."
And they stared at her,
For the first time in decades,
With eyes wide with wonder.
"But I have seen so many things,
I am certain I know more."
"No,"
Smiled the crone,
Orange eyes twinkling like starlight.
"You know what you know for yourself,
And yourself alone. Your wisdom is yours."
"Shouldn't I make my wisdom theirs as well?"
Cried the playwright.
"They're making too many mistakes, I have to fix it."
And still, the crone continued to smile.
"Their mistakes are theirs to make."
She reached out and placed a hand upon the playwrights' paper.
"Just as your wisdom is yours, their experiences are theirs, and just as valid as yours."
She took the quill from the playwright, and tucked the crow's feather in her hair.
"Allow them to grow without your bias."
"But I don't approve--"
The crone gave the playwright a bright smile,
Though her eyes were dark,
Which ultimately shut them up.
"Your place is not to judge. It is to nurture. It is to guide."
She said softly, though her tone was much more assertive.
"Then let me guide,"
The playwright began.
"There is a vast divide between guidance and control."
The vision of her shimmered, and she took a step back.
"I don't understand."
The playwright held their head in their hands, knuckles white while gripped onto curls.
"And you will not understand until you yourself live."
The old crone cooed, before her image blew away in soft red wind.
And there the playwright was left,
A half written letter filled with judgment and smudged ink,
And no quill to finish it with.
They fell back into their chair,
Glaring at their writing desk.
Whether or not the crone was right or wrong,
They still didn't get their quill back.
Oct 30, 2016
Oct 30, 2016 at 1:01 PM UTC
Long I followed happy guides,—
I could never reach their sides.
Their step is forth, and, ere the day,
Breaks up their leaguer, and away.
Keen my sense, my heart was young,
Right goodwill my sinews strung,
But no speed of mine avails
To hunt upon their shining trails.
On and away, their hasting feet
Make the morning proud and sweet.
Flowers they strew, I catch the scent,
Or tone of silver instrument
Leaves on the wind melodious trace,
Yet I could never see their face.
On eastern hills I see their smokes
Mixed with mist by distant lochs.
I meet many travellers
Who the road had surely kept,—
They saw not my fine revellers,—
These had crossed them while they slept.
Some had heard their fair report
In the country or the court.
Fleetest couriers alive
Never yet could once arrive,
As they went or they returned,
At the house where these sojourned.
Sometimes their strong speed they slacken,
Though they are not overtaken:
In sleep, their jubilant troop is near,
I tuneful voices overhear,
It may be in wood or waste,—
At unawares 'tis come and passed.
Their near camp my spirit knows
By signs gracious as rainbows.
I thenceforward and long after
Listen for their harplike laughter,
And carry in my heart for days
Peace that hallows rudest ways.—
2.2k
Is not only ordinary in the most vile sense
It also lacks the creative imbalance
That which pulses through the blood of cryptic elders
Although being encaged in a box
has the comfort of rigidity
It destroys the fetus of all that pretends to be beautiful
Contemptuous moments ruined
Because we are weak enough to ask, why?
To pander For a something as feebly human as a definition
Why must everything be placed
on the hand of the glockenspiel
When the world has clearly indicated
The presence of a divine anomaly
The trees are freezing
into crocked chapels
The blackened oasis
tearing slightly along the buttons
Through this all the celestial ambiance awaits
Its complexities weave
each stroke unparalleled
r
The urge is to destroy
That which makes our eyes sting
And our brains blast through the unseen hallows
Riding the coattails of a blastiod
This gusto is blanketed over in our simple minds
Forged into a hammer and sickle
Of absolute and definite terror
Destroy it all
All of which can chemically mix and produce
A new mystical pattern of deficiencies
Naked spayed on the cutting room floor
We must destroy it
By forcefully coding its gnome
Correcting what appears to be a hint of insurrection
When we already no the what already know the why
but the current answers will make us their slave
They will bind us in hopeless ecstasy
So we form new words that don’t do it justice
Outlandish plans for this invention
Destroying its capability to be
simple
beautiful and
without purpose
Nov 30, 2010
Nov 30, 2010 at 9:01 AM UTC
Jack raped the darkness.
Penetrated it.
Jack o lanterns smiling.
On this night of fright.
Hide indoors.
Unless of course.
You're knocking on the neighbours doors.
Candy catching smiles.
Pressure to thrill.
No killing.
Just thrilling.
The night of all hallows eve .
Enjoy.
Be safe.
Go out to play.
Darkest night
Edging towards all souls day.
(c)Livvi
Oct 31, 2014
Oct 31, 2014 at 3:05 PM UTC
Tonight all the spirits come out and dance
Tonight all the beasts jump around and prance
Tonight we join that ancient Celtic trance
From Japan to America to Johannesburg to France
The spirits and fairies walk the earth tonight
As we watch and tell stories to induce fright
As werewolves and zombies come out into the light
And all of the witches shall do as they might
So happy Hallows eve, wherever you are
Be it in a haunted hedge or a ship in the stars
From the days of the first druids to those of flying cars
Let us all, human or not, come out to laugh, sing, and roar
Oct 30, 2016
Oct 30, 2016 at 5:54 PM UTC
Rich crimson leaves cascade from trees
Embers of fire in the breeze
Luna sails the black sea unseen
Autumnal spell of Halloween
We carve a brood of sculpted gourds
Bake apple pie for all adored
While trick-or-treaters come and leave
Phantasmal dream of Hallows' Eve
Candles burn bright in our window
Ancestors led home by the glow
Our bonfires flames swell with sheen
As shadows dance on Halloween
Let the feast for the dead begin
This spirit night, the veil is thin
Humans and ghosts interweave
The magic realm of Hallows Eve
The clock strikes the Witching Hour
Loved ones graves we bloom in flowers
This spooky Eve of in betweens
The time of rebirth, Halloween
Oct 31, 2014
Oct 31, 2014 at 3:18 AM UTC
his mate fancied himself
Dr. Watson, or even Holmes,
in a past life, but with the name,
Jamsheed Razavizadeh, his friends,
who chopped the proud pronunciation
to J-Razz, laughed at such
a great notion
not Phillip, whose one brother
had drowned only last Hallows Eve,
which made Phillip a believer
in all things
from school, his mates walked the same lane
past the spot, where his mother still lay wreaths
every Monday morn, the vicar giving her
the tired ones each Sabbath
Monday Phillip took the long way home
not wanting to see the flowers, on their own
eve of wilting, a pitiable reminder
fresh things don't last
J-Razz was the only one who walked
the long route with him, his own brother
in the loam near Tehran, drowned himself
by fire, not water
each week, the wreath lay
but a day, and the two from different mothers
would again take the shorter path, where
they would find slight solace in silence,
their journey home often
in merciful miasma
near river's edge
Nov 21, 2015
Nov 21, 2015 at 4:30 PM UTC
He rides his black steed through the countryside
and whenever he stops a mortal man dies.
He’s the Angel of Death and worthy of dread;
dressed all in black and lacking a head.
In his left hand is a spine that he’ll use as a whip.
In his right hand a scythe that will cut to the quick.
If you chance to observe him you may be struck blind
and still think yourself lucky that he left you behind.
If he pulls on the reins and he finds you outdoors
Your heart will stop dead and will beat nevermore.
There are buckets of blood where the Dullahan rides.
On all Hallows Eve you had best be inside.
Nov 1, 2016
Nov 1, 2016 at 6:07 AM UTC
Sparkling outside's so light
shimmering delight
thickened darkness
so sludge like
deathly hallows above
pitch black inside so much darker
Forever into the shadowy abyss
Sep 6, 2012
Sep 6, 2012 at 10:03 PM UTC
while millions are without power on the east coast
and ocean waters rise high with the rage of nature,
nobody named Sandy bothers me here-
safe and serene in the Midwest, my home
no waters have risen to challenge me,
and no ghouls have come knocking
at my door, though it be Hallows Eve
no fairies have come to take me away
no children or beggars have showed up
to accept my offerings and
free a soul from purgatory
I have lit no fires,
I have butchered no cattle
And I certainly have not
tried to raise departed spirits
the only vestige of Samhain so far
is the thought, a simple remembrance
of the way things used to be
in the pagan myths
with their reverence for the dead
o, the dead have been here, yes
-imitations of them at least
littered on my TV screen
like bloodied tin cans in the street
this is how I revere the dead,
by watching remakes of old
slasher movies, directed by zombies
in them I find masks and screaming
-lots of blood and nonsense
and not one mention
of the way things used to be
Oct 31, 2012
Oct 31, 2012 at 11:57 PM UTC
We blossomed in the hot brilliance of discovery and the deep cold of grief, eating social norms alive, tracing deathly hallows in dusty window panes, standing chins-up eyes-shut arms-out in that flood of September sun, calling ourselves wild, because we were.
Beautiful days, I remember. Days of soft. Days of blueness and falling leaves. Days of numb fingers scrabbling with ice skate laces and racing each other onto the rink. Days of studying our fears. Days of madness. Days of converse sneakers and combat boots and teasing height comparisons. Days of mutual insanity, sleeplessness, midnight conversations. Days of standing shoulder to shoulder. Days of unspoken things traversing the silence between us, a communication entirely our own. Days of laughter up to our waists. Days of belonging. Days of young.
You’ve asked me many times, dear, if there’s anything you can do for me. I always say no, but there’s something this time, and it’s this, just this. One small act.
Don’t forget.
Years from now, when everything is different, keep this in you, alive. A second heartbeat. For me. Please.
Don’t forget our days.
Don’t forget how we felt.
Dec 25, 2014
Dec 25, 2014 at 4:49 PM UTC
She howls at the moon in the midst of the night. Seeking lost souls trapped and screaming in fright. Her cries play melodies of melancholy trials lost, her spirit stolen callously at a grave cost. Roaming the dense fog on hallows eve Watching the dead rise, I'm sure many were known to be wise. As she so gallantly skips past ancient tree's they whipser vintage stories about Victorian times and all its glories. Tree leaves construct reenactments of ****** wars riddled of death and destruction among differences of the people, only wishing to gather and come together at the church steeple. Her howls are searched among the hollow lands above makeshift graves of innocent people seen as second rate, not suprising of their final fate. Beings born with no guidence for a undeniable ratchet societies views, she howls as she hears the news. Her ravaged heart however battered still beats, I am She Wolf.
Apr 4, 2015
Apr 4, 2015 at 6:44 PM UTC
.
Rain fell in commotions—
The birds would have none of it,
The moon bellowed in ghostly white,
Faced in the sprite, ringing indifference
Of low fading stars, trees in posted dark
Scratched the grasslands of the fallen
Firmaments and the small creatures
That are holed up in days, scurried
With the creep of night and moan
Of oceans slide, mangled clouds
Clutched the murky burn of sky
And smallish eyes everywhen
Shuddered in the frosts
Of a shuttering rose.
.
Oct 31, 2018
Oct 31, 2018 at 5:51 PM UTC
Once dense thicket, coppiced
To bear a cornucopia filled with
Indian’s Summer rare blood moon.
The All-Hallows summer extends
As Samhain comes closer
Recognizing, celebrating the ever coming.
Wide leaves writhing and crunching from
Deciduous oaks as they bare to nothing.
Crushed grass and brush uncover a
Light trail leading to preserved boscage.
Through the dense brush
Untouched water thickens
From frosty moons bite.
Seizing gossamers flight
The soft breeze harshens
For long nights moon is soon near.
Sep 30, 2013
Sep 30, 2013 at 1:47 PM UTC
Her wide-brim hat was pointed, and worn with ne'er a tilt
Her midnight robe was flowing, and wove from satin silk
Her Besom broom was hazel-hilted, twigged with fresh cut birch
As she flew o'er the hill, until she spied a rocky perch
The hill was trapped in moons light, caught in its silken nets
And grizzled trees were swaying casting eerie silhouettes
A howling wind came moaning, as it wailed a haunting sound
When her swishing broom came whooshing, as she swept o'er the ground
She alighted on the hill top, landing dainty on her toes
And took a tattered grimoire which she held up to her nose
She raised a magic talisman and cast an ancient spell
Then she waited through the gloaming, till midnight chimed its bell
The hill stood gravely silent, as the wind restrained its breath
The grass and flowers wilted and released their scent of death
The shadows neath the trees became alive and took on shape
And ghostly figures rose, as Hallows Eve called them awake
The sounds of horse drawn carriages, came trundling up the hill
Whilst babbling jeering voices exorcised the silent still
A sudden gust of wind called out the names of those condemned
Each manacled and chained up, as they rode to meet their end
As time echoed its memories, she watched the scene unfold
The victims forced unwillingly, to climb upon the scaffold
Some offered up the Lord’s Prayer, and ne'er a word was stumbled
They took a final breath of life, and into hell they tumbled
Their bodies swung ungainly, as they swayed a ghastly dance
With lifeless spectral faces locked into a stone-like trance
Their deathly shrouds were pale, reflected in moons silken sheen
And she watched as they cavorted, ne'er attempt to intervene
They slunk back into shadows, at the fading of the night
The hill reprieved from darkness by the early morning light
The ritual was completed, as she whispered them goodbye
And she climbed onto her hazel broom and kicked into the sky
On Gallows Hill neath stars and moon they hung
And ne'er a one had done the world a wrong
May 9, 2014
May 9, 2014 at 9:18 PM UTC