All Saints' Day (Halloween)

"Wash my feet, wash my feet," the footless ghoul did cry;
How can Hallowe'en be here before my feet are dry?
Can't you see how cruel it is for someone in my state
To run about with dirty feet, I hope I'm not too late!

CREEPY CRAWLERS


Creepy crawlers on the ceiling—
rejuvenated, roaming and rejoicing
Cozy as the cold climate comes
weaving webs, waiting for their prey
silently searching, stalking, salivating…

Scornful sinners like scorpions—
they sting like a bee and sing like a king
Sadistic and sarcastic swears
feast on fears, their feat:
the creepy crawlers on the ceiling.

Hear them come home on Halloween,
always alluring and aloof
Suspicious scoundrels go scot-free
enjoying the evening every
inch of the way, itchy bitsy spiders
feel free to feast on your prey!

I picture everyone sad, frightened and hiding. In the true spirit of the first shallows eve. No glitter and the sun refusing to shine, all of the saintly churches closed until the next day.
                                                             Not a princess, fairy or super hero in sight. Only the things, that go bump in the night. The moon dance children with the moondance ones of the damned, sharing with each other the story of their days. As that goes on, the spirits sing a mournful song.
                                                                                                  Last is the devil in disguise, no one dares to look him in the eyes because they'll be turned to stone. All innocence took away. The deaths are the beauty of the devil's birthday.
         

Halloween is on the last day of October All Saints Day is the 1st November.

the black cat creeping
on the tricks and the treating
on halloween night

Masks flow around me,
All Hallows Eve in the air.
Fear and joy so plain to see,
With monsters and angels both ugly and fair.

WHERE DEAD THINGS CREEP

I see you out there (mortals)
Even in my deepest sleep.
I can smell your fear (mortals)
On the path where dead things creep.

Under the crescent moon,
Between the swaying trees,
The watcher awaits,
Patient,
Hungry.
Part of the deepened gloom,
Within the blowing breeze,
The watcher awaits,
Tortured,
Angry.

He comes alive at first Autumn night
In innocent blood and pagan rites.
A darkened shroud and Jack's burning eyes,
Black cats screech at the twisting vines.
The cemetery man with a jagged lantern
White haired and his clothing tattered,
Sees the deathcraft spring to life,
Given birth by the witchcraft light.

Little children hide under death masks
To safeguard themselves from his tasks.
Set out the Jack-O-Lanterns for him
To blind the lord to your human sins.
Take heed to the chanting of the town witches,
Or find yourself in the ditches.
Candies abound in the night
Easing growls to Autumn sighs.

He comes to your door,
For a trick or treat,
The watcher awaits,
Patient,
Hungry.
A thing of old lore,
Is here for the meat,
The watcher awaits,
Tortured,
Angry.

I see you out there (mortals)
Even in my deepest sleep.
I can smell your fear (mortals)
On the path where dead things creep.

The Sad Pumpkin

darkness falls upon the pumpkin patch
a light fog rolls in...
dropping a mist upon the ground

in the corner entangled in its own vines
the sad pumpkin sits alone
the leaves upon its stems droop...
from the weight of the mist

unable to break free from its own entanglement
it sits...
trapped
and covered up

the night passes by paying no attention
through the fog the dim shimmer of stars
the moon awash in a sea of grey

life moves forward paying no mind
as the sad pumpkin sits,
wallowing
in its own predicament

the ground grows cold,
saturated by the mist
the fog grows more dense
a flash of color,
brightly orange
quickly engrossed by a mist of grey

through the fog
the sad pumpkin can see
the other pumpkins gathering
basking in the brisk moist air
paying no mind to the dense fog

the brilliance
of their bright colors
striking orange...
the deep green
of their stems and leaves
pale to what its own colors use to be
now which only seem
watered down
and dingy

the greens have turned
a lighter shade of brown
the brilliant orange
now cast in shades of yellow
worn spots show through the skin
revealing darker shades within

alone the sad pumpkin sits
engrossed
and entangled
wallowing
its vines constricting
held prisoner by its own self

looking through the mist
and beyond the fog
past its own tangle vines
and wilted leaves
hoping that a brighter day will come
perhaps
with the morning light

THanks for the win! This comp. was amazing!