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Best Halloween Poems

Below are the all-time best Halloween poems written by Poets on PoetrySoup. These top poems in list format are the best examples of halloween poems written by PoetrySoup members

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See also: Best Famous Poems

Details | Halloween Poem | |

POOR PETER PUMPKIN

Poor Peter Pumpkin had a very itty bitty head.
So the farmer made him stay inside the garden bed.

The farmer said that he was going to keep him warm with hay.
And there the itty bitty pumpkin stayed for many a day.

Finally, the farmer came to check upon poor Peter,
measured him and then exclaimed, “You’ve grown an extra meter!

I think it’s time for you to finally go and face the world.”
Peter got up from his bed. He twirled and twirled and twirled!

“My,” the farmer shouted, “You’ve grown two legs with feet!
You’re a special pumpkin. My daughters you must meet!”

Poor Peter heaved his hefty bulk, waddling away,
following behind the farmer so he would not stray.

They traveled rather quickly, and soon they reached the house.
The daughters saw the pumpkin and grew quiet as a mouse.

The silence lasted just until at last one daughter spoke,
“A pumpkin with two legs? Is this some kind of joke?”

Her father knelt beside her and whispered in her ear,
“Do not be afraid, my child. You’ve not a thing to fear.

We can carve a lantern. It will be your Halloween treat.
Then we can make lots of pumpkin pies for us to eat."

Peter trembled with a chill to hear their horrid plan.
Jumping out the door, he yelled, “Catch me if you can!”

He ran into the pastures. Then he tumbled down a hill.
As  he rolled he bumped into the couple, Jack and Jill!

“Oh dear me,” cried Peter, “I do not wish to be
a lantern for this Halloween. Please, can you guys help me!”

Jack and Jill then led him to the land of Nursery Rhymes.
His sad fate has now been told to children many times.

For he ran across a man named Peter Pumpkin EATER.
Maybe you can guess now what became of our poor Peter!

10~12~14
Contest: Halloween Co-Writes
Sponsor: Diane Locksley
Written By Jan Allison & Andrea Dietrich
~awarded 1st place~

Details | Halloween Poem | |

THE HOUSE OF SPIRITS

It looks like a simple brownstone building,
Not much different then any other but it’s residents,
Are of the haunted kind, not made of flesh and bone.
In every window a wind chime stirs, gently caressed by
A chilling winds icy finger tips, after all this is known as
The house of spirits.
Witchery or voodoo’s domain, it is a place of salvation for
Spiritual challenged, listen to the beautiful music they make,
Singing within this their walled cage of brick and mortar, these
Ethereal victims lost.
Here in peace they wait for the light to find them, a waiting chamber,
Of the lords misstep souls, those whom walked off the righteous path,
Yet are not without redemptions wanton of need.
Wanders of limbo’s astral plain, seekers whom roam blindly until 
Finding a doorway threshold, then crossing over, into this the house
Of spirits.
A corridors slender passageway, a way stations layover for those tired
And weary travelers to rest until their final journey’s end comes for them,
Sanctuaries power house of the supernatural.
Behind these red doors dare not the mortal flesh clasp the gilded knockers,
For within are things of the unspoken variety, creature protectors waiting at
Bay for the stray intruder to wander forth upon this sacred ground.
Angels kindred brethren whom seek out evil, destroyers patrolling the
Darker shadows for night stalkers whom wish to feast upon the forsaken.
But light’s white power is a mightier force to be reckoned with, and vanquished
Will the devils spawn into the depths from which they came, into the bowels
Of hell shall these demons be thrown into the blackened pit from which they came?
In the twilight’s ethereal hour, a mid-ways breaking point between light and dark,
A shimmering glow strikes this standing watch tower of abandonment’s forgotten,
And heaven’s flood gates are opened unto them, calling these the lost upwards
Towards nirvana and at last know true peace.
It looks like a simple brownstone building,
Not much different then any other but it’s residents.
Are of the haunted kind, not made of flesh and bone.
In every window a wind chime stirs, gently caressed by
A chilling winds icy finger tips, after all this is known as
The house of spirits.

BY; CHERYL ANNA DUNN

 

Details | Halloween Poem | |

Halloween's Mask of Comfort

In a house beside the forest lives a woman and her son

He is scarred by burns and fire – hidden kept from everyone

There is land where he can wander far away from prying eyes,

But he misses friends to play with; all alone he often cries.


That is why he gets excited at the thought of Halloween

He can mix with other children without fear of being seen.

Mother picks the perfect costume that will fit his height and size

Then she adds a mask for comfort – the completion of disguise.


The boy behind the mask wishes every day was Halloween

He'd gladly offer friendship to any child who wasn't mean

But he knows that one day he will be too old for trick or treat

And he prays each morn to see the sunshine on a public street

 
Even though he realizes his wish may never be fulfilled

For he'd have to learn to avoid stares and let confidence build

After reading the sad tale of Frankenstein, he sheds a tear

As he can relate to Frankenstein and sees him as a peer

 
And so he keeps reading stories of people judged by their looks

His greatest fear is what will happen when he runs out of books


------------------------------------------------------------------------
This is a collaboration between Paul Callus & Carolyn Devonshire


Details | Halloween Poem | |

The Grim Reaper Cometh

As All Hallows’ Eve approacheth my thoughts turneth to darkest dread,
Whilst in old age I harboureth a deep fear of seeing this one’s grim head;
Me thinks the Grim Reaper cometh this time with his scythe in hand,
Which striketh maximum fear in me and maketh him feel quite so grand. 

Death and darkness doth pervade this spirit’s intent from that great beyond,
And bringeth one a chilling fear if one’s destiny be unending Hellspawn;
All Hallows’ Eve is the image I conjureth of my imminent departure,
But I hopeth for divine intervention and protection during this departure.

For I shan’t want to feel the fear and malediction of the Grim Reaper’s gaze,
As he eerily walketh in the deep mist to bringeth my soul into that darkest haze;
I prayeth then Oh Lord God, haveth an Angel escort me on my final trip beyond,
And spareth me the Grim Reaper’s terrifying visit and his image of Hellspawn.

I asketh thy divine power and all goodness in protecting my eternal spirit and soul,
And delivereth them to Heaven on All Hollows' Eve most sound and quite whole!

Amen!  Amen!  Amen! 

Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved, Schoeningen, Germany
(October 25, 2014) (Shakespearean Sonnet in a Rhyme poetic format)

Details | Halloween Poem | |

FORBIDDEN

~ZOMBIE NIGHT~ 

WHINING WHISPERS MOVE ACROSS FORBIDDEN LAND
Rugged ruins crumble silent through the night
Echoes of the dead roam the air
Moonlight vanishes to complete despair
Bones slowly desert distorted resting homes
Ascension of the dead -Longing to live again 

Sands of desert flip the hour glass back
WHIMPERING WHISPERS MOVE ACROSS FORBIDDEN LAND
Rugged ruins crumble silent through the night
Echoes of the dead roam the air
Moonlight vanishes to complete despair
Bones slowly desert distorted resting homes 

Taking light from where evil stays 
Feeding away leaving behind a death valley zone
WONDERING WHISPERS MOVE ACROSS FORBIDDEN LAND
Rugged ruins crumble silent through the night
Echoes of the dead roam the air
Moonlight vanishes to complete despair

Dead souls forsake the common land
Shadowing like Equinox light 
Walking corpse covered in rotten barren sand
WINDY WHISPERS MOVE ACROSS FORBIDDEN LAND 
Rugged ruins crumble silent through the night
Echoes of the dead roam the air

Upright, forward broken taboo 
Searching for the perfect breath of fresh air
Sounds of symbols march the ground
Searching to find their missing heartbeat
WHISKING WHISPERS MOVE ACROSS FORBIDDEN LAND
Rugged ruins crumble silent through the night


Ascension of the dead  -Long to live again 
Bones slowly desert distorted resting home
Moonlight vanishing in complete despair
Echoes of the dead roam the air
Rugged ruins crumble silent through the night
WHEN WHISPERS MOVE ACROSS FORBIDDEN LAND

by;PD

Details | Halloween Poem | |

Haunted Beauty

 

The family had just moved into an old castle in Scotland; 
mother, father and their only daughter, Emmie, that they loved so deeply. 
Emmie was only 12 years old, and so innocent and beautiful. 
One night, she was woken up by a dripping sound; 
an echoing sound of water drops in a sink; 
rhythmic and terrifying. 
She sat on her bed, and suddenly appeared a free floating arc of strange light. 
It's that time of year again: Halloween night. 
Doors flew open and shut; strange voices and footsteps started. 
She was so frightened, that she almost threw up. 
Emmie made the sign of the cross, and plunged into a thicket of thorny wild roses. 
Terrified, excited and ready to run out of the house in 20 seconds, 
she overheard whispering words: "All beauty must die." 
The voice was so deathly, that it sent chills through her spine. 
It did not make it any better that it sounded too close to her ears. 
Her nightdress being torn by rose thorns like papers in a paper shredder, 
she ran as fast as she could; not back to the old castle, 
but away from the creepy voice, and strange events 
in the old castle. 
Exhausted, she searched for a place she could find rest 
"All beauty must die" the voice visited 
her unceremoniously once more. "What do you want from me? 
Is it wrong to be born beautiful? " 
she asked, wondering where she got her courage from. 
The energy to scream or run departed her, 
the moment she saw a woman dressed in white, 
levitating in the air, and moving towards her; 
a horrid face that carried the night's darkness, 
looked decayed, with worms crawling out from it. 
Remember this is a true story about Emmie; 
she gets chills just remembering the events of that night…… 





Contest: Halloween Co-Writes, By Diane Locksley

Poem Written by: Teddy Kimathi and Anne-Lise Andresen :)

Details | Halloween Poem | |

THE VAMPIRE

For I am death, the personification of pure evil,
The grand godfather, of legions of unnumbered generations.
Behold thy disciples, baptized beneath my crimson waters,
Of blood.
Then reanimated as the living undead, in mine own image,
These are my forsaken children of the Night.
Kissed by the angel of death, I'm resurrections insurrection,
Spawned in hell a creature devoid of heart or soul, yet do I
Exist, biting at the exposed throat of humanity, leaving it
Drained completely dry.
Does not the white lily turn ember red, within this the
Valley of damnation.
My throne is a black coffin gilded in golden refinement,
Residing beneath the wooden lid, the beast sleeps,
Waiting to be embraced by the darkness of night.
Slowly, emerging from mine cryptic mausoleum,
I'm famished for the taste of the living essence
Of mankind.
A gentlemen reaper of the fallen, deeply do these
Fangs penetrate into the soft flesh of humanity,
Tis a dark blessing's supernatural gift, have I been 
So given, to take life then to restore it.
Raw beasts of instinct, clinging to the ethereal
Moon, that hangs above illuminating this,
Our unholy abyss.
Welcome to a shadow nation of the unseen,
Whose roots extend backwards, to an older country’s
Unconsecrated soil, called Transylvania. 
On mine legacies crest, a red dragon with talons
Extended reaches out, grappling for powers control.
For I am Dracula, born of royal blood in life,
But in death I am a king, let these castle walls
Bleed on forever, and the hounds of hell,
Sing outside my rod iron gates.
But beware mortal flesh if you so enter,
For I will enjoy every trespasser,
Whom dares to venture within my
Sacred territory, with a fiendish smile
Upon my hungering face.

BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN

Details | Halloween Poem | |

HALLOWEEN FUN

HALLOWEEN FUN

Carving the pumpkin, oh such fun
How they danced when dad was done

Twisted mouth with large, black eyes
To scare the kids, then pumpkin pies

Hear those darlings on the street
Tiny fingers, tiny feet

Soon they’ll ring the bell and shout
“Trick or treat.      Hand outs!”

But see old moon, he’s hanging high
A big gold searchlight in the sky

Just peeping o’er, the sun has set
With rosy, glorious hue, and yet,

A solar quake now rumbles forth
Spewing flame toward the earth

Those fiery rays have stirred the dead
The night is bright, the moon is red

Check the time – it’s nine o five
Jack O Lanterns come alive

Oh, how they cry, each frightened child
Belegged pumpkins running wild

I’ll tell you how kids went to bed
Twas in the ground without a head

Those empty gourds were hearty fed
The night was cursed, the moon was red

Moo haha!    haha!   haha!   hah OH
Haha!     haha!     haha!    HAH!

Dave Austin

Details | Halloween Poem | |

Halloween's Headless Horseman

One Halloween night when I was five
Rain pelted city streets, we stayed inside

Dad lit the Jack-o-lantern candle
Told us the tale of a famous vandal

One “Headless Horseman” in Sleepy Hollow
‘Twas Ichabod Crane he chose to follow

Crane ran breathlessly, was terrorized
(At this point my father’s eyes looked wild)

Thundering behind him through the forest
The hooves of a horse and a rider headless

Carrying a sword to strike Ichabod
(Dad grabbed a spatula, swung it like a rod)

Not just we children but our mother too
Gasped at the thought of Ichabod pursued

High winds cut off our electrical power
As in our kitchen three children cowered

Orange light from the pumpkin’s evil eyes
Showed Dad seemed to have dematerialized

The youngest, I felt something run through my hair
I screamed aloud in horror and despair

The lit pumpkin fell from table to floor
Darkness as I ran through the kitchen door

Leaping into bed, pulling up the sheets
Dad snuck into my room, whispered, “Trick or treat”

So if you think I am a drama queen
Please realize that it’s all in my genes



Happy Halloween!

Details | Halloween Poem | |

On Halloween Night

My family had money, political power and pride, oh yes pride.
They say that pride comes before the fall, that is so true.
When I was born into the hideous world, my parents lives shattered.
Rains of glass pierced their future, stuck in the shards of sickening.
I was abnormal, not forgivable abnormal either, I was twisted disfigured.
Black tinted irises, the white of eyes tinted red; lips like a slice of a knife.
Fingerless left hand curling into my chest, and no color to my pale skin.

I was taken away immediately, only warmed by my mothers affection.
She loved me when fathers eyes showed only hated from his broken hopes.

I required blood transfusions for my body produced a vial poison.
A modern day vampire with a machine as a supplier.
I watched the world from the outside, the attic window my reward.
The suburb streets filling with families, I grew lonely and I suffered.

I watched as the streets filled with Halloween decorations, interesting.
My mind, sharp as a tack, asked my mother, "could I go out on Halloween?"
She loved me something fierce, I already knew she would say no.
My blood began to boil but I held down my fury as she punctured me.
Another needle in my arm, bruises from every poke laughed at me.
My mother, so caring, before me, held me in her arms and tears silent came.
She mourned me, the damage that father did before he left.
I became host to barbed wire scars on my neck, a knife puncture to the heart.
No matter what he tried, how he tried to kill me, I just could not die.

As I thumbed my wounds, I knew what I had to do.
Mother tried to stop me, I did not wish her harm, but her old heart stopped.
I gathered her in my arms, with the moon as a back light I walked the main street.
Step by step in the sea of trick or treaters, I did not go unnoticed,
I went applauded, the skin that I was in was a costume to the world.
And I knew what I had to do.
This town would wear masks year round. This town would be my town.
This town is Halloween Town. And I am the year round horror show.



08-29-2014
For Contest: On Halloween Night
Sp. Gail Angel Doyle

Details | Halloween Poem | |

Gigi

Gigi

You question duskiness "Whereas he be?"
Be careful pal; he hides behind the tree!
Inside the sneaky shades he aptly lurks
because you've drunk too many Cuty Sarks.

You, silly chump! You're shaking on your feet;
Contele Dracula* and tough tidbit
exists inside your foolishness' resource
and punishes your wrongs without remorse.

Excess in drinking could be bad for you;
tis not that you'll become a drunk boo-hoo
but he'll metamorphose to baseball bat
and if you drink again, he'll kick your butt.

I know you're stupefied and very scared
cause Gigi hides in pizza boxes where'd
jump up, if thee besotted be and fool,
and then consume your pizza, super-cool.

Admit it, dude! You're shivering in fear!
But if you prayed he would disappear,
expect him to start dancing everywhere-s,
and jingle, so, his spurs upon your stairs.

Ha ha! Hill Billy, you! Outside your house,
behind the pumpkins, sound the irked meows:
bewildered Gigi cats will jump ahead,
inside your car and on your empty head.

You should, thus, paint your house pistachi'o green
cause if you stall before your PC screen
he'll haunt the lines of your poetic calls
and bats will eat your order of spring rolls.

© 10-02-2014, G. Phookan, G. Venetopoulos, All Rights Reserved
(Iambic Pentameter) 
* Contele Dracula = Count Dracula in Romanian




Details | Halloween Poem | |

- The living and the dead -



Halloween is a time to let the imagination run wild 
Halloween is a holiday shrouded in darkness 
linked to the supernatural and known for inspiring fear 
Dress like your favorite fantasy creature 
or tell ghost stories in a dark room 
But Halloween is not just about 
to dress up in costumes and ask for candy 
A favorable time for predictions about marriage, 
happiness, health and death 
An evening of spiritualism, ghosts, vampires and goblins 
From old time it was a holiday steeped in folklore and customs 
Poisoned candies to vampires and goblins 
Carving pumpkins to trick or treating at your door 
Masks and costumes to scare away ghosts 
or to be recognized by them
Happy Halloween and good luck







31.10.2014
A-L Andresen :)

Details | Halloween Poem | |

THE GHOST TRAIN

Along the mountain pine valley did the Iron Horse roar,
A steam belching black demon, burning red hot coals
Within it's steel belly.
Speed's hell bound creation, driven by greed's insatiable hunger,
Faster, faster it moves at acceleration rush, to
Achieve manifest destiny's final arrival on time.
In the distance hear another lone whistle blow, spitting,
And spewing with brimstone's gray smoke.
This indeed is the devil's train, carrying the forsaken,
To the depot of no return.
With a half empty payload aboard, Satan makes a deadly
Judgment call, stoke up those engines boys, ramming
Speed if you please.
Made man beasts are these mechanical monsters
Of destructions, lethal death weapons, chained
Down to the steel rails, and iron pikes.
Ebony stallion's racing against the winds,
As redden sparks sizzle and bite at the crisp autumn
Air, bellowing fumes poisoning the night.
The engineer of the 10; 15 out of Tombstone,
Checked his pocket watch, speaking impatiently,
He did so yell out, come along fellow's, we have a
Schedule to keep, and we've hours behind in our dead line,
So let’s pick up the pace.
Now the devil's train came out of know where,
With hell's supernatural master at the wheel,
Heckling, and laughing, relishing in the carnage’s
Utter calamity to come.
On a lone chewed up mangled piece of track,
Lies wreckages debris blood, flesh and twisted metal,
Lain stewned for miles beside the wild wilderness.
Broken bones, and sheared off limbs, weeping mother's
Cradling limp, lifeless bodies, crying why, God almighty
Why?
But the lord and heavenly father, had nothing to do,
With this unnatural disaster, nay the devil had many
Empty spaces to fill, and his passengers list was lean.
So he leveled the crimson ground with his dark gavel,
Taking souls at high velocities supernatural speed,
For this is the devil's ghost train, and it is so
Hell bound.

BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN

Details | Halloween Poem | |

TOMBSTONE

Whistle does the lone desert winds, flowing downwards from
Boot hill cemetery, in icy chilling breeze full of echoing voices,
From the past, begging for redemptions last chance of salvation.
Roll does the crimson tumbleweed, towards the ghost town known as
Tombstone, a monuments graveyard to the old west.
In this rock cactus garden of venomous vipers, did the righteous
Live, amongst the uncivilized lawless, in this wildness country,
Of the unbridled frontier.
Blinded by greed's lightning flash, for quick money and easy cash,
Did the earth expose evil's shining metal, silver, from deep within,
Accursed is this place, purgatory's hell on earth, its deadly soil marred
And sanctified in blood sacrifice.
Left to the scorpions and rattlesnakes, as the only living inhabitants,
Ramshackle buildings remain, abandonment’s delinquent tribute
To a once thriving community.
But after night fall, others come forth, crossing the threshold of the
Nether underworld, the gun slinger, the gambler, and ladies of
Reputation's ill repute, claim this desert real estate for their own
Dark amusement park, still whooping it up at the bird cage theatre,
Indulging themselves. In all manor of seductions insidious erotic acts
Of depravity.
The condemned soulless walk these dusty sandy streets of limbo,
Forever banished are these bastered son's of the gun. Or until the last
Shot is fired at the O.K. Corral, on high noon's final sunrise.
Satan is the lawful sheriff here, in this the territory of the forsaken,
And his loyal deputy the Grim Reaper controls the posses of the undead.
Riding against the redden moon, seeking any innocent soul trying
To escape from this desert prison.
You've drawn the dead man's hand my friend, if you find yourself lost here,
For the condemned show no mercy's reprieve to outsiders, the screaming
Souls shout from above, run lone cowboy run, and don't look back,
For the devils possess rides behind thee, and the dark lord,
Takes no prisoner's alive.
Whistle do the lone desert winds, flowing downwards from
Boot hill cemetery, in icy chilling breeze full of echoing voices,
From the past, begging for redemptions last chance of salvation.
But light concurs darkness, and death's icy grip fades at the 
First rays of sunrise, and all evil must return to their crypts
Beneath the earth, from the dust from when'est they came, 
Until the next moon's rising, then wide will the gates of hell,
Swing again, releasing the germinate residences of a city,
Named Tomb Stone.

BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN

Details | Halloween Poem | |

TENTACLES

In the heart of the blackest abyss, down, 
Down, in fathoms deep crypt, where light
Does not penetrate, and the structured protective hauls,
Of men, are crushed beneath pressures massive
Weight, of the oceans deepest depth.
This is truly inner spaces aquatic zone of the
Unknown, a realm of stilled silence frozen
In the icy currents of the barren straights.
Where prehistoric giants dwell, amongst the
Tidal flow, ambush predators, forgotten beasts,
From long ago, living krakens whom devour
All life, hidden within their dark domain.
In Poseidon's mighty anger, the waves answer,
To his fists of fury, hurricanes wrath of vengeance,
Gives birth to the perfect storms rage, 
Vessels rise and than fall in the tidal surging
Waters.
Nay do the sailors cry out to the Lord God on high, 
For redemption's salvation, but the sacrificial altars must
Be appeased, by flesh and bloods sacred offerings.
Summons does the mighty lord of the seven seas,
To release the last of the ancient Leviathans.
Two thousand hands, of a thousand dead men,
Heave and pull at the tethering heavy chains,
To this devil of the depths cage.
From within interments vaulted keep,
Captivities living spawn from hell, is 
Unshackled and released, to reek havocs
Devastation above.
An aquatic spider, a maritime widow maker,
Flexing and in-flexing, its body’s motions,
Towards the surface, in pulsations rhythmic
Orchestrations, the gray giant is ready to strike,
With its killing arms extended wide, to grapple
At its unprotected prey, to engorge itself with
All living matter that it surveys, within its icy reach.
As bubbles shoot upwards breaking the waters
Surface, suction cups and talon claws are drawn
Outwards, aligning his eight legged tentacles of bone
Crushing death, behold the Giant Squid, instrument of
Lethal torture, a living killing machine from the fathoms 
Deepest depths.
For it is the beast, the true essence of evil
Incarnate, and none survive its destructive wrath.

BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN

Details | Halloween Poem | |

THE VAMPERIC PRAYER-DRACULA'S OATH

In the name of blood, for it is the source of life itself,
Plasma's crimson essence of liquid infusion, to the undead's
Pulsating heart.
Intravenously feeding cravings passion, through the carotid
Artery at the throat of humanity, thou'st not love, suffer
The pleasure indulge the pain, the out come shall be the same,
To be embraced by the black ebony arch angel of death,
Release thy darker side, let the instinctual behavior of the beast,
Know freedoms unshackling at last.
Become one of his sacred disciples, a creature of his dark dimension,
A kindred being, unto the legion of the night.
In the moon's elliptical light, shadows thus move from 
Left to right, shifting as transparent figures, phantoms of
Illusions, taking winged flight, soaring on the currents
Of air mingling with their ancestral brethren, the vampire bat.
Run does not the lone wolf, along the side path next to man,
As we do so walk amongst them, yet never attempting to belong.
Oh are we not the a shunned, the accursed, by a God known
For his forgiveness, to love all living things under
Heaven, but for us this mightiest of lords, turns
His gaze away, not acknowledging our existence.
Our we not his lost sheep, missing from his flock, why
Does not this Sheppard seek this black lamb’s wool,
Is it too coarse for weaving's wheel, as it spins thus
And is it not said that he created all life within his image.
Nay I pray this vamperic prayer, why has he abandon
Us, the darker of his creations.
Behold the unascended, begging to enter beyond the gates
Of light, children of the lost are we, seeking a father blind
To his responsibility.
Harvesting, by the basic instincts given unto us,
Taking only what we need to survive, for this he has turned
Against us, and thus taking the light of day with him.
So my father of damnation's hell, has offered salvation's
Darker domain as a sheltering harbor of comfort, I will not
Abstain his patronage.
For I am the ashunned, living by the moonlight's haunting glow,
Yet yearning to see one last horizons sunset, but the Holy Father,
Hears not my humble vamperic prayer.

BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN

Details | Halloween Poem | |

Fright Night

The winds were howling, the harvest moon was bright,
The girls were restless on this Halloween night.
Chocolate was coated upon apples stabbed on sticks,
Flames were dancing on white waxed candle wicks.

Suburb streets were chock-full of kids begging for treats,
Posing as monsters, fairies, and ghosts in white sheets.
In the air, there was fun, with seasonal festivities galore,
Children with sugar filled teeth begging for some more.

Tales were told of an old house that was deemed haunted,
Feet running there to prove their owners brave and undaunted.
Circled the worn, weather chipped picket fence they arrived,
Fear in wind as the memories of mysterious death were revived.

Slowly, they crept up to the overgrown ivy covered door,
Hearts pumping, windows rattling, they were ready to explore.
Hollowing the wind, the words of ghosts echoed in ears.
One twist of the skeleton cold handle unleashed childhood fears.

A gust of cold air rushed out, the girls huddled, frightened.
Terrified, their eyes wide open, their senses are heightened.
With screams stuck in their throats, shivers sent them to the street,
A man whom they called Daddy jumped out and said "Trick or treat!"



For Contest: Halloween Co-Authored
Poets: Casarah Nance & Tim Smith
Date: (Cas is funny....but I am single) 
Date: October 7, 2014

Details | Halloween Poem | |

On Halloween Night

I hear the October winds whispering and I think it knows,
as the witching hour arrives and a harvest moon glows,
only once a year, do we celebrate death on Halloween night,
it is a time for remembrance, and not a time for fright.

As dead leaves come to life, once more, somehow they know,
on the twisted claw-like branches, I see the excitement grow,
black bats take their flight and wise owls call out to you,
it seems strange, but I imagine that they all know, too.

I ask you now, my dearly departed ancestors, to arise,
come and dance with me, there is no need for disguise,
on this one dark, Halloween night, it is the only time,
when we can feel truly alive and so morbidly sublime.

Let me wipe away the ancient moss from your tombstone,
come forth with dust and decay, your shroud and bone,
feel the warm glow from this carved out jack o' lantern,
and watch his lit, grinning soul, may it flicker and burn.

You must still remember the candy corn's sweet flavor,
and those crisp apples, with juicy bite after bite to savor,
it is only on this night when we can taste this rare treat,
and it is only on this Halloween night when we can meet.

Tonight will not be your usual haunting among the graves,
or beneath the dead willow tree, weeping, shackled like slaves,
you are free to wander, to celebrate, and honor our past,
until the morning sun rises, on this Eve that will not last.

So come with me now and our spirits will live once more,
as we roam down our old streets, and visit door to door,
let us go, and lead them all in our mysterious nighttime parade,
where we can finally be ourselves, no need for a masquerade.



Details | Halloween Poem | |

FRANIKENSTEIN

What am I, a product of a mad man's obsession to play God?
A cross breed’s creature between medicine and science?
For the whole of my parts taken from convicts, and social rejects,
Sown together by skillful hands of a surgeon, with no feeling heart
For this his ultimate creation.
Life infused by heaven's fire storm from on high, did the lord God's
Finger tip's caress against the rocky castle side, electrifying the night
With the Almighty’s spark of existence, and so my mortal father
Screamed with passions conceit, and this was the very first words, I
The beast heard, from my creator's lips, it's a live, it's alive!!
What am I, not human nor monster, do I not possess a soul or spirit,
Do I not deserve the same rights, as those of humanity, but nay I
Am the mocked, and the shunned.
Locked behind an iron barred cage, in a cold dungeon’s bricked
Lined cradle, I'm left in isolation's holding cell, without
Human compassion's physical touch or empathy's mercy.
Yelling up ward’s towards a higher power's glory, I beg of him,
Pleading for redemption's reclamation, to free me from this
Torturous life I've been given,
Free me, heavenly father!!
But I am more than these lumped together human parts of
Refuges misbegotten, for I live, therefore I am, I am man
Not the beast.
This I discovered in my silences solitude, when my jailer
Gave me a special gift, a book such a simple object, yet
It so saved me from madness’ spell, in bold prints
Golden lettering I read the title, The Holy Bible.
In clarities flickering candle light by night did I so
Read, about how a spirit could lift above his mortal
Imprisonment, and soar amongst the angels.
Once I cursed the day of my own birth, but now
I realize to be alive is a great endowment, to be blessed
And rejoiced upon.
As I reach outwardly through these iron bars anew,
I feel the sun's rays for the first time, and know how
Precious a thing this really is, to experience its warmth
And light.
My father, never gave me a name other then it or the beast,
So I will take his, as mine own, behold so shall I be called
FRANIKENSTEIN!!
Made by the firey finger tip's of the lord God himself,
Shall ignorance flame by human kind destroy me?
But heaven's grace in the written word shall save
My immortal essence, and thus I will be restored
On a higher plane's existence, on a farther distant shore,
Considered a monster no more.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN

Details | Halloween Poem | |

AMONGST THE TREES

In the trees the voices whisper, the orbs dance in the swirling mists,
The ethereal winds brush against the living and the undead here cry in 
Valley of discontent.
Twisted are the branches, banging, slamming at the brickened walls,
As many hands smack at the glass within, a prison of spiritual essence,
Death is just another level of existence.
Within the Winchester house, many souls scream in the darkness,
Corporeal beings shift from light to dark, phantoms walk in these haunted
Halls, lightly stepping from earth to air.
From the blood of the fallen innocent do these bricks bleed, build from
Mankind’s greed has this foundation been so built, a cursed vision of 
A tortured old woman, seeking redemptions release from the invention
Of the powder and the gun.
In labyrinth’s maze shadows fade, as if melting ice though hard wooden
Floors and evaporating between solid beams, these victims of life shades,
Have come here to find a solitudes refuge.
At the stroking of mid-nights tolling hour, hear the ancient organ play,
As invisible finger tips strike at the ivory keys, doesn’t the candle stick light
Without combustions fuel, igniting the blue-green flame it flickers without the
Winds breathe.
Softly skeletal remains play, calling the forsaken unto this entrapment of hells
Divine cell of impurities unkempt, its stench lingering in the breeze oozing
Downwards through hallways, and corridors leading unto know where.
The grandfather clock chimes it’s twelfth’s bong, she so comes forward 
Dressed in blackened lace, a white faced vision of opulence elegance, the lady
Of this residence, trying to give thee a personal invite, turn away mortal flesh
If you believe that she is not real, keep strongly woven within thy faiths cocoon.
But on the back bone of reality, a disembodied hand touches your shoulder,
As a chilly rush accelerates your inner ward heart beat, shall you then be brave
Enough to turn around, or has your courage left you alone to face such evil.
But all here belong, and there is no escape, now you amongst the dead you’ve
Found the uneasy peace of the after life at last.
No white light magically enchantment can break the spell, for too many lost 
Souls are woven within this tapestry of darkness; she lives this widow maker,
A spider known as Mrs. Winchester.
In the trees the voices whisper, the orbs dance in the swirling mists, 
The ethereal winds brush against the living and here the undead cry
In the valley of discontent.

BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN



Details | Halloween Poem | |

Halloween by The Four Musky Tears


Sit tight Fright night Daunting Haunting Sweet treats On streets Dumb witch hit ditch corn maze kids craze _From the mouth of babes_ SMALL GHOST SCREAMS MOST _Toothless bites_ VAMPIRE RETIRE _Toddlers first Halloween_ BUMPKIN PUMPKIN _Trick or treat please_ CANDY FOR ME _Neighbor has out done me on decorations_ BUY MORE DECORE _welcome to the haunted house_ MY LAIR BEWARE pirate's privates push broom costume munchkin pumpkin hung bones loud groans candle vandal scary carry _the perfect appetizer _ spider slider
Co-written : Jan Allison Casarah Nance Yvonne Maurice Tim Smith

Details | Halloween Poem | |

Strut the Butt Jabba

On Halloween night I will strut Dressed like Jabba the Hut Many sweets I will eat As it is trick or treat And double the size of my butt

Details | Halloween Poem | |

October's Gift

It is October again, but I have another in mind
One long ago, and it brings tender memories
It wasn't the usual, of Halloween kind
Of parties and goblins, of which there were many

It was a year of some changes, our family had moved
I was ten years old...struggling and shy
A small little town, I'd been replanted and torn 
It was late in October...now uprooted and more...
A different school....a country lane....no close neighbors next door

On Halloween night, it rained and it poured
The end of the world...I was unhappy and bored
Leaving what had been home, familiar and sure
Where our old street had been filled
With Halloween thrills
Here in the country, ...no one came to the door

I was dressed to go out...but storms plagued the night
My mom understood....she saw my sad plight

She went up to her room, made up her face
She combed up her hair, until it stood on it's roots
Covered her face with black fireplace soot
She threw on her robe, and pulled on dad's boots
Crept out the back door, and to the front porch

When the doorbell rang....I jumped in delight!
Trick-or-treaters had come to our house this dark night!!
When I opened the door, at first I didn't see
It was mom, ...trying to hard, bring me some glee!
She grabbed me and laughed and pulled me to come
Out into the rainstorm....up the road we would run
We ran in the downpour, getting soaked to our skin
Laughing and yelling....such fun it had been!

Later that night, we warmed by the fire
She let me stay up....no one was tired
So cozy and warm...no longer so cold
With popcorn, and candy...and the ghost stories told
That one Halloween, on that night of the storm
Was the best Halloween....and reminds me of home.....
I'll never forget  when each Halloween comes
The gift of the fun....   all thanks to my mom.....

Details | Halloween Poem | |

THE GOLDEN PEN

Lightly the rain falls upon the lamp lit streets, the shabbily dressed figure
Walks with an air of uncertainty down the cobbled stone streets, leaning,
On his rickety cane, the elderly gentleman huddles beneath his umbrella Of refuge.
Shadows of the tenement brownstones line the edge of this rough necked
Part of town, here is the sheltering halls of the forgotten do dwell, the poorer
Venue that slum lords build their fortune’s foundation’s upon.
The gentlemen approaches his own dwellings dormancy with hesitations
Beating heart throbbing within his small fragile bent frame, for he knows
Tonight shall be his last night on this ethereal plane of existence.
For one last moments belief reflection he remains completely still, just to
To feel the autumn breeze against his bare flesh, to hear the rain drops hitting
Against the window panes, and to bid his final farewell to humanity.
Taking out his keys with his wrinkled twisted hands, he unlocks the doors
To his apartment, turning around to look outwards the gentlemen sighs, it has
Been a hard life, but I’m resolved to meet the next adventure, then he shuts
And locks the tenement’s door.
Weary from his days traveling the elderly gentlemen, climbs his steps upwards,
Towards his little room in the back area of his apartments, then he sits at his office
Desk for the last and final time, now to complete my journeys final entry, he thought
To himself this writer of the super natural’s acclaim.
Dipping his quilted golden pen into his ink well, the master writes one last line,
The end, or is this just the beginning?
Clumping over, clasping upon his desk the elder gentlemen’s heart lies stilled
As if at perfection’s final rest, his golden pen now runs crimson, bleeding downwards
Across the aged parchment paper, dripping onto the old wooden floor boards below.
The office door blows open a tall figure thus so enters, dressed in a raggedy robe of black,
Thread borne and full of tares and wholes, the creature approaches the dead gentleman,
As if in a screeching howl, the Grim Reapers touches him, ripping his spectral spirit
Free from the fleshes boney shell.
I’ve come for you old man, resist me not for your sins are heavy, and I’ve no time for
The ranting or ravening’s last pleas for salvations from one such as yourself, I have no
Last wishes qualms my friend, take me at your leisure, for I’ve grown weary of this life,
And it’s lonely emptiness.
Then the room grows cold, the ethereal disturbance ends as quickly as it had begun,
Leaving only the shell sitting at the old wooden desk, what happens when the writers
Golden pen runs crimson, bleeding downwards across the aged parchment paper,
Dripping onto the old wooden floor boards below?
The world of humanity thus so weeps for him, for he is the grand master of darkness’s
Written word, the skilled craftsman’s whom reveals what lies beyond the darker realms
Ebony gates, by his darker words of wonderment.
Farewell Mr. Edgar Allen Poe, we shall miss you always, you whom welcomed death
So easily, but the world of men is left empty without thee, as thy golden pen thus so
Now runs crimson and lies stilled forever.

BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
SCATCH A CHARACTER CONTEST
10-19-2014

Details | Halloween Poem | |

On Halloween Night

The moon behind an angry sky
Lit the daunting nimbus clouds,
And howling wind like deathly screams
Tore through the naked oak tree limbs.
 
Against the gray and black a flash
Exposed a visage dark and eerie,
Far beyond the old dead tree
Whose limbs like crooked fingers waved.
 
The thunder rumbled in the dark
Like a crazed and growling dog,
When something moved, then disappeared
Behind the old fence by the barn.
 
A chill ran through me like a wave,
And petrified I couldn’t move.
As crushing weight hit my chest
I screamed in bloody terror.
 
Claws punctured my skin as I screamed
And I woke to see a face in fear.
My once sleeping cat, now leapt high
And quickly out the bedroom door
 
A Halloween night Pumpkin and I
Will remember ever more