Halloween Poetry PART 1

Pumpkin Picking

Let's go picking in the pumpkin patch.
Now we're jiggling the old gate latch.
Gate swings wide and we step inside
Pumpkins spread like an ocean tide.
You take the one like a fat balloon
I'll take the one like an orange moon.
Hike to the house in fifty paces
Then we'll carve out the pumpkin faces.

Sandra Liatsos

---

Halloween Past
I recall the Halloween past
Some forty years ago, I think
Be grateful they have past
Behavior then was evil

Children made costumes then
Dressed in what they made
Becoming hobos, Indians, Fat men
Witches, a big baby in a diaper,
Or a squaw with her braids

Children carried an arsenal
Soap for windows
Corn for throwing
Toilet paper for trees
Eggs for combat
Dung in a paper bag
For lighting on the teachers lawn
(Of course they stomped it out)

Mischief was the claim to fame
Outhouse's were overturned
Volkswagens were set on porches
Hay was set ablaze
If a house set empty this night
It was likely to find combustion

The children of the world today
They're not so bad it seems
If you will remember then
Children now should dress
In Angel themes

© 2000, John Stewart

---

THE HAUNTED HOUSE
It stands neglected, silent, far from the ways of men,
A lonely little cottage beside a lonely glen;
And, dreaming there, I saw it when sunset's golden rays
Had touched it with the glory of other, sweeter days.

They say the house is haunted, and -- well, it is, I guess,
For every empty window just aches with loneliness;
With loneliness that tortures and memory that flays;
Ah, yes, the house is haunted with ghosts of other days.

The ghost of childish laughter rings on the narrow stair,
And, from a silent corner, the murmur of a prayer
Steals out, and then a love song, and then a bugle call,
And steps that do not falter along the quiet hall.

The story of the old house that stands beside the glen?
That story is forgotten by every one; but when
The house is touched and softened by sunset's golden rays,
I know that ghosts must haunt it, the ghosts of sweeter days.

Margaret E. Sangster

---

Happy Halloween
Horror terror fright and fear,
All these words that we may hear.
Keep inside to be let out,
Just to make us scream and shout.
Set aside for just one fright,
To bring the eve hollows night.
On all hollows eve the moon is round,
All ghosts and goblins roam the ground.
Seeking souls for later rests,
Put our fears to the tests.
Shallow moans and groans of the dead,
Spooky spectres overhead.
A witch on her broom flies the skies,
The werewolf stalks with howling cries.
My vampire freind doomed with eternal life,
Our senses shattered surviving our strife.
We carve our pumpkins and give them light,
Jackolanterns glow all through the night.
Hearing voices "Trick or Treat",
And gave them something great to eat.
Childish fun and practical jokes,
Dressing up like all sorts of blokes.
What is it about this one night,
It gives all the same sweet fright.
When the doorbell rings you answer quick,
With your candy or your trick.
To give the monsters treats galore,
For this one night they'll be at your door.
So these words exclaimed by everyone seen,
They all will tell you "Happy Holloween!!!"


© 2002, Lady Syndra

Check out the Book of Shadows

HAPPY HALLOWEEN!!!


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Fairyland IV by william shakespear

WHERE the bee sucks, there suck I:
In a cowslip's bell I lie;
There I couch when owls do cry.
On the bat's back I do fly
After summer merrily:
Merrily, merrily, shall I live now,
Under the blossom that hangs on the bough.

by William Shakespear

More poetry:

• Fairy Land v by William Shakespeare
• Fairy land iii by William Shakespeare 
• Fairy land ii by William Shakespear
• Fairy land by William Shakespear

real fairy

Shakespear In books:

1. A Midsummer Night's Dream (Wordsworth Classics) (Wadsworth Collection)
2. A Midsummer Night's Dream
3. William Shakespeare Complete Works Ultimate Collection: 213 Plays, Poems, Sonnets, Poetry including the 16 rare, hard-to-get Apocryphal Plays PLUS Annotations, Commentaries of Works, Full Biography
4. Othello

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Korean Leper Poet Han Ha Woon (한하운)

I
I
Will die
And become a blue bird
Flying around
The blue skies
The green fields
Chirping
Blue songs
Green cries
I
I
Will die
And become a blue bird

ORIGINAL IN KOREAN


파랑새



나는
나는
죽어서
파랑새 되어
푸른 하늘
푸른 들
날아 다니며
푸른 노래
푸른 울음
울어 예으리
나는
나는
죽어서
파랑새 되리


by Korean Leper Poet Han Ha Woon (한하운)

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Fairy Land i by William Shakespear

OVER hill, over dale,

Thorough bush, thorough brier,

Over park, over pale,

Thorough flood, thorough fire,

I do wander everywhere,

Swifter than the moone's sphere;

And I serve the fairy queen,

To dew her orbs upon the green:

The cowslips tall her pensioners be;

In their gold coats spots you see;

Those be rubies, fairy favours,

In those freckles live their savours:

I must go seek some dew-drops here,

And hang a pearl in every cowslip's ear.

by WILLIAM Shakespeare

• Fairy Land v by William Shakespeare
• Fairy land iii by William Shakespeare 
• Fairy land ii by William Shakespear
• Fairy land by William Shakespear
• fairy land iv by Williams shakespear 

Side note:
Shakespeare... Ive often wondered if that was his real name or a stage name. like Chris Chaos.. because shakespeare often makes me think of shaking ones penis at someone. For a creative pothead like Bill Shakespeare i think it to be entirely possible.

i wonder if this is what he had in mind..

Funny side note:
 I needed a picture for this post, so i went to google and googled "fairies" and the first pic that poped up was justin bieber .. lmmfao. stupid fairy.

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Grey Grey Sky by Grace Hutton

Someday I will ride the great bird
Into the sky, into the grey
And will take a bright secret of mine
Into the grey, grey sky.

And the light will come, piercing my eyes
Out of the sky, out of the grey
Come blinding and searing these eyes
Out of the grey, grey sky.

And I will find comfort in this
In the wide sky, in the wide grey
In the painful dark brightness of light
Light of the grey, grey sky.

My secret will fly away home
Into the sky, into the grey
And the great bird will follow it there
Into the grey, grey sky.

And I will be riding that bird
Bird of the sky, bird of the grey
And I will come home once again
Home to the grey, grey sky.

But for now I am weighted, earthbound
One of the mud, one of the ground
And I write this sad song to sad sound
Girl of the pavement sighs. 

Grace Hutton <-- i tried to look for a wiki or something but failed.. who is she?

grey skys north carolina 27889

Poetry of the day review:Skies are still grey outside. Its been depressing lately, not only here but around the world. I Cant wait until the next clear day. While searching for grey skies poetry I came across this piece. I think the poem is really good and fits the weather perfect. I also tried searching for more work by her and couldnt find anything. Hmmmm. No wiki or anything.


Word of the day:

lexicography

  \ lek-suh-KAH-gruh-fee \  , noun;

1.

The writing or compiling of dictionaries; the editing or making of dictionaries.

2.

The principles and practices applied to writing dictionaries.

Best I Ever Had (Grey Sky Morning)

Broadway - The American Musical (PBS Series)

It’s Dusty #oneshotwednesday by @Moondustwriter

That’s not my name

it is my occupation -Dusting

Well~ dusting one particular orb in the sky.

“why would you do that?” they ask

“It has to be done!”

As I was dusting one day, I came across something.

Sheaves and sheaves of manuscript paper;

Some of it was scribbled on.

Some of it was blank

Here’s what one page said:

“I gaze below

look upon blue and hope

water they say

it makes things grow

dust grows here

and I will die

for lack of anything

blue or green

nothing colorful in the sky.”

With a tear in my eye

a smudge on my cheek

I sent a reply (written in Moondust)

to: ” nothing colorful”

Dear…

what is your name anyway?

you have plenty of hope

people gaze at you

they write songs

some kiss a lover or two

use you for calendars and such

you have a glowing reflection

that the world misses so much

when you are not showing

dont look at the dust

look at the moon

she has sweet yellow glowing.

Who cares if you are rarely up at noon!

Dear “ Moondustwriter”

“I have

I caught a ride to earth awhile back

you are right

she is beautiful

big eyes

beautiful smile

and a glow seen far and wide

and lovers …

well that’s another story.”

From yours ~” gazing at the moon”

When People ask how I got my name, Moondustwriter, I say “well that’s another story…”

• Follow her on Twitter  Leslie Moon
• Location California
• Web http://moondustwriter.com
• Bio Love God. Published poet and author. Advocate 4 children with special needs and the arts. One Stop Poetry co-founder Live on the Moon - visitors welcome

Poetry of the day REVIEW:

I believe this woman has more power with words then a religious manuscript. This piece here is just one diamond more she can add to her vault of brilliantly hand crafted jewels. The whole way through this piece I could feel the solitude and desolation the moon must feel peering back at such a busy, ever changing, always evolving planet. Wishing the hecould return to its original place in the comos. Not realizing how much of a vital role he plays in the heavens. Not knowing how his existence allows for the indigo glow that he admires so much. BRILLIANCE! I totally teared up a little.

WORD OF THE DAY:

nimbus

\ NIM-buhs \  , noun;

1.

(Fine Arts) A circle, or disk, or any indication of radiant light around the heads of divinities, saints, and sovereigns, upon medals, pictures, etc.; a halo.

2.

A cloud or atmosphere (as of romance or glamour) that surrounds a person or thing.

3.

(Meteorology) A rain cloud.

REMEMBER

Poetry of the day For Android Phones!

Or search on the android market for "poetry of the day"

1861 by Walt Whitman

1861
ARM'D year! year of the struggle!
No dainty rhymes or sentimental love verses for you, terrible year!
Not you as some pale poetling, seated at a desk, lisping cadenzas
piano;
But as a strong man, erect, clothed in blue clothes, advancing,
carrying a rifle on your shoulder,
With well-gristled body and sunburnt face and hands--with a knife in
the belt at your side,
As I heard you shouting loud--your sonorous voice ringing across the
continent;
Your masculine voice, O year, as rising amid the great cities,
Amid the men of Manhattan I saw you, as one of the workmen, the
dwellers in Manhattan;
Or with large steps crossing the prairies out of Illinois and
Indiana,
Rapidly crossing the West with springy gait, and descending the
Alleghanies; 10
Or down from the great lakes, or in Pennsylvania, or on deck along
the Ohio river;
Or southward along the Tennessee or Cumberland rivers, or at
Chattanooga on the mountain top,
Saw I your gait and saw I your sinewy limbs, clothed in blue, bearing
weapons, robust year;
Heard your determin'd voice, launch'd forth again and again;
Year that suddenly sang by the mouths of the round-lipp'd cannon,
I repeat you, hurrying, crashing, sad, distracted year.

Poetry of the day review:
 Its kinda funny, its like he is making funny of the act of war period. Not just the year. Not just the side. I believe this poem refers the whole act of "my idea is better then yours lets shoot each other to prove testicle size". Pic related.. its 1861 in the USA.

Word of the day is:

imbroglio

   \ im-BROHL-yoh \  , noun;

1.

A complicated and embarrassing state of things.

2.

A confused or complicated disagreement or misunderstanding.

3.

An intricate, complicated plot, as of a drama or work of fiction.

4.

A confused mass; a tangle.

Try and use it in your comment!

How I am feeling right about now.

[ 9:50] [1-31-11]

i feel as if life, love and the pursuit of happiness are trying to thimblerig me into the rocks like a vulpine succubus feeding off my want for a paphian existence.

 -me 

 

word of the day is - 

thimblerig

\ THIM-buhl-rig \  , verb;

1.

To cheat or swindle, as in the traditional shell game known as thimblerig.

Beauty sat bathing by a spring by Anthony Munday

Beauty sat bathing by a spring Where fairest shades did hide her; The winds blew calm, the birds did sing, The cool streams ran beside her. My wanton thoughts entic'd mine eye To see what was forbidden: But better memory said, fie! So vain desire was chidden. Hey nonny, nonny, |&c.| Into a slumber then I fell, When fond imagination Seemed to see, but could not tell Her feature or her fashion. But even as babes in dreams do smile, And sometime fall a-weeping, So I awak'd, as wise this while As when I fell a-sleeping. Hey nonny, nonny, |&c.| Anthony Munday Anthony Munday and Civic Culture: Theatre, History and Power in Early Modern London 1580-1633 How this work makes me feel: like taking a nap and going into a lucid dream. and staying there lol.

16-bit Intel 8088 chip by Charles Bulkowski

16-bit Intel 8088 chip

with an Apple Macintosh
you can't run Radio Shack programs
in its disc drive.
nor can a Commodore 64
drive read a file
you have created on an
IBM Personal Computer.
both Kaypro and Osborne computers use
the CP/M operating system
but can't read each other's
handwriting
for they format (write
on) discs in different
ways.
the Tandy 2000 runs MS-DOS but
can't use most programs produced for
the IBM Personal Computer
unless certain
bits and bytes are
altered
but the wind still blows over
Savannah
and in the Spring
the turkey buzzard struts and
flounces before his
hens.

Charles Bukowski
Ham on Rye: A Novel

Dictionary.coms Word of the Day
con·cu·pis·ci·ble

 /kɒnˈkyupɪsəbəl, kɒŋ-/ [kon-kyoo-pi-suh-buhl, kong-] 

–adjective Archaic .

worthy of being desired.

Love's Blindness by Alfred Austin

Love's Blindness by Alfred Austin

Now do I know that Love is blind, for I

Can see no beauty on this beauteous earth,

No life, no light, no hopefulness, no mirth,

Pleasure nor purpose, when thou art not nigh.

Thy absence exiles sunshine from the sky,

Seres Spring's maturity, checks Summer's birth,

Leaves linnet's pipe as sad as plover's cry,

And makes me in abundance find but dearth.

But when thy feet flutter the dark, and thou

With orient eyes dawnest on my distress,

Suddenly sings a bird on every bough,

The heavens expand, the earth grows less and less,

The ground is buoyant as the ether now,

And all looks lovely in thy loveliness.

Alfred Austin: Victorian

My Understanding of this poem and love:

 Love is like a bright city light, a light with its own gravity, love is like a star that is borderline black hole, and you're standing at the event horizon doing everything thing in your power to felicitate a gentle slip. A gentle glide into that infinite yet finite existence. Then you are broken down into the most simplistic form of yourself, energy.

The Night is Darkening Around Me by Emily Bronte

The Night is Darkening Around Me by Emily Bronte

The night is darkening round me,
The wild winds coldly blow ;
But a tyrant spell has bound me,
And I cannot, cannot go.

The giant trees are bending
Their bare boughs weighed with snow ;
The storm is fast descending,
And yet I cannot go.

Clouds beyond clouds above me,
Wastes beyond wastes below ;
But nothing drear can move me :
I will not, cannot go.

Fame by Sri Chinmoy

I do not want happiness, name and fame.
If I want them, I can get them.
What is most difficult to get is
      Your Compassion.
And for that I am crying, I am
      shedding bitter tears.
I am not getting Your Compassion.
The world is smiling and laughing at me.
But I wish only to be enamoured of
       Your victory.

~

SHAME, SHAME! 

Shame, shame!
My heart still craves for fame.
Fame, fame!
What do I need it for
As long as I am chosen
By God Himself
To participate eternally
In His cosmic Game?

~

Just for a little transient fame
He tortured his silver purity-breath
And destroyed his golden humility-life

~

My fame is not lasting.  
Even the experience of fame
Is not lasting.
But the Compassion
Of my Beloved Supreme
In and through my fame
Is everlasting.

~

My Lord Supreme,  
Do spare me from name and fame.
My heart consciously, soulfully
And devotedly
Longs to play only with You
In Your Cosmic Game.

~

Power, name and fame  
Together march.
Destination: nowhere.
Love, oneness and fulness
Together fly.
Destination: Heaven's smile-blossoms.

America by Walt Whitman

America

by Walt Whitman

1819-1892

---

Centre of equal daughters, equal sons, 
All, all alike endear'd, grown, ungrown, young or old, 
Strong, ample, fair, enduring, capable, rich, 
Perennial with the Earth, with Freedom, Law and Love, 
A grand, sane, towering, seated Mother, 
Chair'd in the adamant of Time.






My Take on this: I personally think this poem is a load of wishful thinking, especially during those days, he didnt even live during a time where all men and women were equal, only words on some Hemp paper that was really just a play on words to begin with. Land of the FREE, nah, Land of the FREE MASON. Hell over half Whitmans life, SLAVES were still around, women had no rights. So IDK i just think there is more to this then those few words

The Old Year by John Clare

The Old Year

The Old Year’s gone away
To nothingness and night:
We cannot find him all the day
Nor hear him in the night:
He left no footstep, mark or place
In either shade or sun:
The last year he’d a neighbour’s face,
In this he’s known as none.
All nothing everywhere:
Mists we on mornings see
Have more substance when they’re here
And more of form than he.
He was a friend by every fire,
In every cot and hall -
A guest to every heart’s desire,
And now he’s nought at all.

Old papers thrown away,
Old garments cast aside,
The talk of yesterday,
All things identified;
But times once torn away
No voices can recall:
The eve of New Year’s Day
Left the Old Year lost to all.

John Clare (1793-1864)

sweet sunshine song by Kailyn Coleman

sweet sunshine song : Kailyn Coleman
and id write you a song, oh darling, but i bet its all been written, once before. cuz i am not originality, i am just a pen, paper, and ears for listening. and my skin, it shivers, at the taste, touch, the look of your body. and this inspiration in my brain, is a tune that sings sweetly in my ear, that influence these winds, in this, full empty room, to twist and consume. i told you once before, in my sleep, its your promises, that were lies, that hold me prisoner here. the water tastes dry, and the lights have grown, more and more dull, while this years spring, looks alot like last years fall. when the sun went out, and then bursted aloud, "im shining so bright yet, you still can not see me!" i smiled til i realized, i was miles into the sky, looking down at myself, and couldnt help but cry. but the tears froze somewhere, halfway between my face, and miles below me, and turned into that same tune, i had heard once before, singing sweeter, than i had heard it sung before

The Stary Night - John Masefield

That starry Night when Christ was born,
The shepherds watched by Dead Man’s Thorn;
They shared their supper with the dogs,
And watched the sparks flick from the logs
Where the coppings from the holly burned.

  Then the dogs growled, and faced turned
To horsemen, coming from the hill.

  A Captain called to them, ‘Keep still…
We’re riding, seeking for a sign
Than human beings are divine…
Is there such marvel, hereabout?

  The shepherds said, ‘Us don’t know nowt.
We’re Mr Jones’s shepherd chaps.
Old Mr Jones might know, perhaps…
But if you’ve come this country road,
You’ve passed his house and never knowed.
There’s someone in the town might know;
A mile on, keeping as you go’.

  Long after all had disappeared,
More horsemen (from the woodland), neared;
And one, a King, with a dark skin,
Cried, ‘Friends, are gods and men akin?
A wonder tells of this, they say.
Is it near here? Is this the way?’

  ‘Why, no’ the shepherds said….’Perhaps.
We’re Mr. Jones’s shepherd chaps.
Old Mr. Jones would know, I wis,
But he’ll be gone to bed  by this.

  After the troop had passed away
A third came (from the River way)
And cried, ‘Good friends, we seek to find
Some guidance for the questing mind,
Eternity, in all this Death,
Some life out-living flesh and breath.
Can we find this, the way we ride?

  ‘You’d better picket down and bide,’
The shepherds said ‘And rest your bones.
We’re shepherds here to Mr. Jones.
When morning comes, you ask of he,
For he’d know more of that than we.
We’re only shepherds here; so bide.’

  ‘We cannot wait’ the horseman cried.
‘Life cannot wait; Death cannot stay;
This midnight is our only day.
Push on, friends; shepherd all, farewell.
This living without Life is Hell’.

  The clatter of the horse-hoofs failed,
Along the wood a barn-owl wailed;
The small mice rustled in the wood;
The stars burned in their multitude.

  Meanwhile, within the little town,
The camping horsemen settled down;
The horses drank at stream and fed
On chaff, from nose-bags, picketed.
The men rolled blankets out, and stretched;
Black Nim their hard cheese supper fetched;
Then, after spirit from the gourd,
Each turned to sleep without a word,
But shortly roused again to curse
A some-one calling for a nurse
To help a woman in her woe.

  All this was very long ago.