Halloween; some little horrors you don’t get over easy.

Sweet And Sour Halloween.

We have a 'Welcome All' sign adorning our door
But that 'Howdy' loses its sheen come Halloween,
Kids come a'rappin' just to come runnin' back for more-
Guess handfuls of M&M's beats the rush of Benzedrine.

Each hungry soul, double dipping and double dealing,
All filled with a deep primeval heartfelt burning need,
All too soon my treat bag held that empty feeling,
Yet they continue to have an all-consuming greed.

They're here knockin' again and they ain't gonna leave,
Kids of today, like I did in in my sweet toothed youth
Believe it's OK to give but far more fulfilling to receive-
Been my Gospel truth since I received my first Baby Ruth.

So I emptied out my covert Covid candy secret stash,
Aghast, I watched as my basket emptied, and toot suite,
Seeing my empty look made teeny tiny milk teeth gnash-
Soon I'd discover the cruel childish side of Trick or Treat.

Those bloodthirsty nippers were still not content,
They wanted more, more, more, but I'd been bled dry,
Behind smiley masks teeth shone, bright, malevolent
They demanded my S'mores, with dark avaricious eye.

I could do no more than raise up my empty hands
Appeal to the better nature of the little bu- beggars,
But within this lot of buccaneers, pirates and brigands
Lies a deep pocket of nasty stinking rotten little eggers. 

Here I was, on Halloween, left bereft, with no more to give,
Talks were going downhill quick, and about to get trickier-
I made a fateful decision- one at night I lie awake and relive-
Closing the door on their demands made my situation stickier.

Now there's no 'Welcome' sign adorning our darkened door,
Nowadays I can no longer entertain Halloween at our place,
Wise-cracking munchkins don't tap-tap on our door anymore,
Slammin' my screen door left me wide open to egg on my face.

   'Kids ain't all sweetness and light when they rock up on Halloween night.'

(Theme song for this could be 'Cracking Up' by Nick Lowe.)


The horror that is Halloween; A survivors guide.

Kinder Surprise!

It's that dispiritingly dismal time of the year
And todays that dark Fall day all good folk fear,
Today 'tis All Hallows Eve, October thirty-first,
A day all (except confectioners) have long cursed.

As the comforting light of this gloomy day falls
The prospect of imminent night visitors appalls,
My face peeps out the window, white with fright-
See the feral beasts gather, children of the night.

One lonesome masked urchin ambles up to my door
But I've learned one sweet treat given leads to more,
'Cause, once that first little monster walks away, chewing
One guarantees childish behaviour is well worth re-doing.

So then, when faced with hordes of hungry eyes
You better hope your goody bag's of a goodly size,
Sending kiddies away empty handed ends in regret,
Getting told 'we'll be back' proved no empty threat.

Never not treat these voracious and tricky wee beggars,
No eats and you're a target for these vicious li'l eggers,
Last year, after regrettably running out of charitable chocs
No Cherry Ripes meant a cherry bomb blew up my mail box.

   ‘Cherry Ripe meets cherry bomb.’


The night is darkest before the dawn, according to some horrifically bad Zombie movies anyway.

A Survivors Guide To Night Life.

If you should wake from sleep to the sound of screams
And through the windowpane full moonlight streams,
And the streets below look like a bloody crime scene-
Prowling Zombies, growling werewolves, bloody keen-
And it's nowhere near Halloween?

These horrors are no mere fiction Stephen King wrote?
Then it's time to stifle that shriek that rises in your throat;
A man's home is his castle but to fight would be suicide,
So lock the door, zip your lip, swallow that warriors pride,
The dystopian future is here; so hide.

So it's true the rabid 'Hemlock Grove' mob ain't bit the dust?
Them Walking Dead half-wits not yet done with wanderlust?
Some choice- Death's kiss by a Zombie's cold blood rep lips
Or a barking mad dog's life whenever the blood lust grips?
Every full moon, another bloody apocalypse.

Who's a'tapping at the door, who's a'rattling my chain?
I hope they go away, and I pray they don't call again,
Leave me high up in my dark attic, hid in the pitchest black
Softly bitching 'bout this neighbourhood gone to the pack
Quietly waiting for the dawn to crack.

Sat in the shadows ain't how the hero should behave?
Better perched in the loft than turning in your grave,
My advice is to wait, still, till, in the cold light of day-
We'll deal to Zombie and beast in a most unhuman way
And the Hell with the RSPCA.

(Another in the interminable Shlock mock horror series. One day I’ll kill ’em off.)


Halloween; is it a crime against inhumanity? Food for thought.

What A Hollow Halloween.

Being the prize pick of the pumpkin patch
Come November comes with a nasty catch,
Being soft and tender, sweet as pumpkin pie
Don't mean Jack when Halloween is nigh.

Once the father came to weigh up his choice
Being top o' the crop gave me no cause to rejoice
But 'twas only when the mother cut me from the vine
This prime pumpkin knew it was the end of the line.

So this orange squash's future's turned to soup,
It cuts me up to see me reduced, scoop by scoop
Until I'm left, a grinning rictus of an empty shell;
Does my tasteless tale turn your insides as well?
Pure pulp fiction.

Another Halloween tale- or two: Don has a rocky road to victory.

What Haunts The White House?

We're fast careering towards Halloween
And a few days later we hope to have seen
An end to the dispiriting Ghastly Horror of 2016.

With a crucial election nigh
Hopes for a change are frighteningly high,
Pray we can exorcise the so-wrong Right guy.

Don's sure to want someone to look
At every way he can cook the rule book,
He needs to win, by hook or by crook.

The polling prospects for Don might look dire
But his supreme self-belief one must truly admire-
Plus his Supreme Court's now bound to back a liar.

Though he doesn't really possess the ghost of a chance
Still he's trying his damndest to deny any votes in advance,
To tell the truth he's relying on flame-proof underpants.

Should it be the will of the hoi polloi
My whole face will be suffused with joy
To see the golden boy become the orange boy.

Then when the blue boy(!) is given the win
I'll try my damndest to keep my joy deep within,
But I guarantee no mask could hide my Cheshire grin.

In the Halloween camp– or spirit- here’s a jaunty little number.

(To the tune of Rocky Horror’s ‘I Can Make You A Man.’)

Can We Lose The Fake Tan?

Weak-minded, criminally unsound,
Will Don leave with red face
When November 3 rolls around?
Since his chances are slim
Despite determined Fox spin
To cover his multiple flaws
He's privately packing his drawers,
Still refusing to listen to his team
And the unwelcome message
That the four year bad dream
Ends with Donald as a has-been.
Don won't be here long, man.
('Cause he's the wrong man.)

He's nasty and vicious, splenetically mean,
He'll wallow, he'll beg,
Bitch and blame postal workers-
Accept mail-in votes, then renege
Without second thought,
But time's short, not-so-Great man,
In just seven days
You'll be a done deal, fake tan.

He upset the queen, he royally f*cked up,
Hopes to snatch victory, dirty devious jerk,
He thinks democratic elections
Will drive Putin berserk,
Voters so unforgiving
He plum cain't understand,
So in just seven days
Ciao baby,
Make way for a better human.

Halloween- Hey kids, aren’t some older people so mean spirited?

Night Of The Gibbering Dread.

We're fast approaching October thirty-first
When once again good folk will be cursed
By that gnawing feeling of impending dread
As the spirit of gluttony raises its ugly head.

'Twill be the night of Halloween
When every pre-adolescent 'tween
Comes, unbidden, a'rapping at your door-
That ain't the kinda rap you can ignore.

They'll demand a trick or treat,
The trick is- give 'em all they can eat,
So dole out the candies from the bowl,
Better being poor than have an empty soul.

Robotically dish it out and don't dare ask
What sweet child is hiding 'neath that mask?
Just kindly smile while puttin' on your happy face
And pray the overladen urchins don't egg your place.

Watch those impish wee scamps stagger to the gate
Arms trembling to contain the confectionery's weight,
Shake my head and muse 'that fifty bucks didn't go far,'
Damn kids took a bowl full of sugar but left the gate ajar.

Prompt at midnight switch off the porch light-
Witching hour is done, Children Of The Night,
So, all good but poor souls, sit back and enjoy the hush,
Soon 'nough you'll hear some sick kids full-on sugar rush flush.
This started as an entry for Chel Owens A Mused poetry contest but went waaay over 
the word limit.  


Halloweens a’coming. Ready for sugar fueled little sweethearts gate-crashing into your yard, shaking you down?

The Halloween Spirit.

The little monsters came round on Halloween,
They tricked and treated and picked us clean,
We nicely asked ’em not to pet the pet Wolverine,
We told ’em not to play on the display guillotine-
What a shame their hearing’s not quite as keen.
Smart kids… remains to be seen.