The clock strikes twelve
as the children lay asleep
the zombies will rise
and the witches will seek.......................
Welcome to Halloween
As the barriers of the underworld open once more, One Stop brings you a bag full of treats to send shivers down your spine and celebrate All Hallows Eve. My first treat is the great and the glorious, I give you Vincent Price reading The Raven by Edgar Allen Poe
Are you cosy? Are you calm? What was that noise....who is that looking over your shoulder? Have you looked in the mirror? What did you see......................................NOTHING!!!!!!!!!!
My next treat is a poem, written by myself, that I originally shared with One Stop Wednesday way back in early August...but in the tradition of Halloween we celebrate those that have gone before
The Lykewake of Morag
The crows would circle high above
As death would waken on the ground
A hand would stretch and flick its claws
To trap the prey that swooped on down.
As feathers fell on sodden earth
And float as boats upon the breeze
Bones would crunch and blood would splay
That fed the Scarecrows dark disease.
The haar would creep along the links
As song was heard beyond the hill
The tabor marked the lykewake start
As clans would bow and mourn their still.
Upon the beach the waves would crash
And curse and spit their maddened angst
The mortcloth lay across her soul
As friends would come and offer thanks.
Through wynd and vennel souls would part
As spirits fled the darkened streets
The Scarecrow watched in silent thought
Whilst winds would blow through mans deceit.
And dirks were drawn at Morag’s hame
As Chiefs would curse their spoken vow
Blades would clash and wounds were deep
But one remained to tell this tale…….
As I delve into the bag and feel the bones of those before I bring you a tale that will chill the young and old alike. Wilfred Owen, the famous British wartime poet, gives us
Shadwell Stair
by Wilfred Owen
I am the ghost of Shadwell Stair.
Along the wharves by the water-house,
And through the cavernous slaughter-house,
I am the shadow that walks there.
Yet I have flesh both firm and cool,
And eyes tumultuous as the gems
Of moons and lamps in the full Thames
When dusk sails wavering down the pool.
Shuddering the purple street-arc burns
Where I watch always; from the banks
Dolorously the shipping clanks
And after me a strange tide turns.
I walk till the stars of London wane
And dawn creeps up the Shadwell Stair.
But when the crowing syrens blare
I with another ghost am lain.
Are the lights on? Are you alone? Who's that knocking on the door? Do you dare to invite him in........
My next treat is by the great American Poet, Robert Frost
Ghost House
by Robert Frost
I dwell in a lonely house I know
That vanished many a summer ago,
And left no trace but the cellar walls,
And a cellar in which the daylight falls,
And the purple-stemmed wild raspberries grow.
O'er ruined fences the grape-vines shield
The woods come back to the mowing field;
The orchard tree has grown one copse
Of new wood and old where the woodpecker chops;
The footpath down to the well is healed.
I dwell with a strangely aching heart
In that vanished abode there far apart
On that disused and forgotten road
That has no dust-bath now for the toad.
Night comes; the black bats tumble and dart;
The whippoorwill is coming to shout
And hush and cluck and flutter about:
I hear him begin far enough away
Full many a time to say his say
Before he arrives to say it out.
It is under the small, dim, summer star.
I know not who these mute folk are
Who share the unlit place with me--
Those stones out under the low-limbed tree
Doubtless bear names that the mosses mar.
They are tireless folk, but slow and sad,
Though two, close-keeping, are lass and lad,--
With none among them that ever sings,
And yet, in view of how many things,
As sweet companions as might be had.
Is it time to creep upstairs and go to bed? Have you read enough or would you like one more treat? I bring you the theme tune from Halloween.............
HAPPY HALLOWEEN
all images courtesy wikipedia
