~Wisps~

Poetry by Daniel F Mitchell

XIV. Fear

Genesis

Goblin of festering womb,
Let it be thy tomb!
Loathsome conception,
Pathos’ vile inception,
Seed of fecund rue,
Beyond the corridor,
There is horror in store,
And nothing more for you.

Jack-o’-lantern

There is a shadow in the glass,
A spirit in the candle light.
There is a ghoul’s sneer in the night,
A specter on the window sash.

We are not alone in this room!
In the jack-o’-lantern’s dim glow
Burns a hint of impending doom.
Does he know something we don’t know?

Bedtime Rhyme

There’s a scullywumper in my closet.
It only comes out at night.
I hear it crack the closet door
When my mother turns out the light.

There’s a sneaky peeky shadow man
Hiding beneath my bed.
When he hears me fall asleep,
He floats about my head.

There are sock creepers in my drawer.
They hide beneath the socks.
When I open up to see,
They stay as still as rocks.

But when I sleep, they creep, creep, creep,
And gleefully cheep, and in a pile heap,
To watch the wolf-bat from the deep
Who comes to feast on counted sheep.

When I am sleeping,
Terrible things come creeping!

There are carpet seepers,
And lock peepers,
And hairy fairy moonbeam weepers.

There are tum tum singers,
And gum gum slingers,
And oochie-coochie yum yum bringers,
And sometimes even dingy wingers
With long and crooked bum bum stingers!

There are hallway creakers,
And outside-the-window peekers,
Buzzard-rat beakers, from-other-room speakers,
And in the corner, squeaky squeakers,

And even sticky icky-poo reekers.
(Who are only once-a-weekers)

There are smoky jokers with a terrible cough,
And blanket-pullers who pull the blankets off,
And gleaming ghosts with stickers beneath,
Making steaming boasts with long and yellow teeth!

When I go to bed at night,
When I sleep, I sleep in fright.
Every scary living and dead,
Comes to gather round my bed.

But of all the scaries great and small,
Of all the scaries there might be,
The scariest scaries of them all,
Are the scary scaries I cannot see.

There’s a scullywumper in my closet.
It only comes out at night.
I hear it crack the closet door,
When my mother turns out the light.

All Hallow’s Eve

‘Tis from the hollow, mists arise
To drift beneath the autumn skies,
To usher in a dark surprise -
The night of righteousness’ demise.

Upon the rising moon they spread,
Like shrouds upon the waking dead,
The trappings of a silver bed,
From which all evil things are bred.

When wind blows through the barren trees,
There spreading as some foul disease,
There piping fearful melodies
Of never-ending tragedies,

When mischief-laden fingers snatch
The pumpkins frosted in the patch,
And in them fires of brimstone light,
And make the souls of darkness bright,

When ghouls awaken in their graves,
When vampires burst forth from their staves,
When fleshless bones arise to war,
And venture from perdition’s store,

When banshees howl out from the mire,
When werewolves sing their wicked choir,
When ghostly rites all souls inspire,
And magic sets the moon on fire,

When wake the monsters yet untold,
When zombies march the open road,
When demons lurk beyond the gate,
And darkness holds a dreadful fate,

Then know the night of doom is here,
The dawn of everlasting fear,
The opening of an evil door -
All Hallow’s Eve has come once more.

"All Hallow’s Eve!" The beasties cry.
On Hallow’s Eve, the witches fly.
On Hallow’s Eve, hell’s creatures spy.
On Hallow’s Eve, all good things die.

Bones

I love to eat bones.
They taste like scones.
I love to munch and crunch
At a midnight lunch.
They taste better by night
Than they do by day.
And they’re best eaten
When the flesh is all rotted away.

If you’re lacking chow,
I’ll tell you how
To find a great meal.
You’ll have to steal.
But a bit o’ grave thieving
Never hurt anyone.
It’s quite fun!
It keeps a soul believing
In the beauty of a casket,
Just like a picnic basket!

A Ghoul Next Door

There’s a ghoul next door.
She’s quite a bore.
She just lies silently, six feet beneath the floor.

But man, when I catch a whiff of her perfume!
I wish my coffin had a bit more room.

She smells so ripe!
A sweet little tripe!

I’d call her up, but we’ve got no phones.
Still I’m spending death well.
At least I enjoy her smell.
But if I got a chance, hell, I’d jump her bones.

Mary

Mary was a remarkable girl,
The talk of all the town,
The kind of superhuman girl
That death could not keep down!

Mary had a flowing shroud.
She always dressed her best.
She had the front cut really low,
To show her gaping chest.

Mary had two eye sockets
That dripped with icky slime.
And even though her eyes ran out,
She had a dandy time.

Mary had a lovely butt
All covered with green crust.
But when she wagged her bum one night,
She fell to bits of dust.

Wishing Ghost

Ghost gray, ghost white,
First ghost I see tonight,
I wish I may, I wish I might,
Die a horrid death of fright.

Axeman Bill

Axeman Bill
Crept down the hill
To fetch somebody’s daughter.
Bill sneaked down,
Right into town,
And by the throat he caught her.

Rock-A-Bye

Rock-a-bye, baby,
In the tree top.
Sweet little thing,
It’s not going to stop.
You’re fast turning red.
And try as you might,
You’re going to be dead.
The rope is too tight

Rotting Flesh

Rotting flesh hot!
Rotting flesh cold!
Rotting flesh in a box, nine years old!
Some die young. Some die old.
All die hard and dry, covered with mold.

About The Headstone

Here I lie with a pleasant view.
I’ll be glad to roll over and make room for you.

Here I lie.
I have always been a liar.

Here I lay.
And I must say,
I’ve had better lays.

There is one last thing I would like to get off my chest – YOU!

© Copyright 2000 by Daniel F Mitchell

Published by Gray Matter Press Athens, Georgia