THE BOOK OF BOO! 2020
a spook wrote a book
A spook wrote a book
about bumps in the night,
where everything wasn't particularly
first, there were those invisible steps on a stair,
yes, right over there;
just who was this entity trying to scare?
NOT ME, that's for sure,
i'm too smart for such folly,
no spooky old ghost is my match,
i'm far too jolly, by-golly!
but then, but then
there was that mysterious rush of cold air;
don't even bother to ask
what it did to my hair.
and even though the lights had gone out
over an hour ago,
and even when the chandelier started to glow,
i am way too savvy, too intelligent,
in a grown up way
to let any spook ghost or spirit
have its say.
what's that rustling in the bushes out back,
that sound like old bones
rattling in a sack?
it's nothing, NOTHING i say,
even though, i kinda wish this night
would turn back into day.
hey, is that a cauldron bubbling down there,
at the foot of the cellar stair?
and what is that smell like tail of rat and eyelid of newt
gurgling away in some wild and wicked old rancid stew?
and please please tell me why was i ever possessed
to buy this beer labeled
“OLD WITCH'S BREW!?”
then as everything seemed to calm down,
on the wall, over there, a portrait's sweet smile
turned slowly into a menacing frown;
and then there was that moment when the howling began
followed by a hideous banging
on the old garbage can.
now i'm no fool, no dupe or a dope,
but contrary to my grasp on reality
i was in serious danger of losing
gees, i'm just being silly,
i'm being even more than that,
but i'd swear on my soul that i just saw
our old black cat named Midnight
wearing a big pointy hat!
yuk, over there is a sickly room that reeks of doom,
hope it disappears, and soon!
standing in there like stiff figures in a macabre wax museum
it's the trump family, do you really truly want to see 'em?
the trumps, one and all, so perfectly coiffed, so tall and so slender,
so elegantly dressed; no mistaking their painstakingly perfected gender.
but they're brain eating zombies, make no mistake,
stay clear of that nasty clan, for heaven's sake.
they scare me death, and much worse,
they are the monsterly agents of a horrible curse!
best avert your eyes from their vampire gaze;
get us out of the maze of deceit and the gloom
of these maddening days.
i slammed that door shut fast as a flash,
got myself out of there before the ugly tower of trump power
began to crash.
i guess all i can say, and i'll say it this way,
that despite anyone's religion, belief or faith
it would do no harm on a night like this
to find a hole in the wall to crawl into,
just to be safe:
have i managed to step through a door of perception?
if so, it seems to be a room filled with deception;
(perhaps i'd better run a check my internal reception).
this could be the infamous twisted Twilight Zone
and that might be Rod Serling standing over there in the shadows
so menacingly alone,
the smoke from his cigarette drifting away,
curling up, off into dimensions that are all wiggly wobbly shades of gray.
but then, a quick glance down at my arm
caused me to panic and shake with alarm;
MY GOD, when and where did i get this crazy tattoo?
it looks and feels way, way too fresh, way too new:
a black widow spider, it's web and a bug-eyed fly;
honestly friend, i'm NOT
the tattoo sporting kind of guy.
and what about that, there in the corner
with the two glowing red eyes,
is that someone's idea of an unpleasant surprise?
then a headless horseman just rode right on through;
it was stupid i know, but i offered it a drink,
what else could i do?
up in the attic i heard such a scream,
believe me, goosebumps were the least of my problems just then,
know what i mean?
and if i'm the only one here
then something's definitely not right
otherwise how could my piece of pumpkin pie be missing a bite
when i had yet to dig in, preferring to wait,
savoring, if you will, the delicious sight of it there
perched on my orange and black plate.
just when i thought i'd seen quite enough,
lordy, that's when things began
to really get rough.
HOLY MOLY! ABRACADABRA! SHAZAM!
remind me now people, just where it is that i am?
i smell sulfur burning from below to above
and for some strange reason it feels a lot like push
has just come to shove.
YEOW that foul smell drifting up from the depths,
from the darkest of darks,
the kind of darkness that makes even timid dogs bark.
where have i been?
where have i gone?
was there ever a night
that lasted so long??
at that precise moment when the fire in the hearth
began to snort, hiss and flicker,
i heard a disembodied voice moan, cackle
“you ain't seen nothing yet, boy,
and that's a sure bet”.
that was when the sweat on my brow
seemed to feel especially wet.
oh for heaven's sake,
why is that bat wearing a cape,
and why is it flying all around this old room,
and who is that there behind it
riding an old ratty red broom?
WHY IT'S OLD WITCH MC CONNELL
out of control, heading for a dive
screeching and screaming
“AM I STILL ALIVE?!”
somehow i feel like i'm being played for a sap,
like i've swallowed the bait
and been caught in a trap.
i can't help but wonder cuz it certainly seems,
this could all just be one helluva dream,
or even a Grimm's bizarre fairytale,
filled with spirits, spooks, moans and wails.
BALDERDASH I SAY!
this must all be a test,
the Witch's Brew, the rattling bones,
the horseman and all the rest:
yes, a test,
to see what kind of a scardey-cat i might be,
to see how fast i'd run run away
and right up a very tall tree.
then there was that disturbing "tap tap tap" at the door;
EGADS, AT THIS HOUR!
what in the world have they come here for?
unlock i wouldn't, couldn't
and definitely shouldn't,
so all i could say
was, “i gave at the office,
so SCRAM! BEAT IT!! JUST GO AWAY!!!”
how on earth did things get so topsy, so turvy
so absolutely jangled, so unnervey
and crazily swervy,
so chaotic so incontrovertibly wild?
my only guess is that the spirits
are far too easily riled.
i closed my eyes and counted to ten
finding myself wondering just when
all these tricks would turn into treats,
when all that was eerily sour
would turn oh so deliciously sweet.
it seems like days since i've had any sleep,
when i've had the occasion to count those bed leaping sheep
of Ms. Little Bo-Peep.
looking for some peace amidst all the haunting,
but it seems to be so terribly daunting;
doing our best, sure, aren't we all
tho sometimes it feels like i'm trying to dribble
a very square basketball.
ah, but i came up with a plan, sharp fellow that i am,
a brainstorm of a way out of this Halloween jam;
i'd flash the spirits a ten, maybe even a twenty,
maybe they're suckers
and that would be plenty:
but oh, was i ever more naive?
no amount of money was going to get these spirits to leave.
it's so perplexing, unnatural, illogically weird,
a thousand times worse than ironic
just as i feared
(far far worse than any suspiciously unhinged party clown
wearing a wormy old beard).
what i wouldn't give right now to be sawing a log,
lost so innocently in that nocturnal fog
dreaming of warm, bright blue sun sunny skies,
instead here i am stuck in this nightmare
where i can't believe my own eyes;
all the things that are here haunting
my wee little head,
is it that i am so easily led
into the cracks and the corners that fill one with dread?
BUT HANG ON, could that be dawn dawning
just over that hill?
i certainly hope so, i've had my All Hallow's Eve fill!
with a sigh of relief
and some disbelief
i waited patiently for the sun;
enough i say of this, er, um, spirited fun.
at that very moment,
BLESS MY SOUL!
what can that be oozing up out of that hole?
is it crazy Rasputin, slick VP Pence, or maybe Vladimir Putin?
one last ghoul that was not to be denied,
NO! IT'S THAT BLOATED ORANGE HAIRED DEMON,
the drooler of hate, ill-will, greed and lies
rising up from its lair in the festering swamp,
chewing its way through reality,
“CHOMP CHOMP CHOMP”.
i reached for some garlic, a silver bullet
and a wooden stake
hoping i could vanquish it
before it's too late.
one never knows with soul-less monsters such as it,
one never knows if you've managed to do away
with every last little bit.
they have a way of slinking back up
to keep haunting the room,
i guess i'll just have to resort
to getting out the shiny blue broom
to sweep it back under that giant old rock
and chain it on down with a big heavy democratic lock.
as the dawn crept up in a veil of peachy pink,
i was wondering just what i should think;
as i reached out for the meaning of it all
there was a rustling of feathers
just down the hall;
there, in that dank, dreary old room
by the light of the full, October blue moon
came a voice so mysterious, so other-worldly,
not too harsh, not too brawny, not too burly,
almost, i'd say, a whispering swoon,
it drifted my way,
and not a moment too soon:
Quoth The Raven
as it flew like a shadow
straight out the door....
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
All Hallow's Eve 2020
is that really the end,
the tail of the dragon,
the very last stop
on Halloween's jack-o'lantern wagon?
i rather doubt it,
i really must say that i do;
bumps in the night always seem ready and willing
to pop up any time, any place and say
* * *
but that was all last night,
the spooks, specters and fright,
when i was part of the Halloween drama,
the bumps, the shadows, all of the trauma;
but wait, what's that you say?
today is the Day Of The Dead?
well my plan then is to be copping a zillion z's in my bed,
where i'm planning to sleep through it all
(no, please don't bother to call)
in my skeleton pajamas,
yes, that's my day of the dead plan
so help me mama!
r.a. everfright, Oct.2020