My Poem “October”

Everything changes depending on the season,
but there is no season like Autumn
when the changes that are happening
all around and at every second of every day
can be witnessed, experienced, and felt –
like that moment of wonder that you feel
when you fall under the ethereal spell
of nature in all its glory…
leaves change colour…
animals and people make plans
and prepare for Winter…
the clouds in the sky come together…
raindrops fall and bring alive
the aroma of petrichor to fill the air
and invigorate our sense of smell…
pumpkins are being harvested
and carved in time for Halloween…
those who adore and are inspired
by the infinite gifts of beauty
of the great outdoors go out for long walks…
those who are not afraid of the dark
sit around campfires toasting smores,
they tell ghost stories, and they sit down
in front of their screens to watch scary movies –
and their are some people at this time of the year
who indulge themselves in simply
looking out of the window, as one by one
the leaves of the trees begin to fall.

Time goes backwards…
people look forwards…
rainy days return…
the fire within hearts and minds burns…
life breathes in and breathes out…
light feels more precious than it ever does
at any other time of the year,
because the days feel short.

This time is thunderous… this time is wondrous…
this time is stupendous… this time is rapturous…
this time is joyous – so if you can, wherever you are,
between the hours of dawn and sunset,
and between the time of moonshine
when creatures from another world walk the Earth,
open your eyes, unlock all of your senses,
don’t be afraid, and wholeheartedly allow yourself
to be intoxicated and overwhelmed
by the feast to life and nature
that unveils itself during the month of October.

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My Poem “The Pumpkin”

There is something wonderful
about watching children
and an entire family gather around
and participate in the carving
of a pumpkin for Halloween…
Everybody has an opinion,
everybody has an idea
about what image should be carved
into the skin of a ripe pumpkin
after its contents have been removed
and it now resembles an orange shell…
It seems as if it is only at this time of the year
when you actually get to see a pumpkin –
and they in themselves are what symbolize
Halloween as the season it has for longest time
been remembered for as being…
Halloween, like most public holidays,
is about family, about tradition, and
about enjoying the fruits of the world
that surrounds us…
Ghost stories, scary movies,
rides at fairgrounds that take us on
a rollercoaster of emotions is
what reminds people that they
are alive and kicking…
Halloween is the season that we are in,
and what better way to celebrate
this season of the human spirit
than to gather around and carve a pumpkin.

MyPoem-ThePumpkin

My short-story/poem ‘The Trick-or-Treaters’

the-trick-or-treaters
Just before the sun went down
on October 31st,
on the evening of Halloween,
two brothers, Isaac and Reece,
and their little-sister, Hailie,
left their house to go walking up their street
to go knocking on the doors of their neighbours
and to say in one voice the phrase of the hour:
“trick-or treat”.
Every year, on Halloween, these three siblings
loved getting dressed up from head-to-toe
in costumes of their own choosing –
and this year, like every year,
Hailie was a “ghost”, Reece was a “Vampire”,
and Isaac was a “werewolf”,
and every year when they got home from “trick-or-treating”
they always returned with more candy
than they knew what to do with…
going door-to-door with one-another
was a tradition that these three loved reenacting –
come clouds and rain, or under clear sky and moon-shine;
however, they only went up the street and back again,
and since they lived in a cul-de-sac
the sooner that their trick-or-treating began
in no time at all it soon came to a sad end for another year.

Every year it was all treats and no tricks-
but, since this year there was a new neighbour
that had moved into their road,
Reece in particular hoped that maybe this year
they might return home with more
than just a bag full of sweets.

The new neighbours lived in the house
at the end of the road, up a driveway,
where a lady used to live
who had more cats than could ever be counted –
but who had sadly passed-away;
Reece, Isaac, and Hailie, did not know
the late-lady well, only her name:
“Mrs. Leech” – however, word got around
and it was thought that now
her sister had taken on her house
following Mrs. Leech’s passing,
and her name was apparently: “Ms. Beetle” –
“like the car, and not the British band”,
the mailman had recently pointed out.

It was Halloween again,
and Hailie, Reece, and Isaac
had knocked on every door of their street – but one –
and all three were carrying a considerable
amount of treats to return home with;
however, they had not yet visited Ms. Beetle’s house,
which they had left until last on purpose.

The walk up the driveway to Ms. Beetle’s house
at the bottom of the street was done slowly –
and as soon as the trio of siblings walked up
onto the wooden porch of Ms. Beetle’s house,
and they knocked on the front-door,
neither one of them knew what to expect –
however, they certainly didn’t expect
the door to open seemingly on its own,
and they most certainly didn’t expect to see
Ms. Beetle dressed all in black
mixing away at a giant cauldron-shaped
black container with bubbles and gases
jetting up from the green mixture…
and they most certainly, definitely,
did not expect Ms. Beetle to look
at all three of them and say:
“so, what will it be? Trick or treat?”
Ms. Beetle then began to cackle at the top of her lungs –
and that was when all three of the kids screamed,
then turned around, and jumped off
of Ms. Beetle’s porch, and they ran
all the way up the street and all the way home,
leaving behind all their treats
that they had collected from the night.

The next day, their was a knock at the door
of Hailie, Reece, and Isaac’s house –
and when their Mom answered the door
Ms. Beetle was standing there on the other side
and smiling from ear-to-ear
and holding out in front of her
the three bags of candy that the kids had left behind.
Ms. Beetle apologized for the night before,
and she gave the kids their bags of candy
and she told them that she was pleased to meet them,
and that this year she gave them both a trick and a treat –
but she also said that there was no telling
what she was going to do next year,
and the only way they will know
would be if they were brave enough
to come knocking on her door again,
and all ask her: “trick-or-treat”?

My Poem ‘The Ghost Train’

Ever wonder how ghosts get around?
Ever wonder how ghosts travel from town to town,
when they are not hanging around in cemeteries
or scaring people as they haunt a particular house?
Some ghost are haunt-o-holics,
some ghosts just can’t move on –
but there are some ghosts
who like to get out-and-about
and who like to go to other places – hey, why not?
It’s not as if ghosts need to wait in-line or buy a ticket?
While some ghosts are essentially agoraphobic, you could say,
and don’t like going anywhere
and would much rather just stay at home –
there are some ghosts, however,
who don’t want to rest in peace for too long
before wanting to make a break for it
and see the rest of the world.

There is a “train” for the dearly-departed
who choose to stay on Earth
when they are given their choice
to either pass-on or stay right where they are;
there is a train that is the fastest in the universe
that runs 24-hours a day, all-year-round,
to every corner of the planet,
that is the quietest form of transport ever envisioned –
this train is so underground
it doesn’t even make a sound.

Ghosts have a lot of time on their hands;
ghosts still like doing what they loved
to do when they were alive –
ghost may be dead,
but that doesn’t mean
they can’t make plans.
Ghosts know more than anyone
how short life for the living really is…
some people die and become ghosts
and instantly get bitten by the “travel-bug”
and in no time at all become tourist-spirits.

Getting on the “Ghost Train”
is no problem for the no-longer-living;
if you know how to board the “Ghost Train”
then you can get on whenever and wherever you are –
all the world is the “Ghost Train’s” station;
there is no place that the “Ghost Train” will not stop,
and there is no limit to the number of passengers
it is capable of transporting –
to those do not know about the “Ghost Train”
at first it can seem like an absolute sensation.

There are many things that the living cannot explain;
there is knowledge and there are answers to questions
that those who are still breathing
are not able to understand
because they have too much
clogging-up their already over-active brains.

There is something that travels farther than a plane,
along rails that could be thought of
as if they were some kind of speed-of-thought fast-lane…
there is a way to get from anywhere to anywhere on Earth
for ghosts, and for all intents and purposes
it is aptly called by those who ride it:
“The Ghost Train”.

My Poem ‘When the sun goes down’

When the sun goes down
on Halloween night,
when the werewolves howl
and the vampire take a bite,
when people walk the streets
dressed as clowns,
when trick or treats
are solicited and given out,
when ghosts haunt and the dead walk,
when costumed children
can be seen going door-to-door,
when the sky looks darker
than you ever thought it could,
when it is normal to dress
and express yourself
in a way that you may not
feel comfortable doing
at any other time of the year –
Halloween can be incredibly fun,
as well as the most perfect time
to face your inner-most fears.

When the sun goes down
and the moon is full,
when the stars are bright,
the universe that we are a part of
has never looked more beautiful,
when you see the spectacular
ribbons of energy of the Northern Lights
illuminate the sky,
the sight that you see takes your breath away –
there is no more magical and spellbinding
event to see that you will remember
for the rest of your life.

When the sun goes down
and another world awakens,
secret doors open wide
that lead to other dimensions…
the invisible becomes visible,
the imaginary becomes real,
the mysterious becomes audible,
the seemingly intangible
you can reach out and feel.

When the sun goes down
we are different people,
our faces are the same
as they are in the hours of daylight –
but more often than not
we show a part of ourselves
that no one else sees…
and at times of the year,
like Halloween,
when imagination knows no bounds,
you can always be sure
to see things that you have never seen –
especially when the sun goes down.

My Poem ‘All Halloween’

Almost everyone loves the season of Halloween;
all through October to November,
everywhere you look Pumpkins, skeletons,
and images of apparitions
adorn the fronts of houses on every street;
children get excited to dress up
and go trick-or-treating,
adults of all ages watch scary movies on TV
about ghosts, demons, Vampires, werewolves,
and stories about places and creatures
to be feared as if they were real,
because they almost defy imagining.

I do not think
that there is another country on Earth
who celebrates Halloween
better than North America;
I don’t think that there are no other people
other than Americans
who understand that Halloween
is meant to be a season of celebration;
I do not think
that there is anywhere else in the world,
besides perhaps Transylvania,
where stories of the world beyond this one
inspire daydreams around a campfire
that set alight the feverish
dark creations of the human imagination.

The dead are remembered;
the saints are worshiped;
the living are cherished;
the costumes that people choose
to dress up in are always wonderfully
and darkly embellished;
the night of Halloween
is anticipated by some
with as much joy as Christmas;
some people give generously
to their young sweet-toothed
trick-or-treaters that come a-calling,
while some people just do not
understand the reason for all the fuss.

For some people,
Halloween is the favourite time of the year;
for some people,
every day is Halloween –
and to them it is not just once a year;
for some people,
Halloween feels like reality is reflecting
their inner-most thoughts and dreams;
for some people,
enjoying tales of witches, spectres,
magic, and the emotions and the feelings
that bubble-up to the surface,
that make the hairs on the back of your neck stand on-end,
and the stories that make you jump with fright,
is what Halloween is all about.

My Poem ‘Boo’

There once was a dog called ‘Boo’,
whose fur was as black as night
and as white as that of snow,
who when they heard the call of their name
they would run to you
and then follow you there afterwards
wherever you would go.

Boo loved to jump;
Boo loved to run;
Boo loved to bark, but never bite;
Boo loved to wag their tail
to show that they were happy and having fun.
Boo was smart;
Boo loved learning and performing new tricks;
if Boo saw another dog
they were off like a shot;
Boo’s favourite thing in the entire world
was their well-chewed green tennis-ball,
and Boo also loved giving “face-sugars”
to their owners’ mouths
with wet tongue licks.

One day, Boo saw that the front-door
of his home was slightly ajar
and that the light from outside
was shining on the floor –
Boo loved being outside
and Boo loved rolling around
on the front garden’s green lawn –
so Boo decided to take this golden opportunity
to discover what they could see, hear,
smell, and taste outside,
and embrace their gifted chance.
Boo opened the front-door more with their nose
just enough for them to fit through;
Boo jumped out into the light of the day
on to the garden path,
and then Boo saw that the gate of the garden
that lead to the road was open…
Boo saw no danger…
Boo wanted nothing more than to have fun…
Boo ran to the gate and jumped out into the road,
and then…

All dogs can go to heaven;
all animals can find peace when they pass on –
but, sometimes, the bond that an animal has
with their owner is so strong,
and they are so much a part of a family
that they love and who loves them,
that they are given a choice,
just as I believe we are all given
when it is our time:
to remain here on Earth
and continue to be near and dear
to those who bless us
with the name that we are given.
Boo saw the light,
but Boo chose to run back
into the arms of their master;
Boo’s owners cried many tears
when they discovered that Boo had left them –
however they knew that Boo
was still with them some-how,
and they also knew that the memory
of what they meant to Boo
and what Boo meant to them
was all that mattered.

Boo lived on;
Boo still loved to run and jump,
and sit comfortably in their owners’ lap;
Boo still enjoyed laying down in the grass
and sun-bathing on a sunny afternoon;
Boo still felt an unbreakable bond of love;
Boo still came running when they heard
the sound of the mail coming through the letter-box.
Although they could no longer be seen,
although their bark was now slightly more muted
than it used to be,
whenever they heard their name
there came a-running the dog that was,
the dog that is,
and the dog that will always be,
‘Boo’.

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