Issue Seven – Hallowe’en

Old world end of year
Celtic autumn to winter
Death’s veil moves aside

By DJ Tyrer


Open door, veil too
Unexpected visitors
Dead guests stream inside

By DS Davidson


By David Edwards

ghosts in the library
a dead body in the stacks
children in the lobby
trick-or-treating, seeking
lollipops… candy bars… caramel apple snacks;
masqued as pirate, princess, astronaut,
hobo, spirit, and sprite.
An evening full of merriment
till the end of the night
when another child goes missing.
ghosts in the library
a dead body in the stacks.


Gourd Of The Black Cat
By Frederick J. Mayer

How obscene
darkness will begin:
Under Black Feline
smile phase moon
rolling around are
pumping kin
of gourd with the
sardonic grin.

A Wiccan’s Art
By Donna McCabe

There’s a full moon tonight,
full with frost red rings,
blood on the moon Wiccans say.
Danger in the air,
clouds drift by self satisfied,
the breeze teases the leaves in the trees
into a crazed frenzy of delight.
A special moment in time,
breath-taking beauty.
All hallows eve draws near,
cosmic forces throw open the door
between now and then.
Amber glows of a fire burned low,
eternal fire of life.
Mystic magic, the tides will soon turn,
by order of the moon.
Witches and warlocks have done their work,
spells of love and prosperity for the new year.
Drink the last dregs of the cauldron cup,
remove the sword from the earth,
the miracle of life and it’s survival,
is free from any curse.
The task is now done
treasures of new wisdom unearthed,
new life, new love,
the laws of rebirth.


Seventy-Seven Syllables
By David Edwards

Haunted house on Halloween:
faded paint, broken windows,
the overgrown shrubbery…
invitation or warning?
Dark, dank stairwells missing steps;
fifteen doorways, behind each
an oppressive vacant room…
peeling wallpaper , with breath
speaking in whispers, then screams
“Nothing is what it first seems.”
“Nothing is what it first seems.”


Embracing the Calling
By Sheikha A.

The stones have drunk her
footprints, and in the manner
of a proper uninhibited stupor,
they have smattered errantly
on a clear moonlit path, her red
robe supplies the wind with
buoyancy, floating behind her
like a supine shadow. The smaller
flowers cower in their buds
while the prouder ones stand
chest-front against the distanced
howling of a possible night
watchdog, but Red knows the woods
are an enticement:
the path of deathlessness.
If the desire to live counted as a sin,
she was the Cain of gluttony
for want of immortality. Her basket
of sweet cakes is laid at the centre
of a chalk drawn circle, she holds
a lighted candle to the cumulating
grey clouds, the silence holds its
breath in fear of being heard;
her pink lips tonight shall receive
their first kiss;
she shakes the hood off her head
letting her golden mane shine
brighter than the fireflies, she waits
till the clouds have undressed
the moon, the stars curl up
like truant seasons, she howls
back to the moaning woods.

First published in Fickle Muses



ghosts, goblins, and ghouls
feasting on trick-or-treaters
fairy queens taste best
pirates a pain to swallow
hobo rags hard to digest

By David Edwards


Haunted house horror
No more than Hallowe’en fun
Real monster waiting

By DJ Tyrer

Halloween in Honolulu
By Mark Hudson

Halloween was driving me insane,
so I thought I would get on the plane.
Hawaii was my destination,
for a Halloween vacation.

Halloween in Honolulu
Trick or Treat with Nosferatu
Hula dancers and Necromancers
Hip replacements for aging dancers

Volcano lava from Pele
drove all the tourists away
I was alone with the ghosts
so I went to a pig roast

Hula hula can it be
windblown tales of insanity
Resurrected from the tomb
beckoning to me certain doom

Lava from the depths of hell
I cower inside my hotel
The towels are flying through the air
the bedsheets move but no one’s there

When I returned to my house
I creep in quiet as a mouse
Hoped the ghosts didn’t follow
I had some apple cider to swallow

Spider webs on the ceiling
let me know to do some cleaning
I left behind that mean old Pele
if I can just make it to All-Saint’s Day

this was just one there will be more


Trick or Treat
By Aeronwy Dafies

White-sheeted child on doorstep
Asks the traditional query
Hand over sweets
Glides silently away
Past skeletal trees
Shiver for no good reason
Strangely grateful not to see
Either trick or face beneath sheet