A Collection of Halloween Poetry
by Dale Neibaur
An acquisitive trollop named Claire
Trolled for lusty young men at the fair.
But she fell in a swoon,
At the rise of the moon,
For the "wolf" she'd picked up was a "were-"!
Said sweet Clair, "If you mean to impress
Then quit slobbering, sir, on my dress!
This relationship bites
And a girl has her rights.
Keep your paws to yourself. You're a mess!"
Said the old-fashioned werewolf to Clair,
"Now, dear, this is really not fair.
You're a cold dominatrix
Like that dame in 'The Matrix'.
You at least could let go of my hair."
Said Clair to the wolfman contrite,
"Your bark is much worse than your bite."
Now he grovels and begs
With his tail 'tween his legs,
And slinks off to howl in the night.
-Steve Argyle (1st verse 10/23; 3rd & 4th verse 10/31/03), Dale Neibaur (2nd verse 10/24/03)
On the Porch
Big Jack's grin was alarming, I guess,
For poor Jackie's insides were a mess.
Though the flame they lit bright
Lasted only that night
Their grand fling was a smashing success!
-Dale Neibaur, 10/31/02 (Inspired by Thane Perkins)
Mountain windfrost burns
And kindles flame leaf to leaf;
Summer's funeral pyre.
-Dale Neibaur, 9/25/02
Salomon Island Barbeque
Now it's Nelly's turn for cooking, and it's rude;
Her behavior is quite shocking, nearly lewd!
For she shakes and pats and tweaks
At our honored guest's fat cheeks
And it's just not right to flirt so with your food!
-Dale Neibaur, 9/20/02
Island Loving
Oh the magic in her fingers wove a spell
And her nibbles felt delicious as you fell
But a little pile of bones
On a circle of hot stones
Will be all of you that's left to tell your tale.
-Dale Neibaur, 9/20/02
In the Graveyard
Monster-masking dark
Half-heard cryptic noise
Shadows' shadows
And the town drunk's headstone askew.
Oh, Grandma,
How can you rest
Here?
-Dale Neibaur, 9/19/02 (a 1977 piece recycled)
If while writing a limerick frightful
You hear noises that don't sound delightful
Grinding bumps and high squeaks
Muffled clanks and long shrieks
Don't hunt ghouls—It's your joints acting spiteful!
There's a monster in my closet, yes there must be
But his fangs are loose and blunted, and he's dusty
I don't mind the drool he leaves
On my shirt collars and sleeves
But my clothes hangers are all getting rusty!
At the dark moon sweet Moll rides her broom
Sans clothes in the deep midnight gloom
It's a strange thing to do
But dear Molly's just two
And she always stays in the bathroom!
"Tis the demmed undertakers I blame,"
Sulked the corpse of a bloated grand dame.
"Oh, my funeral was fine,
And my headstone's divine.
But the idiots misspelled my name!"
At a crash site a good Sam turned green
Severed toes everywhere could be seen
He pitched in with a will
And he dialed until
Ten toe trucks had arrived at the scene!
Said a sleek twitching witchie named Mabel
To the laddie who'd come to lay cable,
"Though my morning's been hell
Please step in for a spell
I'll bewitch you as soon as I'm able!"
When ghosties and ghoulies all teem
On All-Hallows eve Gramps will beam
For each tot that stops
A sweet treat he plops --
A large scoop of chocolate ice cream!
When All Hallows dawn blushes red
Hell's ghastly crew grumbles to bed.
Though saints may rejoice
We sinners, by choice
Would much rather sleep like the dead!
[In October 2000 Steve invited me to swap a few limericks as a Halloween treat. It had been many years since I'd tried my hand at any kind of verse. But I couldn't resist the invitation. I kicked my middle-aged muse smartly in his disgustingly soft paunch, and he grumbled and stirred enough to open one bloodshot eye and spit at me. Harold never was much of a morning person. I pushed and rolled him as vigorously as I know how, but he steadfastly ignored me. So for the first few attempts I decided to fall back on an old trick. I described my surroundings and pretended it was poetry. Eventually Harold awoke enough to sneer at me and add his unique blend of humor to the mix. By the end of the season we'd reconciled enough to dance a few steps on the autumn wind and sail a kite on memory's breezes.
But he still doesn't do mornings.]