A Collection of Halloween Poetry
by Steve Argyle
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)
A suave, handsome Frenchman named Lou,
Drew women in droves, it is true.
While appearing well-bred,
He was really well-fed,
For the man was, in fact, loup garou.
-Steve Argyle, 10/23/03
In Savannah a mischievous haint
Thought frightening tourists was quaint.
"This lil' Suhthun belle
Is a nahtmare from Hell.
A Miss Goody Two-shoes Ah ain't!"
- Steve Argyle, 9/15/02
A saucy young ghoul from West End
Got her demonic beau to unbend.
When he gave her a ring,
She started to sing
That "Demons are a ghoul's best friend."
-Steve Argyle, 9/4/02
A loose woman of old Tucumcari
Knew techniques that were quite salutary.
Oops! I’ve got the wrong scene!
These are for Halloween,
And should not be salacious, but scary.
The essence of Samhain remains
Where old Herne with his antlers still reigns,
Where unhallowed desires
Are raised ‘round the bone fires
And wild dancing unravels life’s skeins.
A fastidious, mannerly ghost
Mourned the flop of his elegant toast,
“The ladies all swoon
When I enter the room!
That’s not covered in Emily Post!”
A saucy and sultry young witch
Was perplexed as she stirred bubbling pitch.
"When I tie up my victim,
Should I really restrict him,
Or just leash him with a loose timber hitch?"
A count with a vampiric vice
Thought each victim's ignorance nice.
"They're misled about biters
By actors and writers
Like Stoker, Lugosi, and Rice."
The gnoles prowl on Halloween night.
They hunker just out of your sight.
They hunger for flesh
Hung to age in the mesh
Of the nets that will bind you up tight.
A young ghoul faring forth on her own
Was assaulted, while gnawing a bone,
By six thugs in chapeaux.
Which just goes to show
That young ghouls should not travel alone.
A dissolute funeral director
Lost his ghoul when he tried to inject her.
“Hands off my cadaver!”
He never would have her,
She swore, ‘til he’d learnt to respect her!
Said an old zombie named Ichabod,
Tossing out of his grave a large clod,
“I’m so tired of creeping!
I’d rather be sleeping!”
Then he lay down and pulled up the sod.
Moth-eaten old Mr. Lorch
Put out all lights but the torch.
He loathed trick-or-treaters
And young candy eaters,
So he'd set a mantrap on his porch.
A trio of writers, plus one,
Embarked on some Halloween fun.
They struggled with verse
That only got worse.
And, boy, are they glad it’s all done!
[In October 2000 Steve Argyle invited me to swap a few limericks in the 'spirit' of the season. We had so much fun exchanging nonsense emails over the course of the next few weeks that we tried a repeat in haiku at Valentine's day, and had another go at limericks during Halloween 2001. Here are a few of Steve's best Halloween efforts.]