(poem) - All Hallows Eve Approaches

My dreams are haunted as of late
I have needs I need to satiate

The thirty first of October comes
Looming across many horizons

The drums of the day, beat within my head
Telling me of who shall return from the dead


To haunt the waking world outside
And who it is with which I will ride

The sands of time fall through the hole
And pile up like dunes in the bowl

Everything around us will eventually turn to dust
Scattered by the wind which forgets our petty lust

Ghosts from the future along with those from the past
Will come on All Hallows Eve to make it our last

But we will dress up as demons and freaks
To scare them away from that which they seek

Ultimate destruction will in no way be theirs
For even the dead have hysterical fears

At the end of the night, as dawn breaks in the East
We raise our glass and prepare for Thanksgiving’s feast

But only if the Great Pumpkin doesn’t arise and devour....
Hopefully Linus van Pelt will keep that covered


So my friends, as I awaken
I can look at these haunted dreams of mine

And realize the greatest truth of all
That Halloween is the greatest holiday of them all

For it’s the only one that we have to struggle to survive
The rest are all gifts, love, and lies

But All Hallows Eve is a test to the living
And makes you appreciate life without the gift giving

Because if you make it to the Day of All Saints
Then you shall have a bucket of Candy and nary a single complaint

--Dan

--Want more Poetry?  Check out my Poetry Collection Page!

(poem) - What is That Smell?

There’s nothing like a smell in the house
One that you just can’t find.
It smells like a giant dead mouse
Or a moose’s putrid behind.

It lingers in every room
No matter how many candles you burn
You try to spray perfume
But your nose does nothing but yearn


For a time when there is no smell
A room that does not make you gag
Damn this place smells like hell
Or a discarded wash rag

We’ve emptied the trash cans
And searched every cranny
We cannot find the deadman
Nor his putrid fanny

But we will keep up the search
For this affront to the nose
But allowing it to continue the stench
Would not be a good way to end the prose

It’s the quest
For the Holy Grail
And I can attest
We shall not fail

Because we are sick and tired
Of this awful reek
We don’t want to be mired
In the smell of something that died last week

Help us
Oh mighty lord
Deliver us
From this smell’s deadly sword


And bring to us
Gentle smells
Of beautiful rose buds
Or other flowers of bright pastels

But until you do
We have the Scentsy burning bright
And we will leave them all on
If we have to, all bloody night....

--Dan

--Want more Poetry?  Check out my Poetry Collection Page!