CLII - On the night called Hallowed Eve

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One of many fabulous photos at Dan Felstead's site.


On the night called Hallowed Eve.

At the end of October, late at night,
The spirits of the dead arise in flight.
Howling like banshees under a curse, a curse,
On the night called Hallowed Eve.

Ghosts come out, inviting our stares
As they rattle chains and shimmer on stairs.
No wind has the power to make them disperse, disperse,
On the night called Hallowed Eve.

And the vampires are there, as you would think,
They're flying around in search of a drink.
They've been dead a while and have quite a thirst, a thirst,
On the night called Hallowed Eve.

Like bundles of laundry, they rise from the tombs
And lumber along dodging witches on brooms.
No mistaking these mummies for a wet nurse, wet nurse,
On the night called Hallowed Eve.

They fly on brooms with scungy cats
Dragging behind a trail of black bats
The ones with red eyes are considered the worst, the worst,
On the night called Hallowed Eve.

And then, of course, come the walking dead,
They can walk through walls, or so it is said,
The zombies are just bodies in search of a hearse, a hearse,
On the night called Hallowed Eve.

The night is filled with so much commotion,
Of ghouls and ghosts, of spells and potions.
Inside we're eating food 'til we burst, we burst,
On the night called Hallowed Eve.

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© J Cosmo Newbery
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CLI - Field Report

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One Minute Writer had a topic called "Alien"
"An alien visitor has been watching Earth for one year,
and now must send back a short report to its home planet.
What does the report say?"



Field Report

They lived here incognito
Studying us for a year;
Spies from a distant planet,
Exploring this new frontier.

The time had finally come
To report what they had found.
Was mankind a civilization,
And destined to hang around?

The report was not a long one,
Its conclusions fairly gruesome;
The outlook pessimistic
From this investigating twosome.

The nations are all fractious, it read
The peoples oft at odds;
Strangely, for their evolved state,
They still believe in Gods.

They rape the planet's larder
As if a barrel with no base;
They keep producing people
But are not conserving space.

They cry "it's not my problem"
They spend but no-one saves,
The future, if there is one,
Will be spent in windy caves.

The report was duly sent
On the experiment known as 'man'.
They shrugged and packed their bags,
"Come. Let's scarper while we can."

With a flicker of a whisker,
They twinkled and were not.
And their report just gathers dust
In some inner cosmic spot.

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© J Cosmo Newbery
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CL - Decisions

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I was sent a picture by a friend.
The man obviously has a problem, I decided to help him.
As best I can.


Decisions

When it comes to etiquette
There is one thing unnerving:
That perennial problem
Of what wine to be serving.

Red wine with red meat
And white goes with fish;
Reisling suits a curry
Or a spicy Thai dish.

Port with some stilton,
Perhaps sherry to start
Moscato is now trendy
With a lemony tart.

But a trickier question
For the discerning gourmand
Is what wine to serve
With a well rounded blonde.

And what, for that matter,
Suits a dark brunette meal?
And for the fiery redhead
Is a chilled wine ideal?

There's Champagne, of course,
As a starter, well suited.
But beyond that point
The guide books are muted

If the meat is tender
And it is definitely young,
Perhaps Chardonnay, unwooded,
Will end what's begun?

But what if it's mutton,
And not lamb, as displaying,
Should I serve Merlot
And risk getting a flaying?

Perhaps I should be cautious,
But true to my star,
And just serve them all
With a fine Pinot Noir.

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© J Cosmo Newbery
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