On Hallow’s Eve – a spooky poem for Hallowe’en

On Hallow’s Eve the wind is still
The fog hangs low; an icy chill
Unease is floating in the mist
Whilst Satan’s child unrolls their list
The ghouls emerge from muddy tombs
And ghosts return, to haunt, in rooms
The headless man, the murdered child
The werewolf howl, the virgin, defiled
A ghoulish stench is in the air
Whilst kids knock on doors without a care
“Trick or treat” they screech with glee
Expecting sweet confectionary
Pumpkins carved, traditional fare
Costume persona, worn for a dare
Whilst undead drag their severed limbs
And in the churchyard, chanting hymns
A troubled priest who died too soon
The mist is creeping round the tombs
And now the midnight hour strikes
A skeleton crew drift by, on bikes
A spectre in a spinning scene
Emits a chilling, bloody scream
Ectoplasm floats in swirling curl
Around the grave of a forgotten girl
Spiders spin a wicked web
A troubled maiden carries her head
Severed by the guillotine blade
In century’s past, where memory fades
All wickedness, here in one place
Presenting evil in the human race
Reminder of the plight of man
In only the way that Hallowe’en can
Then comes the dawning of a new day
To chase the howling spirits away
So ends the unholy cacophony
When spells are cast, round a crooked tree
A witches brew to stop the hosts
And laid to rest, the ghoulish ghosts
Then, All Saints Day is welcomed in
And incantations, dispel the sin
So peace is restored for another year
Til Hallow’s Eve brings a fresh bout of fear

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It’s THAT time of year again… The Apprentices – a poem

The Apprentices

They’re players, who don’t know the rules of the game,
Nefarious networkers gathering names,
Quantity not quality is their will
Watch them accumulate; they’ll never have their fill
Playing them off against one another
Duplicity and treachery like no other
Devious deeds by wicked ways
All served with a smile at the end of the day
As they stick that knife right in your back
They’re imagining ways they can get you the sack
In the conference suite they’re preparing to fudge,
The boss takes his place, getting ready to judge
The arguments start, accusations fly
Some of the players are stifling a cry
The boss leans and points to tell them they failed
They lost the deal, unaccomplished the sale
So now’s the time for recriminations
To save their souls in front of a nation
Lord Sugar points and shouts their fate
Another task looms to claim its bait