When night descends upon the land
And dresses Halloween in black,
A row of silent pumpkins stand
On front porch stairways, back-to-back,
With ancient faces carved from slabs of time.
From out the dark, their faces glow
Like demons from some warlock's spell,
They light the night for well they know
The secrets dead men never tell
When Hell's bells toll their long forgotten chime.
Tonight the veil twixt life and death
Is thinner than a baby's breath,
Owls chant their haunting shibboleth
And ghosts are on the prowl;
The black cats yowl and twitch their tails,
The stray dogs howl, the banshee wails,
The darkness of the night prevails
While jack-o'-lanterns scowl.
But look beyond their crooked grin
To see the fire that burns within
Behind their masks of pumpkin skin
Lie thoughts they can't disguise;
And years from now when I am dead
The myriad words I've left unsaid
On Hallows Eve can still be read
Deep in my jack-o'-lantern eyes.
The Night
"Do not go gentle into that good night…"
-- Dylan Thomas
When I, at length, confront that fearsome night
That waits us all when days draw to a close,
I shall not seek, nor go into, the light
That those who've gazed into its source suppose
The path and passage to some other clime.
When I, too soon, take to my final bed
To gather every moment that has passed,
I shall not wonder where the years have fled
Nor why my mayfly dreams were doomed to last
No longer than love's "Once upon a time…"
No, I shall pierce the darkness with my stare
Defiant as a dying candle's flame,
But in my heart I'll know no one is there
Nor any here to call upon my name.
Michael Pendragon's work has appeared in The Horror Zine, Terror Tales, Evernight, Masque Noir, Tales of the Grotesque & Arabesque, etc. From 1995-2005, he published the horror zine Penny Dreadful: Tales & Poems of Fantastic Terror. Presently, Michael edits/publishes "A Year of Sundays," a monthly ezine and annual print anthology. He is currently nominated for the Rhysling award.
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