caldrons bubble lots of trouble

“Poetry operates by hints and dark suggestions. It is full of secrets and hidden formulae, like a witch’s brew.”

 ~Anthony Hecht

Academy of American Poets Chancellor (1971-1997)

SOURCE:  https://www.poets.org

Spookiness in poetry .....

Robert Frost

Ghost House

I Dwell in a lonely house I know 

That vanished many a summer ago, 

And left no trace but the cellar walls, 

And a cellar in which the daylight falls, 

And the purple-stemmed wild raspberries grow. 

O'er ruined fences the grape-vines shield 

The woods come back to the mowing field; 

The orchard tree has grown one copse 

Of new wood and old where the woodpecker chops; 

The footpath down to the well is healed. 

I dwell with a strangely aching heart 

In that vanished abode there far apart 

On that disused and forgotten road 

That has no dust-bath now for the toad. 

Night comes; the black bats tumble and dart; 

The whippoorwill is coming to shout 

And hush and cluck and flutter about: 

I hear him begin far enough away 

Full many a time to say his say 

Before he arrives to say it out. 

It is under the small, dim, summer star. 

I know not who these mute folk are 

Who share the unlit place with me-- 

Those stones out under the low-limbed tree 

Doubtless bear names that the mosses mar. 

They are tireless folk, but slow and sad, 

Though two, close-keeping, are lass and lad,-- 

With none among them that ever sings, 

And yet, in view of how many things, 

As sweet companions as might be had.

Edgar Allan Poe

Ulalume [an excerpt]

The skies they were ashen and sober;
The leaves they were crisped and sere—
The leaves they were withering and sere;
It was night in the lonesome October
Of my most immemorial year:
It was hard by the dim lake of Auber,
In the misty mid region of Weir—
It was down by the dank tarn of Auber,
In the ghoul-haunted woodland of Weir ...

Alone 

From childhood's hour I have not been
As others were; I have not seen
As others saw; I could not bring
My passions from a common spring.
From the same source I have not taken
My sorrow; I could not awaken
My heart to joy at the same tone;
And all I loved, I loved alone.
Then—in my childhood, in the dawn
Of a most stormy life—was drawn
From every depth of good and ill
The mystery which binds me still:
From the torrent, or the fountain,
From the red cliff of the mountain,
From the sun that round me rolled
In its autumn tint of gold,
From the lightning in the sky
As it passed me flying by,
From the thunder and the storm,
And the cloud that took the form
(When the rest of Heaven was blue)
Of a demon in my view.

Spirits of the Dead [an excerpt]

“Be silent in that solitude,
Which is not loneliness—for then
The spirits of the dead, who stood
In life before thee, are again
In death around thee, and their will
Shall overshadow thee; be still.”

William Shakespeare


Macbeth, Act IV, Scene I [excerpt]

Three witches, casting a spell ...

Round about the cauldron go;
In the poison’d entrails throw.
Toad, that under cold stone
Days and nights hast thirty one
Swelter’d venom sleeping got,
Boil thou first i’ the charmed pot. 

Double, double toil and trouble;
Fire burn and cauldron bubble. 

Fillet of a fenny snake,
In the cauldron boil and bake;
Eye of newt, and toe of frog,
Wool of bat, and tongue of dog,
Adder’s fork, and blind-worm’s sting,
Lizard’s leg, and howlet’s wing,
For a charm of powerful trouble,
Like a hell-broth boil and bubble. 

Double, double toil and trouble;
Fire burn and cauldron bubble. 

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More worth sharing ......

Pale Though Her Eyes
by Michael R. Burch

Pale though her eyes,
her lips are scarlet
from drinking of blood,
this child, this harlot

born of the night
and her heart, of darkness,
evil incarnate
to dance so reckless,

dreaming of blood,
her fangs—white—baring,
revealing her lust,
and her eyes, pale, staring ...

The Apparition

by John Donne

When by thy scorn, O murd'ress, I am dead,

And that thou thinkst thee free

From all solicitation from me,

Then shall my ghost come to thy bed,

And thee, feign'd vestal, in worse arms shall see :

Then thy sick taper will begin to wink,

And he, whose thou art then, being tired before,

Will, if thou stir, or pinch to wake him, think

Thou call'st for more,

And, in false sleep, will from thee shrink :

And then, poor aspen wretch, neglected thou

Bathed in a cold quicksilver sweat wilt lie,

A verier ghost than I.

What I will say, I will not tell thee now,

Lest that preserve thee ; and since my love is spent,

I'd rather thou shouldst painfully repent,

Than by my threatenings rest still innocent.

SOURCE:  All things that go boo.com / scary poems

Five little pumpkins

by Anonymous

Five little pumpkins sitting on a gate,
The first one said,
"Oh my, it's getting late."
The second one said,
"But we don't care."
The third one said,
"I see witches in the air."
The fourth one said,
"Let's run, and run, and run."
The fifth one said,
"Get ready for some fun."
Then whoosh went the wind,
and out went the lights,
And five little pumpkins rolled out of sight!

SOURCE:  All things that go boo.com / scary poems

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Do you have a favorite poem?  OR, you have written a spooky one?  Let me know if you want to publish it here.

In the meantime, I will scour and search for more great Halloween poetry to share.