Thinking of you
In the absence of shoe
And sock.
The clock
Does mock
Me
Not thee.
Yet still I see
You
Without shoe
Or sock
Should I regret
That I met
With you
Without the unlocking
Of shoe
Or stocking?
The ghoul frightened him, he said,
Although she was pretty
If seen
Behind the Halloween
Makeup.
I may try
To be witty
But I can not deny
That she and I
Will die
On local radio today I learned that November 1st is National Author’s Day, https://www.daysoftheyear.com/days/authors-day/. I must confess to not having heard of this celebration until early this morning and being intrigued did a little digging which turned up the above link.
From the above, it appears that Author’s Day is an American celebration (it was certainly started in the USA). However given that it was mentioned on a (UK) local radio station, this celebration would appear to have crossed the Atlantic.
I would be interested to know whether any of my readers has any additional information regarding Author’s Day?
Kevin
There once was a ghastly ghoul
Who went to a Halloween school.
But when he got there
A young lady named Claire
Said, “Halloween is over you fool!”.
When a young lady who’s name is Lou
Lost her party shoe,
‘Twas on the night of Halloween
When, all unseen
I stole that shoe of Lou …
I once met a vampire called Beth
Who half frightened me to death.
A ghoul named Keith
Refused to clean his teeth
So he never got to dance with Beth.
Her name was Lin.
She was petite and slim
With long, black hair.
Just for a dare
I asked her
To dance.
She did sway
In a most peculiar way.
In search of romance
I took a chance
And invited her back
To mine.
We drank wine
As my black
Cat did purr,
But hold on there
I have no cat, either white or black,
And Lin I haven’t seen
Since the night of Halloween …
When a respectable gentleman called White
Paused by a winking red light
A young lady named Hall
Said, “how angels do fall
And the sky it is starry tonight”.
When a young lady who’s name was Lou
Lost her party shoe
A girl called Anne
Lent her a frying pan
Which she wore instead of a shoe.
—
A talented young lady called Rose
Decided a poem to compose.
She wrote it all down
And a jolly old clown
Tattooed it right there on his nose.
—
When a talented young lady called Rose
Decided a poem to compose
A vicar named Night
Smiled with delight
And went in search of his clothes …
When a vampire called Miss White
Visited me at dead of night
And stood by my bed
In her dress blood red
I wondered if she would bite …!
—
When a vampire called Miss White
Visited me at dead of night
I offered her rump steak
But she refused to partake
And flew into the starless night
K Morris - Poet 