Catastrophic carrots that will help us see the dark As it swallows us if we should swallow them. Surprisingly accessible in any unkempt park With its toxins and its bloody-mottled stem. As if a mutant celery our negligence has freed, Or some parsley of the never-to-be-sprigged, There’s nothing that’s angelica about this devil’s weed – Best not sup upon what Socrates has swigged.
The water hemlock, or cowbane, is an equally-deadly cousin in North America, but the pine trees with the stupidly-identical name have nothing to do with it. They were just judged at one point to smell the same, and nobody it seems ever slapped them round the face and told them to stop being so damned confusing for no good reason.
December moths are loyal to their name, Defying Autumn’s dying – Hugged in furs, as charcoal as the nights, These moths keep flying – And yet, they earn so little fame, From folklores, who ignore them – However much they circle fairy lights With soft decorum.
They’re on the wing for Halloween, Yet bats have all the glory, And then they’re just too dark to stake a claim For the robin’s story. These spinners of the Winter slip between, Ours fears and holy writ, But touch on neither, failing at the game – They just don’t seem to fit.
All the Summer, lappets gorge on oaks, Unnoticed then as well – Pupating into eggars with the acorns, Till a colder spell. They hatch as the dead are donning cloaks, As if by frost released – Then die at the time of the manger-born, From fasting through the feast.
People are funny with mirrors, We see in them things that were never reflected. We peer into glasses in gloomy old houses, And swear that the ghosts of the vain are detected – Sort of like negative-vampires, Who can only be seen in their opposite form, As a shadow that moves on the edge of our sight When the candlelight blinks in the empty old dorm. We whisper into the speculum, And fancy we glimpse at the face of another From out of the silvery clouds in the tarnish – A movement, a flicker, our killer, our lover. We treat them as if they were watching, To open a portal to trap the unwary. But deep down we know that they only reflect us – Perhaps that’s precisely what makes them so scary…
Do you feel the cold nip ?, Do you feel the dark creep ?, Do you feel your chest grip, And lungs rasp, and heart leap ? Whatever else is in this dark, You think, It’s not alone out here – For it must share this lonely park With both you and your fear. You hear that ? Hark… Don’t blink, Don’t make the blood rush through your ear. Ba-dump, ba-dump, Your throat a lump, Your calm but an veneer. Now all your senses are abuzz, To ev’ry twitch and sigh – You only feel alive because You’re too afraid to die.
Do you bite your numb lips ?, Do you count each heart thump ?, Do your prickled fingertips Clench fast each time your teeth jump ? Whatever else is in your mind, You think, It’s not alone in there – For it must stalk your misaligned And overactive lair. Don’t look behind, Just blink, Before your nerves fly ev’rywhere. Ba-dump, ba-dump, Your tremors pump, Your heart recites a prayer. And yet, be thankful when it does, For this, at least, is real – You only feel afraid because You’re still alive to feel.
The Buddhists believe in the hungry ghosts, Who need to feed – So paper models of modern life are burned, To sate their greed. Good to know that the heavenly hosts Are capitalists, Hording the hell-money they never earned In their undead fists.
Ev’ry cherub has a good side, Has a cute and blond-curled nonesuch, Muted-trumpet, harp-soft-touch. But deep within, they surely hide A grinning, sharp-horned, prong-tailed whiplash, Bass-drum-beating, cymbal crash.
The truth is, in ev’ry Gabriel, A Lucifer is also present – Ready, should things get unpleasant… But likewise, in the darkest Hell, In each Beelzebub in town, A Michael waits to calm things down.
Musical AI version generated by Suno.com – find more of them over here.
The day will come When my breaths are laboured, When I actu’ly hear myself each rasp. Till the lungs strike dumb, And my voice goes wayward, Rattling-out in a final gasp. As if to say “Ah Life, you took my breath away…”
And when I pant, I wolf in oxygen, Corroding me within, And breezing down my three-score-ten. And when I yawn, I practice when I die, By choking with a grin. But better not to stifle such a cry – For sooner to inspire and gulp down life Than just expire in one long sigh.
And the very air that holds my voice, Vibrating through its molecules – The air that lets you hear, And that you have no choice but hear As it jiggles in your ear, It’s very microscopic tools Are burning atoms, weathering away. They’re killing you with ev’ry word I say.
So ev’ry breath is one breath less, And yet how many do I get ? I couldn’t even start to guess, But far-too-lots to be a threat. It’s twenty-thousand breaths-a-day, But who on Earth is keeping score ? I’ve wasted sev’ral just to say I still possess a lifetime’s more.
I’m far too smart to believe in magic, But what the heck have you done to me ? I know what’s what in law and physics, But why can’t my mind just let you be ? I used to scoff at the thought of Hell, Now I’m shaking and sweating under your spell – I’m far too smart to believe in magic, But your bewitching is plain to see.
I feel your beauty cast its glamour, A wave of the hand, and you lead me on. I can’t think straight through all this clamour, I’m a helpless mark for your brazen con. But worst of all, it’s magic by stealth – I’ve set my own spell, and upon myself. I let your beauty cast its glamour And all of my common sense is gone.
One day, I’ll be dead as a parrot, I’ll feed the worms, I’ll buy the farm – With neurons in my brain at peace, As ev’rything I am shall cease. One day – in my lonely garret, Or else within my lovers’ arms – But either way, when all is said, They’ll tuck me in my final bed, One day – Aye, but not this day, For this is the Day of the Dead !
So grab your tridents, grab your horns, Your furry paws and crowns of thorns, Tonight, there’s no-one weeps or mourns, Unless it’s out of fright ! For this is a time to be alive, In overdrive, till our veins run red – There’s just no time to die tonight, There’s a long long way to go before we’re dead. At this time of year, When entropy is near – let’s keep it light, And laugh at our inescapable fate instead.
One day, I’ll be nothing but a past tense – And that fact lurks at the back of my mind. Ev’ry road will lead me to the grave, With no prayer to pray and no soul to save. It all makes simple, terrifying sense – So I’ve learned to leave such thoughts behind. For either way, come joy or dread, They’ll close my eyes and shroud my head. One day – But not now, I say ! For this is the Day of the Dead.
So grab your accents, grab your cloaks, Let’s haunt this technicolour hoax ! We’re just your av’rage mortal folks Who laugh in the face of blight. For this is a time to be alive, Let’s joke and jive wherever we tread – Who cares if we must die some night, Let’s worry about dying once we’re dead. At this time of year, When existential fear is at its height – Let’s laugh in the face of the mirthless void instead.
