Feathered memories
Spook: The Album
Gathered whispers, like translucent wisps
of cloth; swirl by playing with your hairs.
Trampled splinters, like crying leaves
in the winter wind; tackle your nerves
as the lightning flares.
Powdered bumps, like angry puffs of wind
at your feet; snatch at your ankles
as you try to move away.
Lashing branches, like hungry old bones;
claw at your clothes as a black cat is astray.
Bats screeching, like a vampire
returning for it's prey; flutter
by menacing the back of your neck.
Whaling moans, like the throes of
Davy Jones men; dance circles around
you on the sinking deck.
Villainous laughter, like the cackles of a witch;
Let's you know it's all on the skids
Money jingled; it's Halloween!
"Time to play it for the kids".
This is the story of a mom obsessed with Halloween,
and her pursuit of the perfect soundtrack.
Copyright 2014 By Robert Johnson
of cloth; swirl by playing with your hairs.
Trampled splinters, like crying leaves
in the winter wind; tackle your nerves
as the lightning flares.
Powdered bumps, like angry puffs of wind
at your feet; snatch at your ankles
as you try to move away.
Lashing branches, like hungry old bones;
claw at your clothes as a black cat is astray.
Bats screeching, like a vampire
returning for it's prey; flutter
by menacing the back of your neck.
Whaling moans, like the throes of
Davy Jones men; dance circles around
you on the sinking deck.
Villainous laughter, like the cackles of a witch;
Let's you know it's all on the skids
Money jingled; it's Halloween!
"Time to play it for the kids".
This is the story of a mom obsessed with Halloween,
and her pursuit of the perfect soundtrack.
Copyright 2014 By Robert Johnson
Comment On This Poem ---
Spook: The Album
Spook: The Album
