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2011 Poetry Theme Challenges#20 A Little Superstition |
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Hello Poets; Staying with the supernatural of the last theme challenge, I thought as it is Halloween it would be an ideal opportunity to examine superstitions both spooky and otherwise. What are the superstitions from your childhood that you carry with you now, or local beliefs and traditions unique to where you live.
Jemmy XXXX |
A Little Superstition
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Maryse AchongA ball of fire streaking through the night Halloween trick you may want to believe; But think again as you behold this sight, This is no trick pulled from magician’s sleeve, In fact this might well be the time to leave. The Soucouyant is on her nightly prowl, Listen you might just hear her high pitched howl. Deep in the woods Douens come out to play, Strange little faceless creatures roaming free, They don’t belong to this world, stay away! Small backward feet with heels where toes should be, They call to other children gleefully. Sometimes at night you hear their mournful cry, Shut doors and windows tight danger is nigh. back to list |
Kathy AndersonIn the dark a dance begins Begun at dawn of time, they say, And say again each full moon's wax For wane comes upon the midnight's tax To collect the debt of nights long play. back to list |
Divena CollinsMany years ago when time passed on Within Pagan times of olde superstition A medieval man cut down a field of corn Which rendered it beyond recognition A prolific harvest rewarded his salvation An old superstition, with staunch beliefs Previously planted from a plaited sheaf Gathering corn by the length of his arm To weave and plait an ornamental wreath He sacredly bowed to worship this charm Come next spring he shalt plant on the heath Last years corn dolly seeds spread beneath To ensure success for next years harvest Superstition revived and fertility bless'd.  back to list |
Jem FarmerFrom the dark abyss comes the girl each night, I see her move in shadows of the room, I feel her presence like a shaft of light And a chasm of despair meets with gloom, As a dreadful fear fills my heart with doom, Before I first feel her, icy fingers touch, In the misty smoke of incense and smutch. She speaks of all her unfilled hopes and dreams, This nocturnal girl, deprived of her life, Now exists only in the midnight streams, As her whispered sadness cuts air as a knife, So young she was yet knew the worst of strife, And I do not scream but hold her cold hand Until she returns to the spirit land.  back to list |
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