Funny Halloween Poems

A collection of funny poems for Halloween by contemporary English poets Patrick Winstanley, Paul Curtis and Max Scratchmann. The English bit is hugely important, as the English don't generally understand or approve of Halloween, so there's a preponderance of poems disparaging the awful, American 'Trick or Treat'.

2016

After a couple fo fallow years, we're back with a small selection of humorous Halloween poems. In the interim, Max has been busy making a name for himself on the performance poetry front, Paul has been writing away but Patrick has been too busy building a house to keep up with maintaining the website.

I Don't Believe In Spooks And Demons

I don't believe in spooks and demons
I think that should be understood
But there are always more trick-or-treaters
Than there are kids in the neighborhood

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Are You Wearing A Frankenstein Outfit?

Are you wearing a Frankenstein outfit?
Well Frankenstein's creation I'd guess
Oh you're not wearing a mask at all
And that's all just anaphylaxis

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If Vampires Can't See Their Own Reflection

If vampires can't see
Their own reflection
In a mirror or anything else
That's shiny

Then the thing I
Have always wondered is
How do they manage
To keep their hair tidy?

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Are You Wearing A Halloween Waistcoat?

Are you wearing a Halloween waistcoat?
Oh I like the way the buttons glow
And the whole thing luminesces
It really is very Edgar Allan Poe

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I Think My Chickens Are Possessed

I think my chickens are possessed
My wife is very much distressed
Their feathers are all dishevelled
And the eggs they lay are devilled

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2013

We've pulled out all the stops this year to produce some new and unusual Halloween poem for your delectation. I've moaned bit in the past that Halloween's a rather limited subject to write about, but set our author's febrile imaginations loose and you'd be amazed what they come up with…

Trick or Treat

There was a knock at my door as I paced the hall floor, and I knew, without looking, who I'd meet,
There'd be goblins and witches and zombies with stitches, and they'd joyfully cry out, Trick or Treat!
They'd expect sugar candy and plums soaked in brandy, and cake that I'd pull from my stash,
Peanuts and sweeties and pumpkin-shaped wheaties, plus a ready supply of hard cash.

And like a Biblical flood, they'd be dripping in blood, and they'd tramp it all into my rug,
And it's safe to surmise, that their Halloween guise, will have run up some change for some mug.
So I yell through my 'box, be gone, you're a pox, I have not got sweets for to give,
But they said, listen, you git, we don't give a shit, get some in if you'd like for to live.

But I didn't feel threatened by these juvenile cretins, and I told them, be off, bug the next street,
But they whispered, no dice, now are you going to play nice, and cough-up our Halloween treat?
I said, enough is enough, I was in a real huff, now bugger off and be gone from my door,
You're not warlocks or witches, just underage bitches, so get lost, you're becoming a bore.

But they hit me and bit me, and pinch├ęd and nipped me, and left me all broken where I lay,
And I could tolerate that scene if it was Halloween, but it wasn't October, it was May.

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Guising

We called it guising in our day, not trick or treat,
And we carved our lanterns from turnips bought from the grocer's van,
And everyone dressed up, our costumes made from old cowboy suits
And a paper turban left over from last Christmas.

Then it was out into the sulphurous night,
Frost so bitter you could taste it,
Lopsided lanterns flickering as we went from door to door,
Chanting our litany, Wantin' ony guisers?
Plodding into fire-lit living rooms where the TV would be turned down for our party pieces,
The older boy who played the accordion,
Catholic girls who did Irish dancing,
Then me, falling back on reciting The Sair Fing-er,
Eager hands outstretched for worn copper pennies and thruppenny bits,
Sometimes a shilling if old Mr Young was in his cups
And in beneficent mood.

And, years later, I go back to that damp old house,
And answer a knock at the kitchen door,
The night air mingling with that familair smell of gas and old cooking.
"Trick or treat!" they say now, our ghosts long departed
Along with the smog and cinder pavements.
"Throw the little buggers out,"
My mother's voice echoes from the warmth of the living room,
As I hand out sweets.
"Do any of you know The Sair Fing-er?" I ask as they depart,
But the insolent blare of party tooters is my only reply.

What the hell,
Times change.

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Turning the Tables

The prowling youth
With fangs and cape
From trick or treat
There's no escape

Unless you make
Your own trick treats
And hand out bags
Of Ex-lax sweets.

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We Went To A Fancy Dress Party

We went to a fancy dress party
With a Hogwarts theme
There was me and my girlfriend
And her twin sister Irene

However after a drink or two
Alcohol caused a bit of a hitch
As with twin witches I couldn't
Tell which witch was which

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2012

You might think that we'd mined every possible seam of Halloween humour, or for those who like their metaphors mixed, shafted it from every possible direction. Yet once again, the Peculiar Poetry team have produced a few new gems to delight you. In addition, there's a whole new section of dirty Halloween poems which in previous years would have been destined for the slag heap.

Spirituous

Pursuing phantoms
Came in the night

From hells realm
Making me take flight

I was so mortally scared
I needed a Bracer

And I quickly followed it
With a Chaser

Though spirituous liquors’
Have their merits

They were no defence
Against evil spirits

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Casper the Farting Ghost

This is the story of Casper Levenes,
A boy quite addicted to Heinz Spicy Beanz,
They boiled in his gut, fermented in his tum,
Then as a foul vapour they exited his bum.

His brothers said, Casper, that stench is quite vile,
Then they clubbed him with chair legs and said with great bile,
You're the smelliest human who's walked on this earth,
And really you should have been put down at birth.

As he fell to the ground he let out his last fart,
I'll never forget, in my death, your great part,
And when the church clock strikes midnight each night,
The brothers do quiver and shiver with fright.

For a stench that's quite eerie and reeks of the pit,
Pervades all their bedrooms and lounges and shit,
And they say to each other, that stink is the most,
It's our dead brother Casper, the flatulent ghost.

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It Was Halloween And

It was Halloween and
We were on our way to a party
They were both dressed as vampires
And I was Professor Moriarty

We stopped at the supermarket
But didn’t have any cash
So we thought we’d steal some booze
Then make a dash

The bottles we wanted
Were on the very top of the racks
Which we couldn’t reach
So I had to stand on their backs

Once I had the bottles
Dracula hid them under his cape
And without drawing attention
We casually made our escape

But we were caught on CCTV
A very clear image by all accounts
I was charged with shoplifting
On two counts

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2011

Well, 2011 has been a riot. Or rather, a series of riots, punctuated by global economic meltdown and the growing realisation that England has a dark underclass. Against a backdrop of burning cities, violence and looting, the prospect of trick or treating hoodies roaming the streets at Halloween sounds less than reassuring. So we've kept this year's funny Halloween poems deliberately light, fluffy and non-frightening.

Terror Threat

I wear a funny wig
My sister has a mask
We are well disguised
To go about our task

To have fun with our friends
Collecting Candy to eat
As we terrorise the neighbours
As we go “trick or treat”

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Ghosts And Ghouls Come Out

On Halloween, all hallows eve
Ghosts and ghouls come out
But not to do their evil work
They just want to stroll about

They can mix with the living
At this one time of the year
And not be discovered
Or cause screams of fear

They just mingle with fleshies
All through Halloween night
Enjoying the company
But are gone by first light

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The Ghost of Long Tom Mouse

I woke up to a funny noise, it went scrape, scrapity, scrape,
It did not sound like flesh or foul, like halibut or hake,
It was the ghost of Long Tom Mouse, a phantom rodent dark,
Who’s haunted every bungalow, from here to Duthie Park.

Some say he met a grisly end at the paws of an old tom cat,
While others say a carving knife sliced him here upon this mat,
But never mind, we have no time for hairy, scary, talks,
His spirit now it is abroad, he creeps, he creaks, he walks!

And on a silver moonlight night when owls do hoot and cry,
Please turn your face o’er to the wall as old Long Tom goes by,
Be sure to leave some cheese and curds, some token of respect,
Or else he’ll haunt your skirting boards when e’re you least suspect!

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Witchnapped

On her broomstick she swoops
And into her arms she scoops
A poor unsuspecting young man
Because as a witch she can
And carries him off through the night
Then uses him for her delight
In the light of the cauldrons fire
She indulges her every desire

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Dream Witch

There is a witch of whom I’m fond
Who could carry me off beyond
And we’d do magic with my wand

We would quaff her special brew
Fly on a broomstick made for two
And do things naughty witches do

But alas our special tandem flight
Full of wicked and delicious delight
Is but a dream I dream each night

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2010

Another year, another clutch of funny Halloween poems, including our very first dirty Halloween poem. If you think Halloween is all about blood sucking, think again. And yes, I've included Max's poem Monsters' Ball in both funny and scary Halloween poetry collections as it's a faux-frightening Halloween poem.

Dressing Down for Halloween

At Halloween
Does the goth teen
Wear a paisley shirt
Or a floral skirt
So as not to conform
To the accepted norm?

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23, Those Little Darlings

Those little darlings
With their angelic eyes
Look harmless enough
But beneath their disguise

They’re nothing but thugs
With pure evil intent
These spawn of Satan
Are not heaven sent

These foul blackguards
Going about their sport
They say “Trick or treat”
As they happily extort

They squirt fake blood
On my front door
They egg my new car
I can’t take any more

I sit counting the minutes
Am I the only one?
Who just can’t wait
Till Halloween is done

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Monsters' Ball

Get your tickets for the monsters ball,
Come in your hundreds, come one, come all,
Join the Frankenstein Monster and the Man in the Moon,
And that awful creature from the Black Lagoon.

There’s Dracula’s daughter with her bloated tummy,
The son of Kong, and, of course, his mummy,
The Invisible Man and the Deadly Creature,
And Robbie the Robot in his own B-feature

The curséd Werewolf and the angry Godzilla,
But not the Phantom, he’s retired to a villa,
With Doctor Cyclops and the Shrinking Man,
Who’re sleeping rough in a caravan.

So buy your ticket and book your place,
Don’t wash your body or shave your face,
When the world stands still and world’s collide,
Come to the party with Frankenstein’s bride.

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You’re Never Too Old for Halloween

It was a really spooky night
And I saw a very scary sight
We had been out “trick or treating”
And got home and started freaking
My parents were dressed as witches
Both were without their breeches
And my mum, not a natural blonde
Was playing with my father's wand

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2009

It's more of the same this year, with a selection of poems about Halloween which mix humour and misanthropy, together with a strange new Halloween-Christmas hybrid poem.

The Costumed Army

It’s here again
That day we all dread
When once more
We fear the rise of the dead

But fear not
Our salvation is at hand
We shall be saved
By an unlikely Band

So be assured
When the time is near
Ghosts and ghouls
Will all quake in fear

When night falls
All the undead will cower
Trembling in awe
Come the witching hour

As armed with sacks
Our great costumed army
Will roam the streets
To drive the evil spirits barmy

So to protect yourselves
Keep a proper payment handy
When the costumed army
Come knocking for some candy

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Which?

Two old Women
In long black cloaks
With point hats
And two black cats

'We're Imelda
And Griselda'
Said one. But which
Should I call witch...

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Christmas Herald

The Christmas lights are up
The shops play Christmas tunes
The Santas are out in force
In their red and white platoons
Christmas goodies are on display
The best selections ever seen
Which sends the message out
That it’s nearly Halloween

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2008

There are a couple of new Paul Curtis' funny Halloween poems to enjoy this year and, as one might expect, the poems take the English view of Halloween and the shenanigans that surround it. I'm sometimes asked why Peculiar Poetry don't have more Halloween Poems, or Bar Mitzvah Poems, or such like. In the case of Halloween, there is limit as to the number of funny poems one can write about what is, after all, a fairly narrow subject. We're averaging 2.5 new halloween poems a year, which seems quite reasonable...

The Night of the Living Dead

On all hallows eve when the sun has set
The ghosts and ghouls come out to play
With dripping fangs and bloody claws
They prowl the street in search of prey
And when to my door the fiends appear
I tell the “Trick or Treaters” to go away

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Perhaps when I say that Paul has an English view of Halloween, what I really mean is misanthropy in the mould of Victor Meldrew.

Trick or Treat

When the little boys and girls
Knock at my door for candy
I must give them what they want
“Or else” is their modus operandi
So with a false smile I comply
But under my breath I pray
That by the time Christmas comes
They’ll all have tooth decay

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To conclude, Patrick's first, and very likely last, attempt at a funny Halloween poem.

Flash Gordon

It's Halloween
I take to the street
Long black cape
Down to my feet

I knock on doors
Shouting 'Trick or Treat'
Throw back my cape
To reveal my meat

...and two veg

After Halloween I'll revert
To being a normal pervert

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Who knows, there may be a plethora of new poems for Halloween next year, or more likely a mad last minute scramble to write a few....

2007

The offerings from 2007, archived for posterity and suitable for reheating in a microwave oven...

Oh No, Not Halloween Again

It’s that time of year again, Halloween
Oh how I hate it and its practitioners
All year round we tell our children
“Don’t accept sweets from strangers”
We instill in them from an early age
“Don’t ever approach or talk to strangers”
Then at Halloween we send them out
To ask for sweets at the doors of strangers

When children dressed as monsters
Terrorize the neighbourhood
Begging from door to door
Demanding sweets and treats
For not vandalizing your property
The older children or should I say yobs
Wear masks and disguise them selves
Clearly training for a life of crime
A yob in a funny outfit is still a yob

It’s that time of year again
The night of night to ignore the doorbell
Its not twee or cute it’s just annoying
I try to be polite when I shoo them from my door
But I know I will get up next morning
With fake blood smeared on the front door
Eggs smashed on my windscreen
And rubbish strewn across my garden
God I hate Halloween and its practitioners

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All Hallows Eve

I hide behind the sofa quivering in fear
Now the witching hour is near
The curtains are drawn tight
And I’ve turned off the lights
The TV volume is way down low
I sit and cower it its feeble glow
Then comes the knock upon the door
And I curl up quivering on the floor
My heart is pounding my breath is shallow
My mouth is dry it’s hard to swallow
On all hallows eve I live in mortal dread
But not of monsters or the un-dead
The fear that turns my heart to stone
Is Trick or Treaters knowing I’m home

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... but with a 'best before' date of 31st October 2007