Scary Halloween Poems
Witches and warlocks, ghosts and ghouls, monsters and vampires inhabit our collection of scary Halloween poems by contemporary English poets Paul Curtis and Max Scratchmann.
This is a collection of halloween poems for teenagers and adults. Some of the Halloween poems are seriously scary, spectacularly spooky or spectrally sinister. Kids or sensitive readers should visit instead the collection of spooky Halloween poems for kids which contains some equally scary Halloween poems, but my conscience will at least be clear and the dictates of the nanny state satisfied.
Scary Halloween Poems 2011
More spooky, sinister and distinctly scary poems for Halloween 2011 from the hands of usual suspects, Paul Curtis and Max Scratchmann. When it comes to Halloween poems, Paul is firmly in the pagan corner and Max in the mysterious, impenetrable and borderline nonsense corner. Let battle commence.
Demons Walk The Earth
Demons walk the earth
On All Hallows Eve
And will snatch away
Your soul at their ease
When The Wiccans Wail
It is All Hallows Eve
The night of all souls
Samhain Day
When the wiccans wail
At the witching hour
When the Demons walk
Souls will be taken
In the black of night
Pumpkin Men
The pumpkin man strode through the night,
His eyes were fire, he looked a fright,
His ragged legs of inky black,
His scarecrow hat, his smile so slack,
His crooked grin, his flaming eyes,
His tattered coat and striding thighs.
And as wan moon began to shine,
Dead things began to creep and dine,
And witches’ cats and leaping lizards,
Sucked fireflies down their grizzled gizzards,
And graves yawned forth, spewed up their dead,
Some missing flesh, some missing heads,
And goblins gathered on garden walls,
While ghosts were seen in moonlit halls,
And children huddled in their beds,
With blankets clutched above their heads,
While pumpkin men patrolled the night,
And drew a veil ‘twixt dark and light,
And babes slept soundly till the dawn,
With a pumpkin man on their front lawn.
It Happens On The Night Of Halloween
It happens on the night
Of Halloween
When the spirits of creatures
Can pass between
And some spooky spooks
Might well be seen.
Some ghouls are good
And others are mean
Some ghosts have substance
And visibly preen
While others glow
Luminescently green
But watch out for witches
That arrive on the scene
For in the blink of an eye
They’ll whip out your spleen
In The Blackness Of The Night
In the blackness of the night
Performing their satanic rite
Satan’s followers incite
To every Demons delight
Boondocks
Oh gather round my children, beware the cloak of night,
And quiver while I tell to you, an awful tale of fright,
For they gather in the gutters, they assemble on the stairs,
The Boondocks they are coming, and they always hunt in pairs.
They are stropping up their razors and sharpening their knives,
They’ve already killed their children and they’re going to kill their wives,
They will spot your open window and sniff-out your unlocked door,
And they’ll fillet you with their carving knives, it really will be sore.
You’ll be lying in your bed at night, when suddenly you’ll hear sighs,
And in the velvet blackness, you’ll see their beady eyes,
They live amongst the Cajuns, in the creepy, sleepy swamp,
For Boondocks cannot function, if they have not dark and damp.
They just hate bright sunny colours, and skies distinctly blue,
They live for night and thunder, when they can come for you.
So take care to court the sunshine, pursue the light of day,
And Boondocks will not get you, oh no, not never, nay!
A Vampire's Tale
When the sun has long set
At dead of night
I rise from my bed
And go out for a bite
Soon I am flying
On my vampire quest
Its fresh young necks
That I like the best
Though I am in no way
A connoisseur
And I would not turn down
Something more mature
Soon I find a subject
Ripe for the picking
And when I’ve supped
My lips I’m licking
Then I return fulfilled
To my dark domain
And sleep the clock around
Until I can sup again
The Ballad of Mr Schlepington Face Whiskers
He lives in that old mansion on the corner of the street,
In the darkest of the shadows and his name we dare not speak,
His windows are all curtained in the blackest black of crepe,
And they that all his suits are cut from undertaker’s drape.
He is never seen in sunlight and only seldom by the moon,
He has shuttered up his windows and he hates the nights of June,
He a modern day Rip Van Winkle, a somnambulant Fred Astair,
And he sleeps on ostrich pillows in the blackness of his lair.
No children dare to play there and the birds don’t even sing,
He has shot the Jolly Postman and of sleepers he is king,
He is seen on stormy midnights on the rooftops with his kites,
And he sleeps the hours of daylight to facilitate his nights.
So do not wake the sleeper, walk by on tippy-toes,
For if he finds you he will kill you, no matter where you goes.
The Little Bewitcher
She is a little bewitcher
The little servant of Wicca
Who has ensnared my heart
Which I opposed from the start
I was happy being single
But she has made my senses tingle
And she used her Wiccan ways
Against all resistance raised
It is not some fanciful notion
To blame an exotic potion
Or the casting of a spell
To bewitch me quite so well
Now she bends me too her will
And gently holds me still
Then this little Wiccan miss
Captures my soul with her kiss
Scary Halloween Poems 2010
2010 marks the first appearance on Peculiar Poetry of scary Halloween poems, including some gruesome and ghoulish Halloween poems by Paul Curtis and a funny-scary hybrid poem our new guest poet, Max Scratchmann.
Jack O’Lantern
Jack O’Lantern’s light
Gazing out into the night
In the window there
Staring out a scary stare
With your unsympathetic grin
And glowing orange skin
Are you there to keep the spirits out?
With your jagged leering mouth
Or is your gnarled and toothless grin
There to invite the evil in?
Tis on the Night of Halloween
Tis on the night of Halloween
When ghosts and ghouls and things obscene
Arrive when our worlds come together unseen
And the souls and demons can pass between
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.
Season of Witch
When the werewolf’s howl
And vampires take to the wing
When the witches start to brew
And you hear the banshees sing
When the ghouls are on the move
And the ghosts can all be seen
Then that’s the time you know
That it’s the night of Halloween
Lamia
Beautiful Lamia
Queen of Libya
Lover of Zeus
Rival of Hera
Beautiful Lamia
Became a mother
Loved by Zeus
Despised by Hera
Wife of Zeus
The jealous Hera
Murdered the children
Of Beautiful Lamia
Driven insane by grief
Beautiful Lamia
Became an ugly
Child devourer
Hera became
A vengeful bitch
Lamia became
A blood sucking witch
