Who’s that dancing beneath the moon?
Making it cry and the spirits fly?
Or perhaps it’s sweat? It’s a safe bet.
With the jig they do, it could bleed the moon
Of a few drops that will go kerplunk!
Into a cauldron black filled with witch’s brew.
Knock it back with one big swig
And you’ll be up all night doing the autumn jig!
Join the wicked witches and the ghoulish ghosts
Tonight’s a night where they jive and toast
To a wonderful season and a bountiful harvest
When the farmers are spent because they’re working their hardest.
So let the spirits fly! Let the pumpkins swing!
Let the moon shine bright! Let the season do its thing!
This is a time when everything dies
But we’re too busy dancing, so nobody cries
‘Cause there’s no time for sadness; ain’t no time to lament
We’re dancing a jig until the season is spent!
© Copyright 2018 Jeff Bezaire. All rights reserved.
Comments
I could just picture the whole thing under that moonlit sky, Jeff. A nod to Samhain too! Excellent!
Author
Reply
Thank you, Hully! I hopped on Google and found a slew of pics for inspiration, so for the next while it'll be a lot of Halloween/Samhain poetry. :)
You certainly filled my cup Jeff. In fact it runneth over with images.
Author
Reply
I'm pleased to hear, Mr. Watson! :)
Thank you for reading!
Wow I love all the imagery in this one. You always have the upbeat and celebratory poems come this time of year. It's inspiring. :D
There seems of be an aura of indifference to the winter that's coming, or maybe just cheer that the harvest has come. In days past autumn would've def been the last time to do any kind of celebrations in plenty, so it should be enjoyed to the fullest. It seems this poem captures that vibe well. :D
Author
Reply
Thank you! I was aiming for dark and haunting, but I haven't been able to tap into that energy yet. I'm working on it, though! :)
When you love the autumn season so much, and for farmers whose last season of the harvest is autumn, winter is a memory not thought of until the first snow falls. Autumn is a time for celebration, usually macabre ones, but celebration nonetheless. Winter will come eventually, but it's like the apocalypse: why worry about it now? It's out of our control, so enjoy the moment while it lasts. So I suppose there is an indifference to winter.
Thank you for reading, Keke-bear.
Booksie Popular Content
-
Shelves: 20
-
Shelves: 12
-
Shelves: 22
-
Shelves: 36
-
Shelves: 8
-
Shelves: 36
Other Content by Jeff Bezaire
Short Story / Flash Fiction
Poem / Poetry
Poem / Poetry
hullabaloo22