There was an old saint of October
Who invited Halloween over,
For thirty long days
He heaped highest praise
Trying to win Halloween for October.

But Halloween is not easily won,
It demands a frightening hunt,
So that saint donned a mask
With horn, tusk and a task
To capture that holiday haunt.

He trapped Halloween in a pumpkin
And every year since then someone
Must cut it out
With a curdling shout,
Carving a grumpy, grim or glum grin.

“A cookie jar’s not safe enough
To keep these hungry people out!
We need a smart and clever jar,”
Plum said, with something in her mouth.

Trill pulled on his tongue
Till his thoughts were sprung
And running along beside him

So his half head
Had room instead
For the whole sky and a wide whim

That came from the east
To fill on the feast
His thoughts had won for all

Then sank in the west
Of Trill’s open chest,
His heart gone for one more brawl

With the toes of his feet
Who’d suffer defeat
For where their soul would go

So long as it meant
Wherever Trill went
He went there full and whole.

People light a candle
To find their way in the dark,
To get a handle
On the hidden with a spark.

People light a can’tdle
To hide the world around them,
To focus on the channel
Into their own brain stem.

Can’t is as good as can
Depending where you need to go,
Your mission may be grand
Or only something you need know.

“It’s purplefect!” Loom liked to say
Of the enticing things
Found day-to-day

That might not have been fit for kings
But fit her purplefect array
Like a six fingered glove

On a five fingered hand,
Perfect with an extra bit to love,
Perfect with something unplanned,

Perfect with more in between
That might not be in much demand
But to Loom was purplefectly seen.

A boy sat with a snake
Who wiggled awake
And promised not to bite.

They slithered together
Whatever the weather
Whether day or night.

This snake sat with that boy
Who rattled with joy
At the scaly sight

Of a friend with a fang
Who carefully sang,
“My friend, you’re my kite,

Pulling my eyes
High to the skies
Till I find myself in flight!”

The boy returned
With a grin well earned,
“My friend, you’re too right!

I fly for you
And we’ll win a view
At some new, wonderful height!”

They slithered together,
Two snakes of a feather
From cloud to cloudy delight.

To those on a mission
To make me hear –
I’ll only listen
With my little ears
If you can give
Me more than words,
Some sound that lives
And bucks and blurs
The lines between
What words you say
And what they mean
And what display
Of sparks and song
Can leap so high
Birds sing along
In ragtime sky
That my ears free
Themselves from head
And thought and me
And whatever said
And fly on off
With dusk and leaves
To see what soft
Sounds stars receive.

They called me goody-two-shoes
So now my feet are bare.
They said that I was just too much
So now I’m barely there.
They whined about my steady stare
So now my eyes are closed.
They whinged that I was too alert
So now I mostly doze.
They wondered at my paleness
So I painted myself blue.
I asked them why they said these things
And they said, “Who are you?”

When do you go
To the end of the row
Of stars on Moony Hill?

What could you grow
Worth a spot in a grove
That never knows the chill

Of night ’cause it’s there
By the garden of ‘mares
With dreams in tailing souls

That sip on the air,
Drinking you bare
To kindly make you whole.

A gallimaufry is a jumble,
A bunch, a messy mass
Of this and that all tumbled
In a soul to somehow pass
As a creature, a beast
That’s burdened by itself
As it’s built up piece by piece
From spare parts off any shelf.
One grows hooves around a wheel,
One has gills and wings,
One has no mouth to eat a meal
But still somehow it sings.
The first finds its way to roads,
The second to the clouds,
The third has an expressive nose
And is harmonious as allowed.
Nature used the oddest math
To get these creatures done.
If life can’t find a worn in path
Trust that it will make one.