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Literature Text
Ask me about Hallowe'en
And I have to think back.
Turnips for jack,
Apples to bob.
Dressed up in black
To play in the dark.
Turnips for jack,
Apples to bob.
Father-made besoms:
Small witches take flight.
Turnips for jack,
Apples to bob.
Fly through the night.
In bed by nine.
Turnips for jack,
Apples to bob.
Quicksilver spirits
Run to saints and all souls.
Turnips for jack,
Apples to bob.
November gold,
October bronze.
Turnips for jack,
Apples to bob.
Ask me about Hallowe'en
And I have to look back.
Turnips for jack,
Apples to bob.
And I have to think back.
Turnips for jack,
Apples to bob.
Dressed up in black
To play in the dark.
Turnips for jack,
Apples to bob.
Father-made besoms:
Small witches take flight.
Turnips for jack,
Apples to bob.
Fly through the night.
In bed by nine.
Turnips for jack,
Apples to bob.
Quicksilver spirits
Run to saints and all souls.
Turnips for jack,
Apples to bob.
November gold,
October bronze.
Turnips for jack,
Apples to bob.
Ask me about Hallowe'en
And I have to look back.
Turnips for jack,
Apples to bob.
Literature
Escaping with style
There were no blaring sirens or flashing lights as I dashed down the corridors, but there might as well have been. Data streaming across one side of my goggles told me that I had successfully triggered the alarm when I took the hard drive stack. I knew I had four and a half minutes until the security forces arrived. When I reached the security door I was already sending signals to my devices connected into the system. A crude video relay looped images of the empty corridor into the security camera feeds. The data mining box cut the stream of keyword-laden signals with which it had been scattering the building system’s attention. Grinning at my own ingenuity, I hit the unlock button. How many other thieves would have got in by manipulating the mood of a building’s computer systems? But then, how many other thieves understood the emergent emotional states of high end electronics? This was why I'd been hired. The door failed to hiss open. Frowning, I slapped the button again. Still
Literature
cladach eachtrach
Our shadows were children
the horizon a nightlight,
my skin Vodka white
in the womb
of the Atlantic,
bioluminescence
like sparks
conducting electricity
strip wire symphony,
naked limbs paired and
easily divided
in the remainder
wading
between constants;
prenatal combination,
the tide rolling in contractions,
and like ships to harbor
it bore us to shore.
Literature
coda
under tangerine skies,
you pulse and I
fall short
seeking diamonds
from the whites in your eyes
and finding sacred
how your back talks to me.
you drop your bits of nowhere
for me to scavenge,
never rash enough to hunt
but I think I'm done
whetting the leftovers
of your summer -
I think
my leaves look fine
without your color.
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Perhaps a little too sweet and sentimental ^^”
Written for
’s contest: “Ask Me About Halloween” [link] .
My poem came first ^^ : [link] .
Er, in case you’re puzzled about the turnip reference: when I was a child, lanterns were made out of swedes. (It was traditional.) Ever hollowed out a swede? It takes commitment.
Written for
’s contest: “Ask Me About Halloween” [link] .My poem came first ^^ : [link] .
Er, in case you’re puzzled about the turnip reference: when I was a child, lanterns were made out of swedes. (It was traditional.) Ever hollowed out a swede? It takes commitment.
© 2012 - 2024 SCFrankles
Comments11
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Now this is one I'd love to hear read out loud. It has the perfect rhythm, and I simply adore the repetition (not to mention the wordplay. Are you even capable of not being clever?). I actually knew about the turnips thing. It's a bit late, but I may just have to attempt to hollow out a swede now. 