This time verses suitable for Halloween are offered along with a few quatrains about authors and the writing life.Poets like to walk in old graveyards And I, too, march to that chorus; But I’ll give up that habit forever If one day there I meet Bela or Boris. A vampire who’s lived for two hundred years Still cares for one woman only; He’s had lots more joy than tears, But at class reunions feels a bit lonely. A lucid book should be shot up close for panache; On a more murky work, better try a flash; But as for Joyce’s Wake (I say this with bravura), I think I would use a camera obscura. Good horror stories can cause some people To lose weight and tighten their buckles; The only things these readers take by mouth Are their fingernails and their first knuckles. “Her poems are alive” reads the blurb, Though all seems still on every page; Should I keep her book on a shelf Or put it by itself in a cage? Scary movies put a man in a panic, He would twitch at the softest “Boo!” He wore a sign that simply read, “Starting Friday at a theater near you.” The Plague Dogs is divided into ten fits Which may chase some away who can’t bear it; I think that’s the best thing to do Because if the fits shoo, ware it. I once spent a night in a snake pit, It was as safe as being with nuns; I simply put the creatures to sleep By telling them some of my puns. Sally Bowles was called a free spirit, But there’s no such thing in or out of blouse; Do you know how much they charge these days Just to haunt a single house? The man who went to see a witch Didn’t like a word she said; He finally gave up and said, “Keep a sibyl tongue in your head!” “Try this cream and look like a movie star!” We’ve heard them sing that familiar tune; More likely than not, the star we’d resemble Would be Lon Chaney Jr. on a full moon. When Jekyll disappeared with his pet, Hopes of finding them were slim; To this day they haven’t been found, No one has seen Hyde nor hare of him. I don’t trust my new shower radio Though it’s handy and looks quite gleaming; When I turned it on, the first thing I heard Was the sound of Janet Leigh screaming. If Stephen King opens a diner, Pass it up and don’t linger on; Because inside the hostess will surely ask, “Do you want to sit in breathing or non?” I asked the ghost of the poet What person set him free; The answer came back like a tune: “My Mama,” Donne told me. Authors like to go looking for Dracula And other creatures both old and new; But the latest book may end the trend: In Search of Little Latin Lupe Lu. There’s one question from the fifties That still plagues the human race: What happened to the first eight plans That came from outer space? There are villains and there are crooks, Some of them end up being shot or hanged; Then there are vampires who work as accountants Whom I will trust as I will adders fanged. There are few channel swimmers now, The reason is not hard to see; Anyone going out in the foul water May come back like the Creature in 3-D. It’s tough to follow the changing trends, To keep up with the rads and the groovies; Face-off used to be a hockey term, Now it’s the plot of horror movies. A witch’s potion was losing power And her broom was out of kilter, But soon things were fine again, All she did was change the philter. Some sayings on T-shirts make us laugh, Others bring us to the edge of weeping; Maybe we’ll even see one like this: “Rondo Hatton is alive and creeping.” What’s with the blackened eyes and grubby clothes? It’s enough to fill me with the utmost dread; Since when did it become trendy to look Like extras from Night of the Living Dead? A book that’s been an alternate of two book clubs, That’s enough to rob any author of his vim; It’s like being told by Zsa Zsa Gabor, “You were my first choice after him…and him.” I saw Lon Chaney walking with the Queen, They approached the palace from the north; Her husband made his butler come next Because he knew that kings go fourth. Each time I pass the newsstand I wonder, “Who is this Us they’re talking about?” It’s strange. Why don’t they call the mag Them And malign some big ants for a change? Listen, my children, and you shall hear Things that will make you cry in your beer: Said a DJ after giving one song a spin, “That was the love theme from I Eat Your Skin.” When twin thugs played the Thing, They ran around the set like Rover; To the director a grip complained, “Toughs are Thing all over.” Mom wouldn’t touch our Famous Monsters For a reason any werewolf might fear: “Why do I need to look at those When I’m raising four of them right here?” The stories about mummies and curses are bunk, I plundered a tomb, yet I live to gloat; Later I’ll brag to my new friend Kharis As soon as he takes his hands off my throat.