Darkness creeps
Fear seeps
Human sleeps
Spirit sneaks.
Graves reopen
Dead awoken
Tombs are broken
Terror unspoken.
Ghosts do ride
Far and wide
Those who died
Will not hide.
Stay in bed
Shun the dead
This night of dread
Till dark has fled.
If you liked my poems, this one comes from the book, From July to December. One Poem a Day, Book 2. You can buy it by clicking on the book cover in the sidebar.
Don’t go near the graveyard, darling.
Samhain is tonight.
Don’t go near the graveyard, darling.
The dead will walk this night.
Keep your candle burning, darling.
Keep it glowing bright.
Keep your candle burning darling.
Be sure it gives you light.
The bonfires have been lit, darling.
To fill the dark with light.
The bonfires have been lit, darling.
Their flames reach such a height.
Put your home fire out, darling.
Be sure to do it right.
Put your home fire out, darling.
From bonfires we’ll re-light.
Put food by the door, darling.
Leave it in plain sight.
Put food by the door, darling,
For our dead to have a bite.
Do not be afraid, darling.
They see that we’re alright.
Do not be afraid, darling.
No harm from them tonight.
But evil spirits come, darling.
We must put them to flight.
But evil spirits come, darling.
Them we must try to fight.
Go and watch the bonfires, darling.
Stand in their bright light.
Go and watch the bonfires, darling
To keep us safe this night.
This is another poem from Miscellaneous Thoughts. The book contains poems of a variety of kinds and of different themes. Click on the image in the sidebar to go to your favourite online store.
The moon has hidden her face tonight
Turned away from the Earth.
The clouds are scurrying away in fright
From what the night may give birth,
For tonight the veil is thin.
The wind is blowing the leaves around.
They hide in crannies and nooks.
Cowering, shivering, hope not to be found
By phantoms, ghosts and spooks,
For tonight the veil may tear.
Build a bonfire, create some light.
The spirits are afraid.
They like the shadows, shun what’s bright
And lurk within the shade
For tonight they cross the veil.
Ghouls and spectres, wraiths and shades
Return to Earth tonight.
We’re filled with dread as daylight fades.
The smallest sound will give us fright
For tonight the veil has gone.
If you like my poems, please comment in the comments box. This and the other poems can be found in my poetry book, Miscellaneous Thoughts. You can buy it by clicking on the highlighted text or the book cover in the sidebar.
There were several festivals that were held by the ancient pagan Celts, one of which was Samhain (pronounced Sowain). In order to wean them away from their pagan worship, Pope Gregory III, in the 8th Century, established November 1st, which had been the pagan New Year, as All Saints’ Day, and November 2nd as All Souls’ Day (all those Christians who had died unknown).
Thus there was a link to Samhain because it was thought by the pagan people that the dead could return to their old homes to visit their descendants. Sometimes an extra place was set at the table and food left for them.
They also believed that devils, demons and the like could also come, and so they lit bonfires to scare them away. (UK residents note that we have a remnant of those bonfires on November 5th.)
This poem references the thought that our dead loved ones can visit us on this night.
This poem refers to my father who died when I was just three years old.
I Died.
I didn’t want to go.
I left my wife and daughter so
I cried.
I thought
I could no longer see
All their future without me.
I fought.
I found
That each All Hallows Eve,
I could return—I need not grieve.
Not bound.
I come
To them each Hallowe’en.
They do not know. I am not seen.
I’m dumb.
They live
And I surround them both
With all my love. I am not loath
To give.
Here ends my tale.
I will be filled with endless glee
When they come to dwell with me
Beyond the veil.
As it’s Halloween week, I thought I’d post a few of my Halloween poems. I’m going to post one each day until Halloween itself.
The wind it blows cold.
Like ice down my back.
I try to be bold,
But courage I lack.
In the haunted house.
It seemed such a lark
When we set off tonight.
But now it’s gone dark
And we shiver with fright
In the haunted house.
Jane said. ‘We’ll have fun
On Hallowe’en night.’
But when slow footsteps come
She screams out in fright
In the haunted house.
‘Let’s take candles,’ said Pete.
‘More authentic for light.
And something to eat
If we’re staying all night
In the haunted house.’
Jack thinks it’s a game
Till the candles blow out.
Not one single flame.
He gave a loud shout
In the haunted house.
The temperature sinks.
‘That means ghosts are here,’
Said Pete, who still thinks
There’s nothing to fear
In the haunted house.
The door starts to creak.
It opens so slow.
Our knees have gone weak.
I wish we could go
From the haunted house.
But nothing is there
As we huddle in fear.
Not one of us dare
To get up and peer
In the haunted house.
All night there are groans.
We hear footsteps, we swear,
And the rattle of bones.
Something is there
In the haunted house.
We laugh at our fear
As we make our way home.
In daylight it’s clear
No spirits do roam
In the haunted house.
The noises we heard?
Just the sounds of a house
Cooling down, and a bird
Not one single ghost
In the haunted house.
Do you celebrate Halloween? How do you celebrate?
This is from the second book in my 2 book series of poems, ‘One Poem a Day.’ The first one is called ‘From January to June’ and the second ‘From July to December.
This poem is from Book 2 and is today’s poem.
Image by V.M.Sang and Bing AI
December 16th.
As it gets nearer to Christmas, Christmas trees are going up everywhere. Yes, I know some have been up since November! Here’s a poem about one.
The Littlest Christmas Tree.
The other trees looked oh, so tall
To him, who was so very small.
And now it is the time of year
When everyone is filled with cheer.
Some men came for the tallest tree.
They took him with them, full of glee.
He was going into town.
In Market Square he’d wear a crown.
The littlest tree watched on as folk
Bought others. He was full of hope
That soon he would be picked to go
To a home to put on a show.
But people passed him by and said,
“That one’s too small. That one instead.”
His branches drooped. He felt so sad,
Until a man came, with a lad.
Most other trees had long been sold.
The little tree stood in the cold.
“Look, there’s a small one,” said the lad
As he turned towards his dad.
“It will just fit in our hall.
We can’t have one that is too tall.”
And so they came with spade and dug
Around his roots, all in the mud.
The littlest tree went home with them.
The lights and baubles gleamed like a gem.
He was so happy in that home
With all the love around him shown.
But Christmas passes soon away.
Then there came that dreaded day.
They took away the lights and balls.
“What happens now?” was all his thoughts.
He saw the tall trees passing by
On lorries, going off to die.
Their needles withering and brown
On their proud branches, drooping down.
Fear now filled the littlest tree.
“Is that what’s going to happen to me?”
But then the Dad came with a spade.
“I’ll not throw that for which we’ve paid.”
He dug a deep hole for the roots
And tamped it down with his big boots.
“We’ll let him grow, and then next year
We’ll bring him in again. Don’t fear.
And so the littlest tree was glad
That he’d been bought by this kind dad.
For now he has nothing to fear.
He’s decorated every year.
If you enjoyed this poem, and would like to read more, you can buy from the online store of your choice by clicking the cover below or in the side bar.
The books are available as ebook, hard back or paperback.
Here is the blurb for book 1
Take a lyrical journey through the first half of the year with V.M. Sang’s FROM JANUARY TO JUNE.
This anthology captures the essence of everyday life, nature, and the world around us through the versatile medium of poetry. From haiku to narrative poems, and the humor found in limericks, From January To June is a diverse collection of poetry.
A calendar in creativity, a diary in verse; this collection is the perfect companion for daily reflection and inspiration, providing a poem for each day that resonates with the diverse experiences of life.
And the blurb for book 2
The second book of poetry in V.M. Sang’s One Poem A Day Series takes us through summer to midwinter.
Each day there is a poem to read. These poems are often related to the season, for example, Harvest, or the first flight by the Montgolfier brothers, and of course, Christmas.
The poems are varied in type and length. There are haiku, haibun and tanka, limericks, sonnets, odes and narrative poems among the collection. Some poems are comments on serious subjects, while others are amusing and entertaining.
Many of the poems in this collection are in the traditional vein, so if you enjoy this type of poetry, this book is for you.
Image by ApplesPC from Pixabay
As it’s Halloween today, I thought I’d write a little poem to celebrate it. We don’t do as much for Halloween in the U.K. as the people of the US do, but it’s beginning to creep in here. This year I’ve noticed a few people have decorated their houses.
Halloween
Witches gather their broomsticks
Putting on pointy hats.
Devils creep out from hell
As spiders build their webs.
Ghosts walk the streets
And skeletons leave their graves
Jack O’Lanterns grin
With fiery eyes that glow
A cold wind blows the leaves
As we shiver in our homes.
The darkness seems to creep
Beneath the gap below the door.
Ghostly sounds are heard.
And the doorbell rings
We huddle together in fear.
What horrors await outside?
We creep towards the door
And open it with care.
The ghosts and skeletons jump
Towards us with a screech.
The witches cackle loudly,
Jack O’Lantern held up high.
Then come the words we know
Image by Nisse Andersson from Pixabay
This is a new poem, but if you enjoyed it and would like to read more. simply click on the image in the side bar.
Currently, Next Chapter, my publisher, has discounts for people who buy 2 or more books in a series from Google Play Store
No coupon code is needed for these discounts: all customers who find Next Chapter books in the Google Play Store are able to use these discounts (as long as they buy 2 or more books in any one series at the same time).
Here’s a link to my One Poem a Day series if you are interested.
I know I said I was taking a break until after New Year,but yesterday I got to thinking of Christmas when I was a child, and how it differed from now. I can’t leave it until New Year as Christmas is over then, so decided to write it now.
I was three years old. I woke on Christmas Day excited to see what Father Christmas had brought me. My tummy felt churned up. Had he been? Had I been a good enough girl to receive presents.
Then I saw him. He was wrapped in red cellophane and peeked over the edge of the pillowcase left for Santa to fill.
Teddy.
I jumped out of bed and rushed to tear open the cellophane and release him. My wonderful teddy bear. I still have him. He sits on a set of drawers in my bedroom. He now has no eyes, the moths got his paws and he’s lost his growl, but I still love him.
I can’t remember what other presents I got, but I know one would have been a book from my Mum’s friend, Auntie Catherine. She wasn’t a real aunt, but we called all family friends Auntie and Uncle. Auntie Catherine was always good for a book to read.
We caught a bus to the local town. Not everyone had cars in those days and we had to rely on public transport. The buses were every fifteen minutes past our house and the journey took around a half hour. Once at the bus terminus we walked to Grandma’s house. I confess, I don’t remember catching the bus to Grandma’s. But I don’t remember getting there any other way. There wouldn’t have been a full bus service, though.
The first thing we did was to go and inspect the Christmas Tree that Grandma had in the hall. I shivered as we entered. There was no heating there.
The tree stood tall and beautiful. Grandma had gone into a little room off her bedroom and got it out. She had the same tree for as many years as I can remember, and I loved helping to decorate it. The same baubles came out every year. I can still remember some of them, especially a bird with a tail made of some kind of fibres. The baubles, or shiny balls as we called them, we’re made of glass and had to be handled carefully. No lights, though. They weren’t common then. Maybe they weren’t available.
We had a goose for many years that Grandma cooked in the small kitchen she called the scullery. Vegetables were cooked, potatoes roasted and stuffing made. All in this tiny space.
My mum had made Christmas puddings. She always made them a year in advance so they could mature, and there was homemade mincemeat, too, stuffed into mince pies. Nothing shop bought. Of course, there were limits to what people could buy at that time. In the early 50s there was still rationing from WW2, but I don’t remember being short of anything. But I suppose many memories have blurred together in my mind.
Grandad sat in his chair in the corner of the room where everything happened. (Confusingly, Grandma called it the kitchen!) He smoked his pipe sitting by the open fire. This was the only fire at the moment. Later, just before dinner–at midday–one was lit in the front room, commonly known as The Room.
This room was only used on special occasions. Then the aunts and uncles arrived and the table was opened up and set. We all ate a good meal, but didn’t stuff ourselves. The goose was perfectly cooked, and even the sprouts tasted good. Vegetables were seasonal. Sprouts and carrots I think were the most commonly eaten. Supermarkets and goods shipped from around the world didn’t exist.
After eating and clearing up we repaired to The Room. Here we played games. When my little sister and cousins came on the scene, it was tradition for us to go around the family shaking hands and singing ‘We Wish You a Merry Christmas.’ Before they were born I did it all by myself.
One game we played was Feather Football. We divided into teams and a large sheet was stretched between four people. A feather from a pillow was placed in the centre. The object was to blow it off the sheet at the opponents’ end. We also played charades, hunt the thimble and other such games.
One time I remember being blindfolded and told to stand on a board. Two uncles lifted the board.I felt my head hit something. “Ah, they’ve lifted me up to the ceiling,” I thought.“Jump off,” said one of my uncles.
“What?” I thought. “I’m up high.” But I jumped nevertheless.
Imagine my surprise when I landed immediately. The board had only been lifted a few inches. What I thought was the ceiling was a book.
Then came the singing. We were a musical family. My youngest aunt, who was a music teacher, played carols and we all joined in, singing in harmony, of course. Then everyone did their ‘party piece’.
We had fun. No TV or radio. No video games. Just everyone joining in.
I have no memory of getting home in those early days. I don’t suppose buses would be running, and Grandma didn’t have room for us to stay. Not when I was three as her two youngest children were still at home.
I hope you enjoyed this little glimpse of Christmas long ago. (Yes, it was long ago, wasn’t it. Historical to some of you.)
Please leave any comments in the comments box. I enjoy the connection we have.
Have a very Merry Christmas and an excellent New Year.
In July, I went with my husband son and partner to the Lake District for a week. I promised some pictures, so here they are at last.
We were very lucky with the weather. the Lake District is notorious for being wet. Not really surprising. Where else do all those lakes come from?
A tarn is a small lake high in the mountains.
This little town sprang to fame some years ago when a flood swept away the bridge over the river Derwent.
The statue is of the 6th Earl of Mayo, who was MP for Cockermouth from 1857 to 1867.
Windermere is the largest lake in the Lake District.
Fell Foot is the grounds of what used to be a Victorian mansion. This is an arch built like a castle which, I think, let to the boat house.
There are facilities for walking, swimming, paddle boarding, kayaking and other water sports.
It was a bit of a grey day, but you can still make out the mountains at the north
The River Leven just after it leaves Windermere. As you can see, it started to rain.
The view over Derwent Water and Keswick from Cat Bells.
This is looking across the river estuary to Millom. As you can see it was a very wet day. We got soaked. It was a Nature Reserve, but even Nature didn’t venture out.
The Lake District is one of England’s most beautiful parts. If you get the chance, you should visit.
Have you been? Let us know in the comments.
If you would like to receive an exclusive, free short story by me, called The Haunted Table, simply click the link. This will take you to the page where you can download it.
Maria and Tom have bought an antique table for the old cottage they have bought. When they hear strange noises in the night that sound like crying, they worry their house is haunted, but the sounds seem to come from the table.
They set about trying to find what is causing the disturbances. The answer is stranger than either of them had thought.
(Clicking the link will add your email address to my email list, but don’t worry, you can unsubscribe immediately if you wish. Nor will you get any spam. I only send out an email each quarter, or if I have any exciting news–like a new release.)
I am going on holiday at the weekend, and so there won’t be a post next week.
I hope you all won’t be too disappointed about that! 🙂
I will be returning home on the 15th, but as it’s rather close to Tuesday, and I’m bound to have stuff to do when I get back, I’ll probably take a couple of weeks off.
Have a good time while I’m away.
In the meantime, you can join my mailing list and get yourself a free short story by me.
If you would like to receive an exclusive, free short story by me, called The Haunted Table, simply click the link. This will take you to the page where you can download it.
Maria and Tom have bought an antique table for the old cottage they have bought. When they hear strange noises in the night that sound like crying, they worry their house is haunted, but the sounds seem to come from the table.
They set about trying to find what is causing the disturbances. The answer is stranger than either of them had thought.
(Clicking the link will add your email address to my email list, but don’t worry, you can unsubscribe immediately if you wish. Nor will you get any spam. I only send out an email each quarter, or if I have any exciting news–like a new release.)
Dragons Rule OK. V.M.Sang (author) 