'Twas All Hallows Eve

By Thomas James Martin
Published Suite101 - October 30, 2002

Part the First: Introduction

I discovered this poem in a haunted house in my part of town.
My ghoulfriend liked its silly rhymes and lack of renown;
She admired it so much, she started to rhyme without reason
So realizing the true nature of the Halloween season.


She loved it so much that she shucked her gown,
And danced quite naked on a moonlit down,
Screeching and yowling like the banshee she was
Howling the words 'til the cops came fas-t.

Cuffing us and throwing us in the city jail;
Wondering if we would ever make bail,
Gave us lots of time to shape shift this verse,
Though God only knows how we could get it any worse.

Part the Second: Twas All Hallows Eve. . .


Twas the night of All Hallow's and all through the room
Not a creature was stirring not even a broom,
The apples were floating in a deep cauldron pot
And without the sorry revelers were turning to rot;

The little ones were'nt nestled all snug in their beds,
Whilst visions of sugar goblins danced in their heads;
And Queenie with her boas and me in Versace threads,
Had just settled down to dine on the dead.

When up in the attic there rose such a clatter,
I sprang from the table to see what was the matter;
Up the stairs I flew like a flash
Shooshing Elvira 'way from her mash;

Saw the moon on the plates of my best dragon brood
Snarling and feasting over some fast-flowing blood
When, what to my hooded eyes should appear
But a large, hooded coach and eight wolves a-howling

Followed in reverence by Nine Kings a-groveling
And a partridge in a pear tree deliciously hanging;
(. . .Oops, dreadfully sorry, wrong schtick);
I heard rattling chains then someone get sick;

I roared out so loud that spiders sprang for corners,
Then what should I see but Drac and his mourners,
Cavorting and singing in the silver moonlight,
Dark shadows lurking, children of the night!

"Now Basher! Now, Necromancer! and Vixen!
On, Vomit! On Cuspid! On, Condor and Bludgeon!
To the top of the porch! To the top of the wall,
Now tear away! Tear away, tear away all!"

As dry bones before the vile Witches do fly,
When they meet an obstacle, such as why
On earth the coursers to the house top they flew,
Maddened with bad poetry and and smelly body parts too.

And then, in a wrinkling, I heard in the raw
The scraping and scratching of each hairy paw;
As drew back my hand with a snarling frown
Into the chimney Old Dracula slid down.

He was dressed all in black from his foot to his head,
And his cape swirled around showing glimpses of red,
His minions before him carried bags of naughty boys,
Demanding more candy and making dreadful noise.

His eyes -- how they stared! his face so pale!
His cheeks were like paper, his nose like a rail!
His droll little mouth was twisted upside down,
In danger of setting in a permanent frown

I guess I embarrassed him when I pointed to his teeth,
Where a smear of blood circled like a spinach wreath;
He had a mean little face and hardly any belly
And as he smiled, I shook like a bowlful of jelly.

He was a lean and mean, a right scary old vamp
Didn't mean to laugh when I saw him, but doubled up in a cramp;
Then a wink of his yellow eye and a glimpse of his head
Soon gave me to know I'd soon be among the living but dead.

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And took all my blood, then turned me into a jerk,
Just like him, and taking his finger aside picked his nose,
And giving a nod for me to follow, up the chimney we rose;

He sprang to his coach, to his team gave a whistle,
And away we all flew like a guided missile.
But I heard him exclaim, 'ere he drove into the night,
"HAPPY HALLOWEEN TO ALL, AND TO ALL A GOOD FRIGHT!"

Part the Third: This Sounds Familiar


I wish I could say I knew the author true,
But really, I must say I haven't a clue;
Some say some flake of a monster
Borrowed the rhyme from a right old Napster.

I say this verse is based on The Night Before Christmas,
Something most shameless, since those verses delight-mus;
Some attributed those great children's verses
Peviously to Clement Clarke Moore but trust us

Major Henry Livingston Jr (1748 to 1828)
Is To whom is now attributed that poem's fate;
Now if you will allow me one final word,
Cursed be the reader who calls me nerd.




Editor's Note: I am not open to discussions of enjambment.

Copyright 2002-2006 article and verse, Thomas James Martin, all rights reserved.