Pumpkins
written by: Paul Thwaites
Faceless await their faces,
Anonymities of fields,
Bowl in the sun studded graveyards;
Heads, faceless,
Till plastic surgery awakes,
Lobotomised dreams,
Hollow brained,
Knife emptied,
The pith of flamed consciousness
Fresh with new spice.
Thus painted, they grin inanely,
Placed on the steps and the porches,
With live candlelight of eyes,
Lantern jawed,
Hanging the streets of witchery,
October last ~
This Halloween.
Strike up midnight,
White mice scamper down clocks,
In the cinders, barefoot,
Girl weeps for a shrunken carriage.
Cold pumpkins incline faces.
A cynical masquerade ~
Smoke, tallow, soot,
Tricked in the treated light,
That lives them,
Before smoky Fall.
I am a writer living in Yorkshire, England, recently retired from the teaching profession. I have always written and love poetry and have a large backlog of work. I have, through my own neglect had little published. I had four poems in a recent anthology: "Viral Verses," put together to raise funds for the NHS and am currently working with a sculptor writing poems to complement his work. I have a few collections on the go: "Norse Gods," "Box of Ochre," "Water Dancing with the Moon."
Latest posts by Paul Thwaites (see all)
- A Trilogy of Sea Poems - July 29, 2024
- Single Bird - May 2, 2024
- Sur La Plage - January 12, 2024
