Underneath The Ancient Oak by Jan Smith at Spillwords.com

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Underneath The Ancient Oak

Jan Smith·October 26, 2018

English Poetry Halloween

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Underneath The Ancient Oak

written by: Jan Smith

@JanSmithNL

Underneath the ancient Oak
Let’s all gather this Halloween
Where legends tell a tale of gallows way up high
Lost souls draw near, spirits dance they say
Ancient whispers chill the bones
of those who dare to visit this night
Moonlight catches twisted branches
moody dark shadows move and sway…
We’ll hold hands, be brave as night draws black
and wait till first glimpse of dawn
to guide us back on our way…

About
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Jan Smith

MARCH 2018 AUTHOR OF THE MONTH at Spillwords.com

I have recently started writing poetry, through my work and academic training I gained knowledge and a passion for the written word. Much of my writings are reflections, thoughts and observations of my personal journey of self-discovery.

Suman Pokhrel

Suman Pokhrel is a Nepali poet, lyricist, playwright, translator, and artist. He debuted in 1999 with a poetry collection and has since published works, including translations of Shakespeare and global poets. His poems are translated into many languages and taught across South Asia. A two-time SAARC Literary Awardee, he also received Asia’s Inspiring Poet Award and was named Author of the Month by Spillwords in June 2023. Beyond literature, he works as a freelance consultant in socio-economic research, rural development, entrepreneurial development and creative writing. He began his career in Nepal’s civil service and later worked with international NGOs. He holds degrees in Science, Law, Business Administration, and Economics.

Condoms by Seán Óg Ó Murchú

They all laughed at me. All the dinner ladies. It started with your one, I’m after forgetting her name now… Smelly Nelly’s ma. A wet little tear trickled toward her tattooed cheekbone. She was roaring red. Her harsh, wheezing laughter sounded like a black taxi tackling the Whiterock Road, her throat destroyed from all the fegs she used to be hoofing into her. She called over the other dinner ladies then, an army of them. Or maybe it was the curiosity of her horrid laughing that brought them over… I can’t remember.
“Tell the girls what you’re only after asking me there ni wee mawn.”
I looked between herself and the girls. Jesus Christ, I said in my own mind, Mental Mick is after stealing all my crayons that I’d been hoarding for myself there before the break...

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