He is his own #Halloween

Tis the day to grow a moustache

and remember how the Empires were built and lost.

Tis the day to look in the mirror and see the iron Man

He is not shaken

Not by poverty

or the war on his borders

He drinks his beer

touches his cheese board

and lusts after women on TV

those women whose breast are not really as big as they appear

Tis the time for Halloween 2022

No costumes are required

The most frightening is the man in his mundane clothes

The man who doesn’t feel

Not the poverty

Nor the war on his borders

but most certainly not the Earth caving in underneath his feet.

Image Pixabay: Patol Lenin

Build me a house of tapping rain

Build me a roof with tapping rain

in the colour of seagulls

and on the side

please fix me gutterings for tears

in the shade of salt and pepper.

My slimy tiles will grow a forest of moss

and in the night

their soft droplets will look up to the Moon.

The Moon is cold.

The Moon is arrogant.

It’s neither silver nor it is white.

My mossy roof will soak up all its Pride

and protect me from witches and werewolves.

Build me a roof where blackbirds dance at night

melting their songs into chimney breasts

and on the side

please fix me gables against the Wind

in the colour of Irish oak.

My windows will whistle into the night

Giving the owls in Sutton park a fright

and blackbirds, as always, curse the Wind.

The Wind is cold.

The Wind is arrogant.

It’s neither grey not it is white.

My mossy roof will soak up all its Pride

and protect me from witches and werewolves.

Photo: Pixabay ArtsyBee