A guild for artists and collectors of Halloween or Dark art.
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- Guild Membership type:
- Artist, Collector, Enthusiast
- About Me:
- I have absolutely loved the month of October and Halloween for as long as I can remember! Halloween is not just a Holy Day...a "Holiday," if you will, celebrated once a year on October 31st. Halloween is a beautifully dangerous, euphoric, and powerful feeling that can be experienced each and every day of our lives. I will be the first to tell you that on some days my soul is as black as the darkest cauldron ever burned. Other days it is the brightest orange Jack-O-Lantern ever imagined. But just like the most fantastic sight of autumn leaves, it will forever exude the fiery passion of reds, yellows, and golds. This is who I am and this is what makes me real. I love the darkness, the mystery, the brisk October nights waiting in line for a haunted house, or beautiful upstate New York taking in the changing leaves at Lake Minnewaska.
In addition, I am proud to say I have a "Halloween Room" in my house and often just sit in there to reconnect my inner thoughts. The Halloween Room is decorated with everything from Charlie Brown to Jack Skellington and EVERYTHING in between. I take the most pride in my Halloween village collection. Whether it be Hawthorne, or Lemax-Spooky Town, or Department 56, it has found a home amidst the other ghosts, goblins, and spectacular haunts that spiritualize the atmosphere!! "Steven's Halloween Room" is quite a gothomenal (of course meaning gothicly delicious and phenomenal) place to watch classic movies such as "It's The Great Pumpkin Charlie Brown," "The Blair Witch Project," Burton's "Legend of Sleepy Hollow," the always entertaining Disney "Legend of Sleepy Hollow," or Burton's classic "The Nightmare Before Christmas!" Or perhaps just soak in the beautiful colors and energy of autumn.
In this harsh adult world it's ok to remember and celebrate the innocence of life...and absolutely essential to be aware of and pay respect to The Great Sabbat or the third and final harvest. Until we meet again that time when the veil between the world of the living and the world of the departed is lifted; Samhain will be in our hearts and minds.
I would also like to say thank you to Heather, Cindy, and a few other special people in my life. You have all in your own spooktacularly wonderful way helped me to build enough courage to post my poeticly haunting creations. Sometimes it seems as if my hand cannot keep up with my brain, hence forcing me now to carry around a pad of paper for such sporadic thoughts. And I am happy to say that with each passing day; each stroke of the paintbrush or line drawn with colored pencil, I am one step closer to posting the drawings I so long have desired to create. Be it an original idea or one in conjunction to a poem I wrote. With so many visions in my mind and stories that just seem to present themselves to me I must say; I wouldn't have it any other way. And in the immortal words of "Soft In The Head's" P.K. Gracia..."it's cheaper than a shrink!" I really love that line!!! ;)
Poems by Steven Curran
All contributed content © Steven Curran (Haunted Hayride) 2009
With the exception of course of the Halloween Room which is comprised of many items all purchased over the course of my many spooktacular years on Earth...
This is a poem I wrote about a young boy who discovered that what he liked, and what made him real and alive on the inside was engulfed in Halloween and everything to do with October. And with the help of an older Witch, who saw the child she yearned to be once more in his eyes, our story comes to life...
Pumpkin Smile
As a child I longed to find
A reason to exsist
That certain sight or unique sound
To fill my heart with bliss….
Then one day I took to notice
At a house I’d never been
Perched upon the home’s front porch
A glowing orange pumpkin
And out of my daze
I could not believe standing there before me
A woman that stood with chocolate brown eyes
That said “you too see darkness as beauty.”
Then she turned and pointed
To what Id stared at all that while
“Why your just like me, were not quite them
For you have a pumpkin smile…”
A pumpkin smile?
“Yes, a pumpkin smile!”
But what and how, I’m merely a child
“For In darkness lies beauty, I’ll explain to you why...”
Ever wonder how the spirits fly
With the moon so bright
Through the brisk autumn sky
When the ghosts bump the night
And you try to hide
But still feel their fright
All the colors of fall
Reds golds and yellows
The sight of them all
The smell of the air
A crisp October night
Close your eyes and beware
The cackle of witches
The screams of night
12 dozen black roses
What a ghoulish sight
The candle that burns
In a dark lonely place
The bite of the vampire
As for blood not a trace
The mummy is coming
In the graveyard we sit
The magik is brewing
For the cauldron is lit
And the caramel drips from the apple so yummy
The sweet candycorn so good in my tummy
And if nightime appeals you
Haunted hay rides in the dark
Then October 31st
Has upon you left its mark
"So you see I’ve explained it
My sweet unique child
Embrace who you are
And your enchanted pumpkin smile!"
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All contributed content © Steven Curran (Haunted Hayride) 2009
This poem is about a boy named Steven (go figure...;) who once each year during the very blessed season of autumn would collect three of his most favorite leaves. Always one red, one gold, and one yellow. And he would put these leaves in a jar sealed tightly upon his shelf. And during the other eleven months of the year before bedtime he would hold his jar, close his eyes, and imagine all the beautiful colors that once surrounded him and made him happy. And it was always around June or July that he would run out of patience and beg his very dear friend Mr. Tree to allow more of those beautifully colored leaves to fall to the ground. And it was always around that time that his Mom would remind him that just like she sought the best for him as well did nature have a Mommy that knew what was best for it. Mother Nature of course. Our story comes to life…
A Jar Filled With Leaves
He simply did adore it
That jar upon his shelf
He had not much friendship
Just his thoughts and himself…
No one understood him
What he held in his hand
A piece of his heart and soul
Under a tree it would land…
Mr. Tree was his companion
Always so steadfast and true
But when all the leaves were only green
Was when he felt most blue…
So each day ‘till that time
To see those colors did he care
He’d stand underneath his one good friend
And throw his leaves in the air…
Oh please Mr. Tree
Catch the leaves that I threw
And make more just like them
Red, gold, and yellow...
And he waited and waited and waited
But no leaves had come down
For nature has a Mommy too
And soon she’ll come around…
But for now I can only look at
Those memories stashed away
And close my eyes and dream about
A magical October day…
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All contributed content © Steven Curran (Haunted Hayride) 2009
This next poem is about a boquet of roses. Now it does not have to be a boquet of Halloween roses; the beautiful greens, oranges, purples, and blacks. Why it can just be your run of the mill gothy red roses purchased from any store etc. But they do have to be real. And I will explain. You see...if you stop your busy mind and world for a moment to look and listen to them...and I mean reeaallly look and listen to them, you will find there is ALOT more going on than meets the eye. Our story comes to life...
The Rose Calamity
Have you ever really looked
At a boquet of roses
The eyes and the ears
The mouths and the noses...
For when you do buy them
They are pretty my friend
But has anyone ever told you
What takes place start to end...
They are put in a vase
That is filled half with water
And herein the beginning
Of all the disorder...
At first they stand straight
Seen by the naked eye
But can you see their legs and arms
Oh no, its no lie...
They reach out to choke
The other one's stem
With the most pompous of attitudes
They could never be friends...
It's a fierce competition
To see who can last
And the ones that wilt over
To the nether so do pass...
For the last rose is standing
All others have died
And to her mighty glory
An ill-fated surprise...
In short time comes the human
With outstretching hands that thrash
Firm grip upon the roses
Snatched up in a flash...
And for a brief moment
If that rose only knew
What was considered victorious
Was a farce through and through...
Thrown away to the garbage
Together laid to rest
And the biggest lesson learned
Interdependence or death...
Next time they will work
Together as one
To escape the evil vase
And RUN RUN RUN...
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All contributed content © Steven Curran (Haunted Hayride) 2009
This poem simply came to me as I was looking out my window today.
If It Were October
If it were October the whole year round
Would you really miss the snow that invasively abounds?
Ten below zero and the noisy scraping plows
White blankets of death smother the ground; no life devoid of sounds...
And if it were October all year round
Could you do withouth the rain and the flowers that will bloom?
The allergies and bumblebees
Such stinging and sniffling gloom...
Still if it were October all year round
Are you gonna miss the sun so hot; waves crashing on the shore?
Your skin so red you'd wished you were dead
More aloe you franticly implore...
Well the snow is very mesmerizing
To the eyes a wonderous treat
But I do prefer the frosted ground
To crunch beneath my feet...
And the rain can be dispiriting
For one who cannot see
Through the gothicly dark and macabre mind's eye
Of one as nefarious as me...
As the sun it shines so brightly
Many love to feel its glow
But with skin so fair and a taste for rare
Rather it blood than rays that flow...
Stentorian thunder exploding
Veins of lightning no longer secrete
Harvest moon is full and showing
Screaming autumnal apogee...
Imprinted doom of evil
Lurking shadows across the land
Upon the souls of the pernickety
Demons dancing hand in hand...
And when the night grows silent
Brushing darkness upon your face
The veil debarring those departed
Once again will be erased...
For caramel apples are toothsome
And the drives way out east
The patches of pumpkins such an inviting orange
For my eyes a visual feast...
Bonfires at night as we sit in the woods
Awaiting the next big fright
Ghost stories are told with the utmost of terror
For my ears a melodic delight...
Mother earth for she has shifted
Wave the wand darkness falls early hour
You'd best nod with respect take not nature in neglect
Dare not tempt light or dark witch's power...
As the cauldron is lit and brewing
The candle's flame we stare to see
Spells once told as fiction or old
Thaumaturgy as real as can be...
The lines are drawn the prints are torn
Volition decreed 'till the end
For theres no conondrum as to where I belong
If it were October again...
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All contributed content © Steven Curran (Haunted Hayride) 2009
Except of course for Santa Claus and "The Great Pumpkin."
This particular poem is about a boy, his little Sister, and Mom who took a drive out east on what appeared to be a "normal" Saturday afternoon in July. All was just splendid with the world until an inquisition was made about a certain dessert we have all enjoyed at a most glorious time of year. And since desperate times call for desperate measures; it was time to contact the Big Guy! Santa Claus of course!! Perhaps the only person that could save the day. Our story comes to life...
Santa's Halloween Letter
Please Santa can you help me
I'm in an awful bind
I know its only mid-July
But we're running out of time...
Santa please forgive me
I had no where else to go
I'd have tried to write The Great Pumpkin
But the only address I have is the North Pole...
I found out something terrible
While shopping with my Mom
We took a ride out to East Quogue
And stopped at a roadside farm...
Gathering fruits, and jams, and jellies
Hardly took much time
But the problem that I write about
Happened when we were next in line...
Mom gently placed her items down
With a smile and a sigh
And politely asked the sales clerk
Is it time yet for pumpkin pie?
A sweet voice kindly responded
With an answer quite sincere
We have blueberry, peach cobbler, and cherry pies
Pumpkin pie is next month my dear...
And thats when it all hit me
My body froze as I stared at the floor
If they kill and eat all the pumpkins
Halloween will be no more...
Silence fell upon the farmstand
In what seemed like an eternity of time
As I shouted madly at the top of my lungs
DONT YOU DARE EAT PUMPKIN PIE!!!!
My Mother dropped her groceries
My little Sister began to cry
And the girl behind the counter
Looked as if a ghost had caught her eye...
Mom took my hand chuckling softly
And told me to have no fear
For Halloween will still go on
I know its your favorite time of year...
No one will hurt the pumpkins
And you'll see them in the patch
For each autumn comes The Great Pumpkin
And he brings a whole new batch...
Oh I hope they dont hurt the pumpkins
What if they dont come back
Please Santa make an extra trip
And fill up your toy sack...
Santa please help save the pumpkins
Halloween is my favorite holiday
Now I'm really quite embarrassed
Will this affect my toy list in any way?
Well at least you know I'm honest
Good intentions for all and not just myself
Just imagine if you shopped in December
And saw a pie that was made out of elf?
Oh thank you Mr. Santa
I know you'll help in every way
And not just for me but for ALL of the children
Who cant wait for Halloween Day!
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All contributed content © Steven Curran (Haunted Hayride) 2009
This next poem focuses on the infamous "mythical" goblin. And as most of us know from playing "Dungeons and Dragons," "Magic The Gathering," or reading perhaps "The Hobbit;" goblins are usually not the friendliest of sort. In this case however, I do believe we have found a peacefully food perfervid exception. Have you ever heard of "The Black Forest Goblins?" I would not have thought so. For if you had then you would be telling ME this story. Right? Well lets just say I was quite lucky to have run into them amidst my travels and not a more malicious tribe. What is that you say? You want to know where I met those goblins? As for now, I'd best keep that to myself...;) Our story comes to life...
The Rare Pumpkin Pie Flower
Deep within the dense Black Forest
Hidden beyond the earthy knoll
Live 13 magical goblins
That have happily made their home...
Now I know just what you're thinking
Goblins love to stir up dread
But what makes these goblins so special
Is their preference to cook instead...
Now their secret is of legend
A most grandiose recipe
And its ingredients do concoct a flower
Of such profound rarity...
Unique attributes make this flower sapid
And jovially easy to devour
And so the goblins named it
The Rare Pumpkin Pie Flower...
Its harvested but once a year
No one could hardly wait
Placed into a cauldron vase
Above 13 goblins' plates
Its presence is regally stunning
Oh what a sight to see
And the goblins describe the colors
As mouth watering and bonny...
The stem a hint lighter than amber
And the leaves a deep dark brown
The face a mix of white and beige
Orange pedals that circle around...
And the goblins sit at their table
Eyes in wonderment adoringly stare
At the dessert they've waited so long for
At last is finally here...
The leaves fall and form a pie crust
Place a pedal on top; WALLA! PUMPKIN PIE!!
And the face does render the whipped cream
Such perfection words could not describe...
The goblins couldn't be more excited
To share the treat they hold so dear
Beaming smiles at one another
Black Forest Goblin Cheer!!!
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All contributed content © Steven Curran (Haunted Hayride) 2009
Now this next poem is a first on here that does not speak of or have a direct correlation to Halloween. It leans more to the Halloween Art Guild's "dark art" category. Now as much as I respect the Earth and absolutely LOVE ANIMALS; there are some I would just rather not have as a pet per se.
And the one I speak of is the spider. Yess the spider. Now before all the smushy faces and dirty looks; just hear me out. If, lets just say a spider was in my house; I'd be the guy to get an index card, get the spider on it, and place him or her outside. However much like Indiana Jones loves snakes, hence my love for spiders. I can coexist with them just swimmingly, just wouldn't be on my top ten choice list of pets I'd want for a present.
The inspiration for this poem came to me as I was walking Kobe the other day. Kobe being my adorable loving son in the picture. Ya know...the black one with the four paws, that loves to cuddle, and responds remarkably to "you want a treat!"
We were simply walking down the street and I noticed a tree with a GINORMOUS (gigantic AND enormous) spider web hanging between two branches. I'm tellin ya...this thing looked like a human could get caught in it!!! So we diverted to the other side of the street for a good mile or so, just in case a spider of Godzilla like proportions came after us. And I just thought to myself; I WOULD NOT want to get caught in there.
So I affectionately named the spider "FEASTRESS," meaning the High Priestess of FEAST-ing on anything that came her way! The only difference is that Feastress had one web for practical eating and the other for entertainment.
Oh yes my friends...the Feastress had a wickedly dark side to her. Our story comes to life...
FEASTRESS (A different kind of spider)
Each one of them warned before they could fly
Of the evil that lived in that tree
Unfathomable torture to those who await
Not even The Devil himself could foresee...
Its sole purpose amusement
Between rotted branches; suspended in air
A woven graveyard of white glistening death
Indentured souls strewn without care...
TOTALLY superior in her own twisted mind
Ideas of just treatment hardly sane
With cruel and unusual premeditated plans
The Feastress plays her game...
Her first victim a mosquito
Looking down standing three times his size
But instead of killing him quickly
She kindly feeds him to his surprise...
With a sigh of relief and his heart pounding fiercely
Being friends his one chance to survive
But with each fatal bite; he begins to convulse
From red colored insecticide...
The next victim to land a HUGE DRAGONFLY
She paces and ponders what to do
Fictional stories in her demented youth
Interpreted "Dragons" as enemies too...
So from her tiny cupboard she got lighter fluid
Only pouring on the Dragonfly's head
Spinnerets that rub together cause a spark you see
Leaving the burnt alive Dragonfly dead...
Last victim a moth landing inside of Hell's web
Her thoughts a frenzy and horribly apalled
A black velvet frock coat she once wore with delight
Ruined forever from the smell of mothball...
The immediate thought an eye for an eye
She really hated them all
So she slowly disemboweled its quivering corpse
A happy face of its organs in a ball...
The faintest of smiles appeared on her face
Gazing at the others now rendered insane
For each victim she eats tastes better you see
Slowly chewed with the flavor of pain...
Without conscious more lives will never return
She just stares at her favorite playpen
When 3am befalls and the voice is heard
Her majesty will play yet again...
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All contributed content © Steven Curran (Haunted Hayride) 2009
This next poem is about a vampire who generally has an insatiable thirst for blood. However on this one particular day he felt the need to test the bounds of his own being. Instead of the same old routine of having blood first and then progressing with his night; a strange craving overcame him. Coffee of course!! Can ya blame 'em? We ALL get the urge and some of us two to three cups a day; maybe even MORE!!! So against his own better judgement he decides to go get a cup. One cup. No bites, no blood, and no hard feelings. Just coffee. I wonder if he succeeds? Our story comes to life...
Vampire Coffee
With stretching arms and a big long yawn
And habitually avoiding the sun
He looked around and thought aloud
Something other than blood would be fun...
So he thought and thought and thought some more
And now he could not wait
Its warm and sweet and so very delicious
A coffee would be great...
But before he left to get his treat
Something inside him was not quite right
Could he leave his home without first drinking blood
And still control his ferocious bite...
That settles it as he shut the door
And made his way across town
I'm doing so well and what are the odds
There isn't a soul around...
At last he arrived at "Joe's Coffee Shoppe"
Read the sign hung above the door
As he made his way in and carefully got on
The line that wrapped 'round the floor...
He could not believe at this time of night
So many others wanted coffee too
For the taste of their blood tortured him now
They would run if they had but a clue...
His mind had strayed then finally his turn to order his wish
With flickering eyes that feared certain doom
Just concentrate on why you've come
And how you'll be safe at home soon...
Inches away from his neck and instinctively driving him mad
His bloodlust substantially grew
And suddenly snapped back from his breaking point
Only to realize he was being spoken to...
Welcome my friend and what can I get ya
How bout a nice cup of joe he said
He gulped and tensed up as sweat ran down his face
I'll just have some coffee instead...
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All contributed content © Steven Curran (Haunted Hayride) 2009
Last night on September 19, 2009 at around midnight I just walked outside and looked up at the sky. The air was brisk and the sky was as black as can be and I just stood there and took a deep breath. When I went back inside this poem wrote itself in a matter of minutes. Most of them take some thought; in this case it just jumped out of the pencil. Dark would be an understatement for this poem. Perhaps a psychological journey into the depths of a place that should not be disturbed. Only when it was complete did I realize the significance of its meaning; and may I say as to not worry anyone, this is in no way shape or form reflective of me. This is strictly artistic interpretation. Our story comes to life...
Another Place
Its shadow grim
Befalls the trees
As graceful as the sky
With mind devoid of afterthought
No concept of alive...
To walk a sleepless life alone
But never in its mind
Detatched from all the why and when
And always finds its prize...
Naught words to speak
Or sound to hear
Cannot feel a thing
For love and hate and body and fear
Twisted into sin...
Another song of children crying
Pattern connected random noise
Filter into screams of rage
Expire long before...before...before...
Before the hairs upon its arm
And lines on fingertips
Eyes so blue and dull with pain
Not a word could hold its lips...
Steps are short now
The calling is from inside
To finally touch the hand of faith
And leave it all behind...
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All contributed content © Steven Curran (Haunted Hayride) 2009
This next poem is a spinoff of all the warnings that I used to get as a child while trick or treating on Halloween night. I remember my Mom used to tell me not to go to some homes beacause of rumored "pins" being put in the candy etc. Or not to stay out too late due to the "creatues" that roamed the late night, and the harm they could cause you. (Tangent)...now I don't have any children of my own, but I do have a 2 year old lab named Kobe whom I love more than life. So if he spoke english and wanted to go trick or treating I would probably tell him the same stories out of my love for him. So with that being said I created a mythical creature that if looked upon on google or yahoo does not exist yet until now. I call them as a group "Tremmels!" Take note of the fact that I'm not going to of yet give you very much information about what they look like, where they live, what they eat(although rumored bratty children on Halloween night). Tremmels are the pins in the candy and the creatures that roam the late night. They are the inexplainable horror on Halloween night. It always seems to come from another town, or another time period, or the other child...but what if? What if all of that suddenly became YOU? Our story comes to life...
Tremmels
It only happens once a year
A not so unheard of far away place
Where sight surrenders distance
And only folklore can retrace...
The seance of the ancient ones
Living beneath the sky above the trees
And if you stop and listen
Their chanting will paralyze you to a freeze...
(Start chant in Song)
Remember night and how she stands
Through bone and timeless chill
And the children walk through darkness
With thoughts of candy their bags will fill
And the dead
will walk the Earth
And the dead
will walk the Earth
With harm to thee
so shall it be
As the dead do walk the Earth
(End chant in song)
They stand of all an eight feet tall
With at times translucent skin
And their features semi-human
Their commonality their sin...
As they stealthily do stalk the Earth
On sacred Halloween night
With no regard or consequence
For the atrocities of their plight...
While trick or treaters are walking
A dimly moonlit sight
They lurk amidst the shadows
To spring in malicious harmful fright...
Some children would get lucky
Scream wildly and run away
Explaining to the disbelief
Of adults lost what to say...
Yet some would become legend
Dark tales first thought untrue
The missing took by the evil
Left for the world but not a clue...
So when the sky is void of light
And night feels hollow and cold
Kiddies have fun but respect those gone
Or the Tremmels will feast your soul!
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All contributed content © Steven Curran (Haunted Hayride) 2009
I'm very happy to say that recently I had the pleasure of going on one of the country's premiere haunted hayrides! It really was so much fun and so detailed. The weather was brisk and clear. A tractor drawn ride with beautiful golden hay that seated about twenty five people. It went along a winding path stopping at various spooky stops with actors and actresses jumping out of the woods in frightening fashion. And of course the melodic sounds of chainsaws and screams to fill the air. However it was at one particular point that I had a small mental revelation.
As the ride continued, we passed a surreal cemetery, complete with worn looking headstones, a few mausoleums, and big scary black iron gates. And at that very moment that my mind started to drift into the depths of imagination the ride stopped there. It couldn't have been for more than three minutes or so but it seemed like forever in my head.
I thought back to my Halloween room and all of the wonderful decorations. The headstones, the black and grays, the mystery of it all. The delight that the darkness and autumn mystique bring to my soul. And don't get me wrong I respect the living as much as I can as well as the departed. But I would be lying to you all if I said I'd never parked in a real cemetery and wrote down ideas to stories and poetry etc. With all due respect to the departed of course and their "living" relatives.
However it was at that moment that I realized I needed to share this with all of you on here. All of us are dark art fans. Fans of Halloween, October, autumn, the fall etc in any of its many capacities. And I'm sure its safe to say I'm not the only one on here who has gone to a cemetery randomly to think? Or who loves haunted houses? Or has such a strong and emotional attachment to the gothic beauty of the world that it drives them crazy to wonder if, when the time comes to move onto the next plain of existence, there will be all of the orange and black to make us happy once more.
So if all of that went through my head in approximately one minutes time while stopped at the surreal cemetery; then this next thought is what I ultimately wanted to share with you.
As I continued to stare at the gates and the surreal cemetery a self-proclaimed quote came to me.
"Of death I fear not; forever then will my attachment to beautiful darkness be seen through eyes as I once saw, a bedazzling decoration in the Halloween village of life."
With the exception of course of the Halloween Room which is comprised of many items all purchased over the course of my many spooktacular years on Earth...
This is a poem I wrote about a young boy who discovered that what he liked, and what made him real and alive on the inside was engulfed in Halloween and everything to do with October. And with the help of an older Witch, who saw the child she yearned to be once more in his eyes, our story comes to life...
Pumpkin Smile
As a child I longed to find
A reason to exsist
That certain sight or unique sound
To fill my heart with bliss….
Then one day I took to notice
At a house I’d never been
Perched upon the home’s front porch
A glowing orange pumpkin
And out of my daze
I could not believe standing there before me
A woman that stood with chocolate brown eyes
That said “you too see darkness as beauty.”
Then she turned and pointed
To what Id stared at all that while
“Why your just like me, were not quite them
For you have a pumpkin smile…”
A pumpkin smile?
“Yes, a pumpkin smile!”
But what and how, I’m merely a child
“For In darkness lies beauty, I’ll explain to you why...”
Ever wonder how the spirits fly
With the moon so bright
Through the brisk autumn sky
When the ghosts bump the night
And you try to hide
But still feel their fright
All the colors of fall
Reds golds and yellows
The sight of them all
The smell of the air
A crisp October night
Close your eyes and beware
The cackle of witches
The screams of night
12 dozen black roses
What a ghoulish sight
The candle that burns
In a dark lonely place
The bite of the vampire
As for blood not a trace
The mummy is coming
In the graveyard we sit
The magik is brewing
For the cauldron is lit
And the caramel drips from the apple so yummy
The sweet candycorn so good in my tummy
And if nightime appeals you
Haunted hay rides in the dark
Then October 31st
Has upon you left its mark
"So you see I’ve explained it
My sweet unique child
Embrace who you are
And your enchanted pumpkin smile!"
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All contributed content © Steven Curran (Haunted Hayride) 2009
This poem is about a boy named Steven (go figure...;) who once each year during the very blessed season of autumn would collect three of his most favorite leaves. Always one red, one gold, and one yellow. And he would put these leaves in a jar sealed tightly upon his shelf. And during the other eleven months of the year before bedtime he would hold his jar, close his eyes, and imagine all the beautiful colors that once surrounded him and made him happy. And it was always around June or July that he would run out of patience and beg his very dear friend Mr. Tree to allow more of those beautifully colored leaves to fall to the ground. And it was always around that time that his Mom would remind him that just like she sought the best for him as well did nature have a Mommy that knew what was best for it. Mother Nature of course. Our story comes to life…
A Jar Filled With Leaves
He simply did adore it
That jar upon his shelf
He had not much friendship
Just his thoughts and himself…
No one understood him
What he held in his hand
A piece of his heart and soul
Under a tree it would land…
Mr. Tree was his companion
Always so steadfast and true
But when all the leaves were only green
Was when he felt most blue…
So each day ‘till that time
To see those colors did he care
He’d stand underneath his one good friend
And throw his leaves in the air…
Oh please Mr. Tree
Catch the leaves that I threw
And make more just like them
Red, gold, and yellow...
And he waited and waited and waited
But no leaves had come down
For nature has a Mommy too
And soon she’ll come around…
But for now I can only look at
Those memories stashed away
And close my eyes and dream about
A magical October day…
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All contributed content © Steven Curran (Haunted Hayride) 2009
This next poem is about a boquet of roses. Now it does not have to be a boquet of Halloween roses; the beautiful greens, oranges, purples, and blacks. Why it can just be your run of the mill gothy red roses purchased from any store etc. But they do have to be real. And I will explain. You see...if you stop your busy mind and world for a moment to look and listen to them...and I mean reeaallly look and listen to them, you will find there is ALOT more going on than meets the eye. Our story comes to life...
The Rose Calamity
Have you ever really looked
At a boquet of roses
The eyes and the ears
The mouths and the noses...
For when you do buy them
They are pretty my friend
But has anyone ever told you
What takes place start to end...
They are put in a vase
That is filled half with water
And herein the beginning
Of all the disorder...
At first they stand straight
Seen by the naked eye
But can you see their legs and arms
Oh no, its no lie...
They reach out to choke
The other one's stem
With the most pompous of attitudes
They could never be friends...
It's a fierce competition
To see who can last
And the ones that wilt over
To the nether so do pass...
For the last rose is standing
All others have died
And to her mighty glory
An ill-fated surprise...
In short time comes the human
With outstretching hands that thrash
Firm grip upon the roses
Snatched up in a flash...
And for a brief moment
If that rose only knew
What was considered victorious
Was a farce through and through...
Thrown away to the garbage
Together laid to rest
And the biggest lesson learned
Interdependence or death...
Next time they will work
Together as one
To escape the evil vase
And RUN RUN RUN...
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All contributed content © Steven Curran (Haunted Hayride) 2009
This poem simply came to me as I was looking out my window today.
If It Were October
If it were October the whole year round
Would you really miss the snow that invasively abounds?
Ten below zero and the noisy scraping plows
White blankets of death smother the ground; no life devoid of sounds...
And if it were October all year round
Could you do withouth the rain and the flowers that will bloom?
The allergies and bumblebees
Such stinging and sniffling gloom...
Still if it were October all year round
Are you gonna miss the sun so hot; waves crashing on the shore?
Your skin so red you'd wished you were dead
More aloe you franticly implore...
Well the snow is very mesmerizing
To the eyes a wonderous treat
But I do prefer the frosted ground
To crunch beneath my feet...
And the rain can be dispiriting
For one who cannot see
Through the gothicly dark and macabre mind's eye
Of one as nefarious as me...
As the sun it shines so brightly
Many love to feel its glow
But with skin so fair and a taste for rare
Rather it blood than rays that flow...
Stentorian thunder exploding
Veins of lightning no longer secrete
Harvest moon is full and showing
Screaming autumnal apogee...
Imprinted doom of evil
Lurking shadows across the land
Upon the souls of the pernickety
Demons dancing hand in hand...
And when the night grows silent
Brushing darkness upon your face
The veil debarring those departed
Once again will be erased...
For caramel apples are toothsome
And the drives way out east
The patches of pumpkins such an inviting orange
For my eyes a visual feast...
Bonfires at night as we sit in the woods
Awaiting the next big fright
Ghost stories are told with the utmost of terror
For my ears a melodic delight...
Mother earth for she has shifted
Wave the wand darkness falls early hour
You'd best nod with respect take not nature in neglect
Dare not tempt light or dark witch's power...
As the cauldron is lit and brewing
The candle's flame we stare to see
Spells once told as fiction or old
Thaumaturgy as real as can be...
The lines are drawn the prints are torn
Volition decreed 'till the end
For theres no conondrum as to where I belong
If it were October again...
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All contributed content © Steven Curran (Haunted Hayride) 2009
Except of course for Santa Claus and "The Great Pumpkin."
This particular poem is about a boy, his little Sister, and Mom who took a drive out east on what appeared to be a "normal" Saturday afternoon in July. All was just splendid with the world until an inquisition was made about a certain dessert we have all enjoyed at a most glorious time of year. And since desperate times call for desperate measures; it was time to contact the Big Guy! Santa Claus of course!! Perhaps the only person that could save the day. Our story comes to life...
Santa's Halloween Letter
Please Santa can you help me
I'm in an awful bind
I know its only mid-July
But we're running out of time...
Santa please forgive me
I had no where else to go
I'd have tried to write The Great Pumpkin
But the only address I have is the North Pole...
I found out something terrible
While shopping with my Mom
We took a ride out to East Quogue
And stopped at a roadside farm...
Gathering fruits, and jams, and jellies
Hardly took much time
But the problem that I write about
Happened when we were next in line...
Mom gently placed her items down
With a smile and a sigh
And politely asked the sales clerk
Is it time yet for pumpkin pie?
A sweet voice kindly responded
With an answer quite sincere
We have blueberry, peach cobbler, and cherry pies
Pumpkin pie is next month my dear...
And thats when it all hit me
My body froze as I stared at the floor
If they kill and eat all the pumpkins
Halloween will be no more...
Silence fell upon the farmstand
In what seemed like an eternity of time
As I shouted madly at the top of my lungs
DONT YOU DARE EAT PUMPKIN PIE!!!!
My Mother dropped her groceries
My little Sister began to cry
And the girl behind the counter
Looked as if a ghost had caught her eye...
Mom took my hand chuckling softly
And told me to have no fear
For Halloween will still go on
I know its your favorite time of year...
No one will hurt the pumpkins
And you'll see them in the patch
For each autumn comes The Great Pumpkin
And he brings a whole new batch...
Oh I hope they dont hurt the pumpkins
What if they dont come back
Please Santa make an extra trip
And fill up your toy sack...
Santa please help save the pumpkins
Halloween is my favorite holiday
Now I'm really quite embarrassed
Will this affect my toy list in any way?
Well at least you know I'm honest
Good intentions for all and not just myself
Just imagine if you shopped in December
And saw a pie that was made out of elf?
Oh thank you Mr. Santa
I know you'll help in every way
And not just for me but for ALL of the children
Who cant wait for Halloween Day!
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All contributed content © Steven Curran (Haunted Hayride) 2009
This next poem focuses on the infamous "mythical" goblin. And as most of us know from playing "Dungeons and Dragons," "Magic The Gathering," or reading perhaps "The Hobbit;" goblins are usually not the friendliest of sort. In this case however, I do believe we have found a peacefully food perfervid exception. Have you ever heard of "The Black Forest Goblins?" I would not have thought so. For if you had then you would be telling ME this story. Right? Well lets just say I was quite lucky to have run into them amidst my travels and not a more malicious tribe. What is that you say? You want to know where I met those goblins? As for now, I'd best keep that to myself...;) Our story comes to life...
The Rare Pumpkin Pie Flower
Deep within the dense Black Forest
Hidden beyond the earthy knoll
Live 13 magical goblins
That have happily made their home...
Now I know just what you're thinking
Goblins love to stir up dread
But what makes these goblins so special
Is their preference to cook instead...
Now their secret is of legend
A most grandiose recipe
And its ingredients do concoct a flower
Of such profound rarity...
Unique attributes make this flower sapid
And jovially easy to devour
And so the goblins named it
The Rare Pumpkin Pie Flower...
Its harvested but once a year
No one could hardly wait
Placed into a cauldron vase
Above 13 goblins' plates
Its presence is regally stunning
Oh what a sight to see
And the goblins describe the colors
As mouth watering and bonny...
The stem a hint lighter than amber
And the leaves a deep dark brown
The face a mix of white and beige
Orange pedals that circle around...
And the goblins sit at their table
Eyes in wonderment adoringly stare
At the dessert they've waited so long for
At last is finally here...
The leaves fall and form a pie crust
Place a pedal on top; WALLA! PUMPKIN PIE!!
And the face does render the whipped cream
Such perfection words could not describe...
The goblins couldn't be more excited
To share the treat they hold so dear
Beaming smiles at one another
Black Forest Goblin Cheer!!!
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All contributed content © Steven Curran (Haunted Hayride) 2009
Now this next poem is a first on here that does not speak of or have a direct correlation to Halloween. It leans more to the Halloween Art Guild's "dark art" category. Now as much as I respect the Earth and absolutely LOVE ANIMALS; there are some I would just rather not have as a pet per se.
And the one I speak of is the spider. Yess the spider. Now before all the smushy faces and dirty looks; just hear me out. If, lets just say a spider was in my house; I'd be the guy to get an index card, get the spider on it, and place him or her outside. However much like Indiana Jones loves snakes, hence my love for spiders. I can coexist with them just swimmingly, just wouldn't be on my top ten choice list of pets I'd want for a present.
The inspiration for this poem came to me as I was walking Kobe the other day. Kobe being my adorable loving son in the picture. Ya know...the black one with the four paws, that loves to cuddle, and responds remarkably to "you want a treat!"
We were simply walking down the street and I noticed a tree with a GINORMOUS (gigantic AND enormous) spider web hanging between two branches. I'm tellin ya...this thing looked like a human could get caught in it!!! So we diverted to the other side of the street for a good mile or so, just in case a spider of Godzilla like proportions came after us. And I just thought to myself; I WOULD NOT want to get caught in there.
So I affectionately named the spider "FEASTRESS," meaning the High Priestess of FEAST-ing on anything that came her way! The only difference is that Feastress had one web for practical eating and the other for entertainment.
Oh yes my friends...the Feastress had a wickedly dark side to her. Our story comes to life...
FEASTRESS (A different kind of spider)
Each one of them warned before they could fly
Of the evil that lived in that tree
Unfathomable torture to those who await
Not even The Devil himself could foresee...
Its sole purpose amusement
Between rotted branches; suspended in air
A woven graveyard of white glistening death
Indentured souls strewn without care...
TOTALLY superior in her own twisted mind
Ideas of just treatment hardly sane
With cruel and unusual premeditated plans
The Feastress plays her game...
Her first victim a mosquito
Looking down standing three times his size
But instead of killing him quickly
She kindly feeds him to his surprise...
With a sigh of relief and his heart pounding fiercely
Being friends his one chance to survive
But with each fatal bite; he begins to convulse
From red colored insecticide...
The next victim to land a HUGE DRAGONFLY
She paces and ponders what to do
Fictional stories in her demented youth
Interpreted "Dragons" as enemies too...
So from her tiny cupboard she got lighter fluid
Only pouring on the Dragonfly's head
Spinnerets that rub together cause a spark you see
Leaving the burnt alive Dragonfly dead...
Last victim a moth landing inside of Hell's web
Her thoughts a frenzy and horribly apalled
A black velvet frock coat she once wore with delight
Ruined forever from the smell of mothball...
The immediate thought an eye for an eye
She really hated them all
So she slowly disemboweled its quivering corpse
A happy face of its organs in a ball...
The faintest of smiles appeared on her face
Gazing at the others now rendered insane
For each victim she eats tastes better you see
Slowly chewed with the flavor of pain...
Without conscious more lives will never return
She just stares at her favorite playpen
When 3am befalls and the voice is heard
Her majesty will play yet again...
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All contributed content © Steven Curran (Haunted Hayride) 2009
This next poem is about a vampire who generally has an insatiable thirst for blood. However on this one particular day he felt the need to test the bounds of his own being. Instead of the same old routine of having blood first and then progressing with his night; a strange craving overcame him. Coffee of course!! Can ya blame 'em? We ALL get the urge and some of us two to three cups a day; maybe even MORE!!! So against his own better judgement he decides to go get a cup. One cup. No bites, no blood, and no hard feelings. Just coffee. I wonder if he succeeds? Our story comes to life...
Vampire Coffee
With stretching arms and a big long yawn
And habitually avoiding the sun
He looked around and thought aloud
Something other than blood would be fun...
So he thought and thought and thought some more
And now he could not wait
Its warm and sweet and so very delicious
A coffee would be great...
But before he left to get his treat
Something inside him was not quite right
Could he leave his home without first drinking blood
And still control his ferocious bite...
That settles it as he shut the door
And made his way across town
I'm doing so well and what are the odds
There isn't a soul around...
At last he arrived at "Joe's Coffee Shoppe"
Read the sign hung above the door
As he made his way in and carefully got on
The line that wrapped 'round the floor...
He could not believe at this time of night
So many others wanted coffee too
For the taste of their blood tortured him now
They would run if they had but a clue...
His mind had strayed then finally his turn to order his wish
With flickering eyes that feared certain doom
Just concentrate on why you've come
And how you'll be safe at home soon...
Inches away from his neck and instinctively driving him mad
His bloodlust substantially grew
And suddenly snapped back from his breaking point
Only to realize he was being spoken to...
Welcome my friend and what can I get ya
How bout a nice cup of joe he said
He gulped and tensed up as sweat ran down his face
I'll just have some coffee instead...
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All contributed content © Steven Curran (Haunted Hayride) 2009
Last night on September 19, 2009 at around midnight I just walked outside and looked up at the sky. The air was brisk and the sky was as black as can be and I just stood there and took a deep breath. When I went back inside this poem wrote itself in a matter of minutes. Most of them take some thought; in this case it just jumped out of the pencil. Dark would be an understatement for this poem. Perhaps a psychological journey into the depths of a place that should not be disturbed. Only when it was complete did I realize the significance of its meaning; and may I say as to not worry anyone, this is in no way shape or form reflective of me. This is strictly artistic interpretation. Our story comes to life...
Another Place
Its shadow grim
Befalls the trees
As graceful as the sky
With mind devoid of afterthought
No concept of alive...
To walk a sleepless life alone
But never in its mind
Detatched from all the why and when
And always finds its prize...
Naught words to speak
Or sound to hear
Cannot feel a thing
For love and hate and body and fear
Twisted into sin...
Another song of children crying
Pattern connected random noise
Filter into screams of rage
Expire long before...before...before...
Before the hairs upon its arm
And lines on fingertips
Eyes so blue and dull with pain
Not a word could hold its lips...
Steps are short now
The calling is from inside
To finally touch the hand of faith
And leave it all behind...
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All contributed content © Steven Curran (Haunted Hayride) 2009
This next poem is a spinoff of all the warnings that I used to get as a child while trick or treating on Halloween night. I remember my Mom used to tell me not to go to some homes beacause of rumored "pins" being put in the candy etc. Or not to stay out too late due to the "creatues" that roamed the late night, and the harm they could cause you. (Tangent)...now I don't have any children of my own, but I do have a 2 year old lab named Kobe whom I love more than life. So if he spoke english and wanted to go trick or treating I would probably tell him the same stories out of my love for him. So with that being said I created a mythical creature that if looked upon on google or yahoo does not exist yet until now. I call them as a group "Tremmels!" Take note of the fact that I'm not going to of yet give you very much information about what they look like, where they live, what they eat(although rumored bratty children on Halloween night). Tremmels are the pins in the candy and the creatures that roam the late night. They are the inexplainable horror on Halloween night. It always seems to come from another town, or another time period, or the other child...but what if? What if all of that suddenly became YOU? Our story comes to life...
Tremmels
It only happens once a year
A not so unheard of far away place
Where sight surrenders distance
And only folklore can retrace...
The seance of the ancient ones
Living beneath the sky above the trees
And if you stop and listen
Their chanting will paralyze you to a freeze...
(Start chant in Song)
Remember night and how she stands
Through bone and timeless chill
And the children walk through darkness
With thoughts of candy their bags will fill
And the dead
will walk the Earth
And the dead
will walk the Earth
With harm to thee
so shall it be
As the dead do walk the Earth
(End chant in song)
They stand of all an eight feet tall
With at times translucent skin
And their features semi-human
Their commonality their sin...
As they stealthily do stalk the Earth
On sacred Halloween night
With no regard or consequence
For the atrocities of their plight...
While trick or treaters are walking
A dimly moonlit sight
They lurk amidst the shadows
To spring in malicious harmful fright...
Some children would get lucky
Scream wildly and run away
Explaining to the disbelief
Of adults lost what to say...
Yet some would become legend
Dark tales first thought untrue
The missing took by the evil
Left for the world but not a clue...
So when the sky is void of light
And night feels hollow and cold
Kiddies have fun but respect those gone
Or the Tremmels will feast your soul!
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All contributed content © Steven Curran (Haunted Hayride) 2009
I'm very happy to say that recently I had the pleasure of going on one of the country's premiere haunted hayrides! It really was so much fun and so detailed. The weather was brisk and clear. A tractor drawn ride with beautiful golden hay that seated about twenty five people. It went along a winding path stopping at various spooky stops with actors and actresses jumping out of the woods in frightening fashion. And of course the melodic sounds of chainsaws and screams to fill the air. However it was at one particular point that I had a small mental revelation.
As the ride continued, we passed a surreal cemetery, complete with worn looking headstones, a few mausoleums, and big scary black iron gates. And at that very moment that my mind started to drift into the depths of imagination the ride stopped there. It couldn't have been for more than three minutes or so but it seemed like forever in my head.
I thought back to my Halloween room and all of the wonderful decorations. The headstones, the black and grays, the mystery of it all. The delight that the darkness and autumn mystique bring to my soul. And don't get me wrong I respect the living as much as I can as well as the departed. But I would be lying to you all if I said I'd never parked in a real cemetery and wrote down ideas to stories and poetry etc. With all due respect to the departed of course and their "living" relatives.
However it was at that moment that I realized I needed to share this with all of you on here. All of us are dark art fans. Fans of Halloween, October, autumn, the fall etc in any of its many capacities. And I'm sure its safe to say I'm not the only one on here who has gone to a cemetery randomly to think? Or who loves haunted houses? Or has such a strong and emotional attachment to the gothic beauty of the world that it drives them crazy to wonder if, when the time comes to move onto the next plain of existence, there will be all of the orange and black to make us happy once more.
So if all of that went through my head in approximately one minutes time while stopped at the surreal cemetery; then this next thought is what I ultimately wanted to share with you.
As I continued to stare at the gates and the surreal cemetery a self-proclaimed quote came to me.
"Of death I fear not; forever then will my attachment to beautiful darkness be seen through eyes as I once saw, a bedazzling decoration in the Halloween village of life."
Haunted Hayride's Photos
Comment Wall (49 comments)
- At 7:55pm on October 24, 2009, Haunted Hayride added a gift to their profile…
- From the Gift Store
- At 2:09pm on October 8, 2009,
Metrostation said…
- Nice to meet you I love Halloween too!
my favourite holiday! I just picked up some Halloween props and pieces of old halloween costume bits!
Love that you have a room with all your holiday collections!
- At 12:40pm on October 8, 2009,
Lisa Bivona said… - I loved Tremmels, it's a classic ghost story for chills I think. You're so good at what you do. And thanks for a Happy Oct.
- At 9:46am on October 8, 2009,
Amanda Pinkston said…
- Thanks for visiting my site. I actually have a question for you...
I am talking about themes in an upcoming topic and would like to feature one of your poems on the blog or if you have a short story you would like to link to we could do that as well. Would you be interested?
Your name and a link to your ning page or any other pages you own would be included in the post.
Let me know what you think!
- At 9:38pm on October 7, 2009,
- I LOVE your poems! Thanks for connecting. I too have a fall/Halloween room and Nightmare Before Christmas is my absolute favorite movie. I have a blog that I started for dark fiction writers such as ourselves, would love for you to take a look and pass it on to any writers you know. http://www.fullmoonfiction.blogspot.com Have a spooky night!
- At 1:33pm on October 7, 2009,
Metrostation said…
- Thank you "haunted hayride" love this name!
- At 10:01pm on October 6, 2009,
Vampiress Vixin said… - REPOST...As I read your comment, I halted in happiness and was hidrotic to know some other would too be hamate. Such hardihood you have! I am no harridan nor hippodamist, rather a homniform hypaxanthous!!! That flower came out when we haussmannized our friendship! So with that my photo may show signs of halation however, I have chosen such a photo because of your hemeralopia. Hark my words...17 H's from the hypogeal!
- At 5:59pm on October 6, 2009,
Jenny D said… - Thank you very much! Happy October!
- At 11:14am on October 6, 2009,
Thespoena McLaughlin said… - I love your poems. You've certainly got a handle on the Halloween spirit. I'm very much in your line of thinking. October is THE best time of year. If only it could be October always. Maybe I'm just a little biased though since my birthday is coming up. LOL. And your Halloween room, awesome, I'm very jealous, wish I had space to set one up.
- At 8:33pm on October 4, 2009,
Phillane said… - Thank you so much... That just made my day!
blessings,Pea
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