The more observant ones amongst you may have spotted that Halloween is imminent and we here love this time of year to hell and back. Not only are there plenty of great shows but there is some art forms that especially come alive in this particular season.
One of those is poetry which can perfectly capture the kind of spooky atmosphere that can chill you to the bone. Spoken word artist Mike Galsworthy is a brilliant performer and poet who inhabits his scenarios and characters with an eerie accuracy. Here he shares a sensual poem which will send shivers down your spine. If you want to read along, the text of the poem is below the video. Roll VT.
She will be my witch
The Jack-o’-lantern moon rises large and orange
Over the black tree on the black hill;
As though the Harvest Moon returned
From the underworld, with a broad hunter’s grin.
The air is purple as a spell in a bottle
And impossibly thin as skeleton skin.
I un-stopper it, I tip it up and I drink it in,
To mix with the black elixir in my blood.
Jigsaw leaves on the ground are rotting.
Scattered are their patterns of yellow and red
That cast geometries of invocation
To wake the spirits of the dead.
Voodoo roots hold tattooed bones
Rapping them on crypts underneath the trees.
Then they shake them to a silent dance
And every twist, twists within me.
Give to me a pinch of venom
A thimbleful to prick my senses
Draw to me all dark temptresses
I am the beast… and tonight I hunt a witch.
I see her, walking sharp as scissors,
Hip-sway could stop a hypnotist’s watch,
Mesmer would be mesmerised
By this witch; secretly I watch her lips.
I am the beast, I prowl at distance
I circle her, she mutters charms;
Before the moon climbs to its height
I will have her disarmed within my arms.
My thrill overspills the edges of night
The trees whisper in flow and ebb,
The witch disappears in an undergrowth portal
Spun of brambles like a tunnel web.
I follow her through to another world.
And she turns around with a dazzling stare;
My heart trips up on my surprise,
My eyes are wide, but do I dare
Chase after this green-eyed fox, this witch?
I am startled like the hare.
But our gaze remains unbroken,
My dark eyes match her green spell.
The wood around begins to spin
Blurring as I draw her in –
She draws her nails upon my skin.
The moon is high, the time is nigh.
I am transformed. She is transfixed.
I am the beast. She will be my witch.
You can follow Mike’s work on line via the medium of Twitter.
More Halloween poetry: A Mysterious Tale Of Flying Cats, Hoarse Singing And Itinerant Dildos
Image: Gavin Black Photography