What's That?

What's that?
Who's there?
There's a great huge horrible horrible
creeping up the stair!
A huge big terrible terrible
with creepy crawly hair!
There's a ghastly grisly ghastly
with seven slimy eyes!
And flabby grabby tentacles
of a gigantic size!
He's crept into my room now,
he's leaning over me.
I wonder if he's thinking
how delicious I will be.

- Florence Parry Heide -
From Ghoulies and Ghosties,
and long-leggity Beasties,
And all THINGS
That go BUMP in the night.
Please, deliver us.
Ghost Sounds

When the moon rides high,
up overhead - and I am snug
and warm in bed -
In the autumn dark
the ghosts move 'round,
making their mournful, moaning sound.
I listen to know when the ghosts go by.
I hear a wail.
I hear a sigh.
But I can't quite tell
which I hear the most -
the wind, or the wail
or some passing ghost.
Ghosts
~ Harry Behn ~

A cold and starry darkness moans
And settles wide and still
Over a jumble of tumbled stones
Dark on a darker hill.

An owl among those shadowy walls,
Gray against the gray
Of ruins and brittle weeds, calls
And soundless swoops away.

Rustling over scattered stones
Dancers hover and sway,
Drifting among their own bones
Like webs of the Milky Way.


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Knitted Things
~ Karla Kuskin ~

There was a witch who knitted things:
Elephants and playground swings.
She knitted rain,
She knitted night,
But nothing really came out right.
The elephants had just one tusk
And night looked more
Like dawn or dusk.
The rain was snow
And when she tried
To knit an egg
It came out fried.
She knitted birds
With buttonholes
And twenty rubber butter rolls.
She knitted blue angora trees.
She purl stitched countless purple fleas.
She knitted a palace in need of a darn.
She knitted a battle and ran out of yarn.
She drew out a strand
Of her gleaming, green hair
And knitted a lawn
Till she just wasn't there.

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