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.

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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