Post by Joanna on Oct 30, 2013 23:43:59 GMT -5
The winner, by a single vote, of this year's Halloween Story/Poem Contest is Jason's delightful poem, "The Samhain Miracle." For those who may not have read it, here it is:
The Samhain Miracle
Twas the night before Samhain and all of the witches
Were preparing for the feast, even the bitches.
The circle was prepared with the greatest of care,
In hopes the Horned One would deign to appear.
Hazel, an old witch, baked a spiced pumpkin cake
As she spoke of ancestors burned at the stake.
Kristen, a young witch – in real life a yuppy –
Removed from the oven, a nice, plump roast puppy.
Behemoth black cats licked their chops in yearning
As neighborhood dogs on spits were a’turnin.’
Black-robed old crones gossiped on the sidelines,
While their younger counterparts danced in the moonlight.
The old witches all had a penchant for tradition,
But most of the novices paid little attention.
Over their bodies, flying ointment they spread,
While visions of He Goats danced in their heads.
The cauldron bubbled, the bonfire burned bright
And the delirious dancers suddenly took flight.
Over houses and trees, they sailed through the air
And at least in their minds, all landed elsewhere.
The Horned God appeared with his magnificent member,
Which according to legend, never gets limber.
The rites and the writhing became quite hysterical.
And the satyr performed – it was a miracle!
The sun found the witches in a state of confusion.
Had their orgiastic revelries been but an illusion?
And did the Horned God really call as he vanished from sight,
Blessed Samhain to all and to all a Good Night?
The Samhain Miracle
Twas the night before Samhain and all of the witches
Were preparing for the feast, even the bitches.
The circle was prepared with the greatest of care,
In hopes the Horned One would deign to appear.
Hazel, an old witch, baked a spiced pumpkin cake
As she spoke of ancestors burned at the stake.
Kristen, a young witch – in real life a yuppy –
Removed from the oven, a nice, plump roast puppy.
Behemoth black cats licked their chops in yearning
As neighborhood dogs on spits were a’turnin.’
Black-robed old crones gossiped on the sidelines,
While their younger counterparts danced in the moonlight.
The old witches all had a penchant for tradition,
But most of the novices paid little attention.
Over their bodies, flying ointment they spread,
While visions of He Goats danced in their heads.
The cauldron bubbled, the bonfire burned bright
And the delirious dancers suddenly took flight.
Over houses and trees, they sailed through the air
And at least in their minds, all landed elsewhere.
The Horned God appeared with his magnificent member,
Which according to legend, never gets limber.
The rites and the writhing became quite hysterical.
And the satyr performed – it was a miracle!
The sun found the witches in a state of confusion.
Had their orgiastic revelries been but an illusion?
And did the Horned God really call as he vanished from sight,
Blessed Samhain to all and to all a Good Night?
Well done. 
