Olga's Poetry & Thoughts

In the sky there hangs a white crescent moon, It shines bright on the big city below. I'm all alone, but I won't be soon, The ghost in the night, she comes and she goes. I hear her in the kitchen brewing tea, And then she comes to my bedside and stares. I feel her dark eyes piercing straight through me, In the dark, her face is ghastly and pale. She's haunting me yet I do not feel scared, There's something familiar about her stance. I'd reach out and talk to her if I dared, I'd ask her out for a midnight slow dance. The ghost lady is my past self, you see, It's me being terrified of what I can be.

They say deep in the forest On every Halloween Comes alive an evil woman The worst the world has seen They say she has black eyes Nails painted burgundy Skin as pale as moonlight Hair long and feathery Drunken men lost at midnight With no place else to go Are baffled by her beauty And court the fateful beau She strikes right at the neck That’s where men are weakest They have no chance to yell Her mercy is the bleakest Who knew that such a beauty With pretty straight cut bangs Could open such an awful mouth With such remorseless fangs? The men are but her supper She rolls them in a cocoon They glisten like sad slugs Their bodies shining from the moon The black widow has claimed the lives Of more than thirty men No one has ever caught her As she hides deep in her den Sometimes she walks among us The pretty lady with the smile No one even suspects her To be a fiend so vile No one even look...

On Halloween Eve I attended a feast Where friends were disguised as brilliant beasts Amid all the rags of black, grey, and plum My red dress blotted the floor with red rum I was the Queen of Hearts for one night Flattered by men who blushed at my sight I was a caricature of women who rage I was a damsel from the Victorian age Though I was proposed to by all the males I rejected them at the swish of my scarlet red nails There was one man, in the corner of the room Who caused my intrigue to tenderly bloom He was not a clown, a cowboy, or an ape He was a skeleton in a flowing black cape This sort of blasphemy I've never seen To dress as the Reaper for Halloween He transformed a holiday of fun and fear Into a reminder that death is too near He left to the garden, and I followed and whined And told him his costume was way out of line He turned his head and I shuddered at his face Which was a skeletal, bleached disgrace "Sir, I demand you unmask your brow! ...