Soggy effusions, goblin minds ...

It's Thor's day … and TulseyTown was downright chilly on the walk to the mailbox this Halloween morning. Overnight storms and 60 mph Northerlies ushered Fall in with Thor's thunder.

It was on this day in1795 that John Keats, was born in London.

Thou still unravish’d bride of quietness,
Thou foster-child of Silence and slow Time

…

When old age shall this generation waste,
Thou shalt remain, in midst of other woe
Than ours, a friend to man, to whom thou say’st,
“Beauty is truth, truth beauty”—that is all
Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know.

– John Keats, “Ode on a Grecian Urn.” This poem was written and published six months before his death at age 25.

Although Halloween, celebrated this day, is now observed largely as a secular holiday, it is, as the eve of All Saints' Day, also a religious holiday among some Christians. The Gaels recognized the evening of October 31 as Samhain, the night when the boundaries between life and death are blurred...Halloween also happens to be the birthday of John Keats...Many of us, use the day to daydream different selves...Especially us poets, who have no choice but to mask up most days to survive in a world that can be antagonistic to sensitivity...illusive, malleable, [even how] unknowable the self truly is. – Adrian Maatejka, “Editor's Note,” Poetry, October 2024.

Eventually October Sunday

Writing dreaming of some where

else this bar becomes too real:

Laughter mates with familiar paper,

wet napkins, depression,

and the onset of winter.

Soggy effusions from some witch's fingernails:

Last leaves from the only oak let go at the quick,

fly past the window like words in Halloween songs

in the minds of goblin dwarves.

– jab