Wickey Weekly Writing Prompt: Ode to Halloween


Hello everyone! I know I said that I would be posting these prompts on Wednesdays. Well, I had a midterm to write, and no time to write a poem. Sorry about that.

This weeks prompt is an Ode to Halloween.  

What is an Ode? An ode is a lyrical poem that celebrates a person, place, thing or a concept/idea. Many odes are written in four lines; however, there is no stanza or line limit. Many Ode’s are written to celebrate love.

Odes were commonly used by the English romantic movement. However, I want people to remember that a Romantic writer does not necessarily translate into romance. They love to celebrate nature and innocents.

So today we will be writing irregular odes so no one has to worry about rhyming, but still try to keep it lyrical.

Today we celebrate Halloween!


Ode to Halloween

The witches at east end,

The zombies roaming the streets,

The demons the sneak in corners,

While the Black cats wake up from their sleep,

Today I am gory, cute, scary, or green.

Today we celebrate the sprites that come to sing.

Today I am not her but rather the true me.

While, life bustles under the full moon gleam.

Today I am singing

That the candy is free.     

One thought on “Wickey Weekly Writing Prompt: Ode to Halloween

  1. “T’was the night before Christmas and all through the house,
    Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.
    The stockings were hung on the chimney with care,
    With hopes that Jack Skellington soon would be there.
    The monsters were nestled all snug in there beds,
    With pictures of candied brains dancing in their heads.
    And mama in her coffin, and I in mine,
    Had just settled down for our long sleep time.
    When out in the cemetery arose such a clatter,
    I sprung from coffin to see what was the matter.
    Away to window I flew like a bat,
    My mouth hung agape at what I stared at.
    Out on the lawn below me I saw,
    A horde full of zombies, bloody and raw.
    They slowly inched towards us with each passing minute,
    If I didn’t get my gun, we’d surely be in it.
    So I ran to closet with such a hurry,
    About toggle those zombies all of my fury.
    I picked out my shotgun and .9 millimeter,
    To go outside and kill all those undead flesh eaters.
    I bolted the windows with our fireplace wood,
    Hoping the barricade would do us some good.
    Silently I waited at the front door of our house,
    My nerves jumping throughout my body with a bounce.
    When suddenly with groans the door came tumbling down,
    Echoing through the house with a thunderous sound.
    I jumped from my hiding spot and let out a loud yell,
    Determined to send those zombies back to hell.
    One by one, then three by three,
    I cut them all down like I was cutting down trees.
    My bullets flew from left to right,
    Taking down zombies with all of their might.
    Blood was spewing all over the place,
    I ignored the few splashes that fell on my face.
    The groans and the screams grew to such great heights,
    It gave the rest of the house such a great fright.
    Just as I was to shoot the last of the brutes,
    Echoed on the wind the sound of a flute.
    And through the planks of wood on the window,
    There was a bright light which was aglow.
    Then suddenly in flash like it happens so often,
    I woke up with a fright inside of my coffin.
    I blinked in the darkness and huffed in and out,
    My lips turned down in form of a pout.
    It was the night before Christmas,
    With nothing about to fuss.
    Then I tore open my coffin and ran to the window,
    With nothing to watch, but the wind blow.
    A sigh of relief escaped from my lips,
    Now time to go back to my coffin and call it quits.
    In an instant in the air, the sounds of bells,
    I craned my head out window to make sure all was well.
    When, what to my wondering eyes would appear,
    Why a miniature sleigh and eight tiny reindeers.
    “Now Pale, now Killer, now Shadow and Slasher,
    On Ghost, on Nightmare, on Phillip and Basher,
    To the top of the porch, to the top of the grave marker,
    I’ll murder you all if you don’t work harder.”
    Through the rain and the hail of the night sky,
    Up to our roof did they fly.
    And then in the twilight, I heard on he roof,
    The thrashing and gnawing of each little hoof.
    As I drew in my head and turned around,
    Down the chimney, Jack Skellington came with a bound.
    He looked so pale, tall and ghostly,
    I only could stare at his large hollow eyes mostly.
    A bundle of hours he flung on his back,
    He looked like a lamp post with an opening sack.
    He eyes, how they were hollow, his bony cheeks so smooth,
    With his mouth, which seemed to curve in a peculiar groove.
    Two hole on his face, which formed a nose, so tiny,
    And hanging from his chin. a fake beard so shiny.
    He had a round face, and a straight tight belly,
    He looked like he needed few sandwiches from the local deli.
    Not a word did bespeak, but went straight to work,
    And filled all the stocking, then turned with a jerk.
    He stuffed up our tree with presents of toys and blood,
    And for my swamp monster, a bucket of mud.
    When he was finished, he stood in our chimney place,
    And then sprang up and fast, a blur for his face.
    He sprang to his sleigh, and then with a shout,
    And away they flew, on a twisted messed up route.
    But I heard him exclaim, as they drove out of sight,
    “Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good fright!”

    Liked by 1 person

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