By Michael Lee Johnson
Witchy Halloween In this late October 31st night, this poem turns into a pumpkin. Animation, something has gone devilishly wrong with my imagery. I take the lid off the pumpkin’s head light the pink candles inside. Demons, cry, crawl, split, fly outsides — escape, through the pumpkin’s eyes. I’m mixed in fear with this scary, strange creation. Outside, quietly tapping Hazel the witch, her broomstick against my window pane rattles. She says, nothing seems to rhyme anymore, nothing seems to make any sense, but the night is young. Give me back my magical bag of tricks. As Robert Frost said: “But I have promises to keep, And miles to go before I sleep.”
Michael Lee Johnson lived ten years in Canada during the Vietnam era and is a dual citizen of the United States and Canada. Today he is a poet, freelance writer, amateur photographer, and small business owner in Itasca, DuPage County, Illinois. Mr. Johnson is published in more than 2033 new publications. His poems have appeared in 42 countries; he edits and publishes ten poetry sites.