october 13th

happy friday the thirteenth, everyone! and to celebrate, here's that poem you probably read at school that one time! today's spooky poem is "the highwayman", a delightfully melodramatic ballad by alfred noyes. there's an analysis of it here and a sung version by loreena mckennit here. and once you've listened to that you can watch this, if you're so inclined.

THE HIGHWAYMAN

Part I

The wind was a torrent of darkness among the gusty trees.  The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas.  the road was a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor,    And the highwayman came riding— Riding—riding— The highwayman came riding, up to the old inn-door.

He’d a French cocked-hat on his forehead, a bunch of lace at his chin, A coat of the claret velvet, and breeches of brown doe-skin. They fitted with never a wrinkle. His boots were up to the thigh.    And he rode with a jewelled twinkle, His pistol butts a-twinkle, His rapier hilt a-twinkle, under the jewelled sky.

Over the cobbles he clattered and clashed in the dark inn-yard. He tapped with his whip on the shutters, but all was locked and barred. He whistled a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there    But the landlord’s black-eyed daughter, Bess, the landlord’s daughter, Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.

And dark in the dark old inn-yard a stable-wicket creaked Where Tim the ostler listened. His face was white and peaked.    His eyes were hollows of madness, his hair like mouldy hay,    But he loved the landlord’s daughter, The landlord’s red-lipped daughter. Dumb as a dog he listened, and he heard the robber say—

“One kiss, my bonny sweetheart, I’m after a prize to-night, But I shall be back with the yellow gold before the morning light; Yet, if they press me sharply, and harry me through the day,    Then look for me by moonlight, Watch for me by moonlight, I’ll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way.”

He rose upright in the stirrups. He scarce could reach her hand, But she loosened her hair in the casement. His face burnt like a brand As the black cascade of perfume came tumbling over his breast; And he kissed its waves in the moonlight, (O, sweet black waves in the moonlight!) Then he tugged at his rein in the moonlight, and galloped away to the west.

Part II He did not come in the dawning; he did not come at noon; And out o' the tawny sunset, before the rise o' the moon, When the road was a gipsy's ribbon, looping the purple moor, A red-coat troop came marching Marching—marching— King George's men came marching, up to the old inn-door. They said no word to the landlord, they drank his ale instead, But they gagged his daughter and bound her to the foot of her narrow bed; Two of them knelt at her casement, with muskets at their side! There was death at every window; And hell at one dark window; For Bess could see, through the casement, the road that he would ride. They had tied her up to attention, with many a sniggering jest; They bound a musket beside her, with the barrel beneath her breast! "Now keep good watch!" and they kissed her. She heard the dead man say Look for me by moonlight; Watch for me by moonlight; I'll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way! She twisted her hands behind her; but all the knots held good! She writhed her hands till her fingers were wet with sweat or blood! They stretched and strained in the darkness, and the hours crawled by like years, Till, now, on the stroke of midnight, Cold, on the stroke of midnight, The tip of one finger touched it! The trigger at least was hers!

The tip of one finger touched it; she strove no more for the rest! Up, she stood up to attention, with the barrel beneath her breast, She would not risk their hearing; she would not strive again; For the road lay bare in the moonlight; Blank and bare in the moonlight; And the blood of her veins in the moonlight throbbed to her love's refrain. Tlot-tlot; tlot-tlot! Had they heard it? The horse-hoofs ringing clear; Tlot-tlot, tlot-tlot, in the distance? Were they deaf that they did not hear? Down the ribbon of moonlight, over the brow of the hill, The highwayman came riding, Riding, riding! The red-coats looked to their priming! She stood up strait and still! Tlot-tlot, in the frosty silence! Tlot-tlot, in the echoing night! Nearer he came and nearer! Her face was like a light! Her eyes grew wide for a moment; she drew one last deep breath, Then her finger moved in the moonlight, Her musket shattered the moonlight, Shattered her breast in the moonlight and warned him - with her death. He turned; he spurred to the West; he did not know who stood Bowed, with her head o'er the musket, drenched with her own red blood! Not till the dawn he heard it, his face grew grey to hear How Bess, the landlord's daughter, The landlord's black-eyed daughter, Had watched for her love in the moonlight, and died in the darkness there. Back, he spurred like a madman, shrieking a curse to the sky, With the white road smoking behind him and his rapier brandished high! Blood-red were his spurs i' the golden noon; wine-red was his velvet coat, When they shot him down on the highway, Down like a dog on the highway, And he lay in his blood on the highway, with a bunch of lace at his throat.

And still of a winter's night, they say, when the wind is in the trees, When the moon is a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas, When the road is a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor, A highwayman comes riding Riding—riding— A highwayman comes riding, up to the old inn-door. Over the cobbles he clatters and clangs in the dark inn-yard, And he taps with his whip on the shutters, but all is locked and barred; He whistles a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there But the landlord's black-eyed daughter, Bess, the landlord's daughter, Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.

—Alfred Noyes

October - 1

ah, see the season of fall is here, maybe it's nature's way of telling you to fall for me.

--apollo--

from collected poems by John Berger

Loneliest october nights

I have this incredible amount of love inside me

To give to the hearts who don't deserve

I hoped for care and kindness

Yet they broke me down in return

And i still love them, more than anyone, lonely souls must be filled with golden warmth

Id freeze my soul for all the sinners

Since my mother told me i was one

[PLEASE DO NOT REPOST! RB is okay ofc <3 ]

Gaddamn! When Are You Going to Buy Them A Fucking High Chair So They Can Sit Their Anorexic Looking Ass Down And Eat?!

Gaddamn! When Are You Going to Buy Them A Fucking High Chair So They Can Sit Their Anorexic Looking Ass Down And Eat?! I guess never. This really is not clever.

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Paul Auster, The Brooklyn Follies

"Gardening with the Son I Will Never Have", Ocean Vuong, Burnings

grief  by Barbara Crooker

october 14th

today's spooky poem is "la belle dame sans merci" by keats. what can i say. it's a classic. it's got dream-ghosts, faery women (well, one), and an ambiguous ending - what more could anyone ask for? read more about it here.

LA BELLE DAME SANS MERCI

O what can ail thee, knight-at-arms,        Alone and palely loitering? The sedge has withered from the lake,        And no birds sing.

O what can ail thee, knight-at-arms,        So haggard and so woe-begone? The squirrel’s granary is full,        And the harvest’s done.

I see a lily on thy brow,        With anguish moist and fever-dew, And on thy cheeks a fading rose        Fast withereth too.

I met a lady in the meads,        Full beautiful—a faery’s child, Her hair was long, her foot was light,        And her eyes were wild.

I made a garland for her head,        And bracelets too, and fragrant zone; She looked at me as she did love,        And made sweet moan

I set her on my pacing steed,        And nothing else saw all day long, For sidelong would she bend, and sing        A faery’s song.

She found me roots of relish sweet,        And honey wild, and manna-dew, And sure in language strange she said—        ‘I love thee true’.

She took me to her Elfin grot,        And there she wept and sighed full sore, And there I shut her wild wild eyes        With kisses four.

And there she lullèd me asleep,        And there I dreamed—Ah! woe betide!— The latest dream I ever dreamt        On the cold hill side.

I saw pale kings and princes too,        Pale warriors, death-pale were they all; They cried—‘La Belle Dame sans Merci  Thee hath in thrall!’

I saw their starved lips in the gloam,        With horrid warning gapèd wide, And I awoke and found me here,        On the cold hill’s side.

And this is why I sojourn here,        Alone and palely loitering, Though the sedge is withered from the lake,        And no birds sing.

—John Keats

Mary Oliver, from "October", Devotions

poems that made me live in october

"Not that I'm going mad...", Joseph Brodsky

How Many Of Those Who You Can Share Your Bed With, Eduard Asadov

Aedh Wishes for the Cloths of Heaven, W. B. Yeats

Good Bones, Maggie Smith

Adieu to Norman, Bon Jour to Joan and Jean-Paul, Frank O'Hara

Anders On Life, First Considerations by Nils Peterson

Mayakovsky by Frank O'Hara

Lilichka, Vladimir Mayakovski

Sleeping In The Forest, Mary Oliver

a vote for the gentle light, charles bukowski

There Is A Spell In Autumn Poem by Fyodor Ivanovich Tyutchev

On Raglan Road by Patrick Kavanagh

 Darling, I left the house, Joseph Brodsky

Dylan Thomas, from "Poem in October", Selected Poems: 1934-1952

Return to the Store

I bought a one pound bag of Hershey’s kisses. Although they went up one dollar, I was thankful to be able to afford them. As a result, I looked up at the sky. Damn! Those chocolates were too damn high! Once I purchased my A&W cream soda pop and candy, it was time to go. But, once I returned to the apartment….. Oh no!

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what kind of ghost are you?