Poem: A Bit of Fright, A Bit of Fun (A Halloween Ode)
Halloween isn’t just about sweets, skeleton onesies, and dodgy vampire teeth from the corner shop. Its roots run deep into ancient Celtic traditions, where Samhain (pronounced ‘Sow-in’ or ‘Sah-win’), marked the end of harvest and the start of the darker half of the year. It was a night when the veil between the living and the dead thinned, and spirits roamed freely.
Over centuries, these rituals blended with Christian customs, folklore, and eventually pop culture – transforming into the modern celebration we know today, full of costumes, horror films, haunted houses and questionable party snacks shaped like eyeballs.
The following poem is a playful and macabre tribute to Halloween in all its forms – from its eerie origins in pagan ritual, to the blood-soaked joy of modern horror fandom. It nods to classic monsters, cult movie villains, and literary legends, all while keeping its tongue firmly in its rotting cheek. So, light a candle, pour a stiff drink, and enjoy the frightful fun.
A Bit of Fright, A Bit of Fun (A Halloween Ode)
On Samhain night when fires were lit,
The veil grew thin and wits grew split,
The Celts would feast, the dead drew near
And whispered tidings in your ear.
They’d muffle bells and paint their face,
To trick the ghouls that stalked the place.
A turnip carved, a charm well-spun
Not for sweets, but to not be done.
But flash forward now to modern days,
Where pumpkins glow and fog machines haze,
Where vampires flirt and zombies groan
Through Snapchat filters on your phone.
Where Tesco stocks a dozen masks,
And Karen shrieks: “We’re late for casks!”
(That’s wine, of course, It’s party night.)
Drink blood-red punch and scream in fright!
We binge on Chucky, Jason’s blade,
Freddy Krueger in a nightmare’s shade.
Ash and his boomstick, Candyman’s hive,
Michael just stares, is he even alive?
A marathon of endless screams
On Netflix, Prime, and haunted streams.
While kids knock doors dressed as the plague,
And goths embrace their full Montague vague.
There’s Poe in print and Shelley’s spark,
A creature stitched from graveyard dark.
We quote “The Shining” with mad delight,
“All work and no play” – bloody right.
We bob for apples, not our sins,
(Though some confess once cider spins).
The horror’s fake, but still it chills,
Like haunted houses with spooky thrills.
We laugh at fear, we dance with death,
We paint our faces, hold our breath.
For once a year, we tip the scale
Let monsters out and mortals pale.
So raise a glass to ancient fright,
To folklore born in firelight.
To final girls and latex gore,
To demons knocking at your door.
For Halloween’s a charming curse,
A scream, a giggle, with a hearse.
Where old and new together meet,
To trick, to treat, to haunt your street.
© Colin Lawson 2025
HAPPY HALLOWEEN!
© Colin Lawson Books