The Witches Dance

Where is the cauldron flashing flame,
the darker night when hags conspire,
white flash-dance flame, red ember bed,
accoutrements, those charming spells,
less lore alone, black pointy hats?
This more of rural festive site,
a ballet class for young at heart,
sum frolic in the candle bright,
crossed bones and skulls to drink the cup.
The trick to get the girl to strip,
to trip, fantastic, petticoat,
expecting flex of ceiling light
for fancy dress at Halloween,
this Bright Hour for the widows’ group,
a coven in its jolly phase,
with plastic props to add some spice.
I’m grammar sad, a long debate,
an anorak, word etiquette –
apostrophes tell what’s at stake –
unless this record’s, sloppy take.
The Witches Dance or Witches’ Dance,
collective subject, present tense
or frolic possessed by these folk?
If title right this girls’ night out
has movement by descriptor phrase,
an active verb, as happens now,
and we observers of the rite.
As yearly comes All Hallows’ Eve
and ghosties, ghoulies prance the streets
to trick or treat, misnomer term
for fragile lives, hatch battened down,
the bulbs turned down, pretend we’re out;
I think the mood in western world
is on the change, for nerves are frayed,
by threats and insolence, anon,
such antisocial media.
This painting framed without a name,
no provenance to claim, a shame,
its execution neatly done,
but pot-boiler or driven spur –
forget not, where’s that cauldron, hot?

Published by Medusa’s Kitchen, 31st October 2021

https://medusaskitchen.blogspot.com/2021/10/creepy-stuff-to-scare-you-out-of-what.html