Trick or treating, barren branches claw On rooftops ‘gainst the biting Autumn air. Jack O’Lantern flickers. Would he gnaw An arm away, or set aflame the hair –– Conspicuously real above the masks –– Kindling Kindergartners at the door? Only Satan’s own perform such tasks, Leering, lisping, limping as to war. Awake! All Hallows Eve lets loose the ghosts. No one escapes the Grave for long. Be wise. The Jack O’Lanterns flicker on the posts –– Each one a sentry for the Lord of Flies. Run home to mother lest the Evil One Nabs you, while you think you’re having fun.
Be sre to tell your kids to watch our for those razor blades put in apples, and steel filings or dish detergent –– or cyanide –– baked into any homemade cookies or candies. Leftist fiends lurk everywhere doing thier best to destroy our Traditions, and remove any chance others might still have of enjoying themselves without fear.
Mendelssohn's WITCH'S DANCE is a terrific discovery. Mendelssohn may have achieved a solid reputation and a place in the pantheon of great composers, but I don't believe his incredible genius has ever been given the full measure of recognition it deserves.
And we MUST give credit to the utterly brilliant performers.
Daniel Hope, violin Sebastian Knauer, piano
Thanks, AOW, for brightening our day with this WONDERFUL, energizing musical discovery.
A little child knocked at my door –– He looked so pallid, thin and poor He meekly murmered, "Trick or Trea?" He seemed pathetic, yet so sweet.
My heart was touched. I did not see His parents hid behind the tree Not three feet from my open door, Tired, hungry, dirty, poor.
They had used their child as bait Alas! !I learned this much too late. For they rushed at me wth a knife I felt they meant to end my life
But no they just swept through my door And tramped all over my clean floor, Rifled through each dresser drawer Taking silver –– jewelry –– more
Stuffed them in my pillow case Then ate ate the food stored in the place I hoped by then that they'd just go But when I asked, they just said "No!
"We like it here, we're going to stay "You tried to lead our boy astray. "We mean to be your family, see? "Accept us, and we'll let you be.
"Remember you abused our kid. "We know he'll tell the cops you did. "You'll have no chance 'gainst us in court, "So get this straight, and make it short
"We're living here at your expense "You'll buy our food, we'll pay no rents. "That's the price for being blind "While believing you were kind."
That was several years ago. They're with me still. They'll never go. They've forced me to give them the deed To my house, and watch them bleed
My stock account and savings dry, But I won't let them see me cry. For them I was an easy prey, How long they'll let me live they never say!
“cultural appropriation” that has triggered a tradition of recrimination and anger.
That makes Halloween a nightmarish orgy of cultural appropriation.
Turly reaches a logical conclusion: Halloween itself is a British appropriation of Celtic culture, which we have appropriated from the British.
Ironically, under the standard definition, Halloween itself could be denounced as a raw cultural appropriation. The precursors to Halloween can be traced to the old Celtic tradition of Samhain that explores the line between the living and the dead. However, there has long been a fantasy tradition around the world of using Halloween festivities to pretend you are someone else, as shown by the British tradition of “fancy dress” balls.
I hate Halloween. It is a satanic holiday. It says much about our cultural decay that Halloween is now the principle American holiday.*
As Shakespeare famously said, (but please dont't ask me where):
There's NOTHING either good OR bad, but THINKING makes it so.
"CULTURAL APPROPRIATION!" HMMMMMMMMMMMPH! Never heard of it till just this year. I say it's nothing but just another LEFITIST CONSTRUCT to give those sourpussed, axe-grinding bastards something ELSE to bitch and moan about.
Whatever happened to "Imitation is the Sincerest Form of Flattery?"
Medieval torture, burning "heretics" and "witches" at the stake, staging "CSADES" to "capture" the HOLY LAND, Murder, Dismemberment, Rape, Theft, Vandalusm, Extortion and rganized campagns of Harassment ARE profoundly EVIL things.
Playibg Dress-Up, and Ringng Doorbells in hopes of getting candy may be a bit SILLY, but 's anything-BUT "satanic."
PLEASE get a grip.
Life is MUCH too important to be taken so SERIOUSLY.
SF, Back when I was a kid, Halloween was all about "vagabonding."
We have few houses to visit. But the ones that we did visit -- my uncle's house across the field, my best friend's house (next to my uncle's house), Mr. Smith's house across another field, and the old lady's house literally over the hill behind the house where I grew up.
Northern Virginia was still quite rural back then: tractors on the main roads on spring days, acres of wild strawberries. Truly idyllic!
Hard to believe the changes which have been wrought here in Northern Virginia since the arrival of I-66 and I-495. Progress? Really? Depends on the definition of the word progress.
Anyway, almost all the treats we got were homemade: cookies, brownies, donuts, popcorn balls, caramel apples, etc. Most times we were invited inside to participate in the final minutes of the treats' preparations. Great fun! All those fresh from the oven or fresh from the stove top treats!
Only occasionally did I get something as big a treat as a Snickers Bar (still my favorite).
Sure, I dressed up as a witch with a throw-together joke of a costume, but nobody took that costume seriously. Others of us dressed as hobos, clowns, cowboys, cowgirls -- none of the costumes store bought.
Damn, I sound like an old woman with all this nostalgia!
Little Orphant Annie’s come to our house to stay, An’ wash the cups an’ saucers up, an’ brush the crumbs away, An’ shoo the chickens off the porch, an’ dust the hearth, an’ sweep, An’ make the fire, an’ bake the bread, an’ earn her board-an’-keep; An’ all us other children, when the supper-things is done, We set around the kitchen fire an’ has the mostest fun
A-list’nin’ to the witch-tales ‘at Annie tells about, An’ the Gobble-uns ‘at gits you Ef you Don’t Watch Out!
Wunst they wuz a little boy wouldn’t say his prayers,— An’ when he went to bed at night, away up-stairs, His Mammy heerd him holler, an’ his Daddy heerd him bawl, An’ when they turn’t the kivvers down, he wuzn’t there at all! An’ they seeked him in the rafter-room, an’ cubby-hole, an’ press, An’ seeked him up the chimbly-flue, an’ ever’-wheres, I guess;
But all they ever found wuz thist his pants an’ roundabout:— An’ the Gobble-uns ‘ll git you Ef you Don’t Watch Out!
An’ one time a little girl ‘ud allus laugh an’ grin, An’ make fun of ever’ one, an’ all her blood-an’-kin; An’ wunst, when they was “company,” an’ ole folks wuz there, She mocked ‘em an’ shocked ‘em, an’ said she didn’t care! An’ thist as she kicked her heels, an’ turn’t to run an’ hide, They wuz two great big Black Things a-standin’ by her side,
An’ they snatched her through the ceilin’ ‘fore she knowed what she’s about! An’ the Gobble-uns ‘ll git you Ef you Don’t Watch Out!
An’ little Orphant Annie says, when the blaze is blue, An’ the lamp-wick sputters, an’ the wind goes woo-oo! An’ you hear the crickets quit, an’ the moon is gray, An’ the lightnin’-bugs in dew is all squenched away,— You better mind yer parunts, an’ yer teachurs fond an’ dear, An’ churish them ‘at loves you, an’ dry the orphant’s tear,
An’ he’p the pore an’ needy ones ‘at clusters all about, Er the Gobble-uns ‘ll git you Ef you Don’t Watch Out!
By James Whitcomb Riley [known as "The Hoosier Poet"]
When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder’s in the shock, And you hear the kyouck and gobble of the struttin’ turkey-cock, And the clackin’ of the guineys, and the cluckin’ of the hens, And the rooster’s hallylooyer as he tiptoes on the fence; O, it’s then’s the times a feller is a-feelin’ at his best, With the risin’ sun to greet him from a night of peaceful rest, As he leaves the house, bareheaded, and goes out to feed the stock, When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder’s in the shock.
They’s something kindo’ harty-like about the atmusfere When the heat of summer’s over and the coolin’ fall is here— Of course we miss the flowers, and the blossums on the trees, And the mumble of the hummin’-birds and buzzin’ of the bees; But the air’s so appetizin’; and the landscape through the haze Of a crisp and sunny morning of the airly autumn days Is a pictur’ that no painter has the colorin’ to mock— When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder’s in the shock.
The husky, rusty russel of the tossels of the corn, And the raspin’ of the tangled leaves, as golden as the morn; The stubble in the furries—kindo’ lonesome-like, but still A-preachin’ sermuns to us of the barns they growed to fill; The strawstack in the medder, and the reaper in the shed; The hosses in theyr stalls below—the clover over-head!— O, it sets my hart a-clickin’ like the tickin’ of a clock, When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder’s in the shock!
Then your apples all is gethered, and the ones a feller keeps Is poured around the celler-floor in red and yeller heaps; And your cider-makin’ ’s over, and your wimmern-folks is through With their mince and apple-butter, and theyr souse and saussage, too! ... I don’t know how to tell it—but ef sich a thing could be As the Angels wantin’ boardin’, and they’d call around on me— I’d want to ’commodate ’em—all the whole-indurin’ flock— When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder’s in the shock!
Tell your kids to watch our for those razor blades put in apples, and steel filings or dish detergent baked into any homemade cookies or candies. Leftist fiends lurk everywhere doing ther best to destroy our Traditiins, and remove any chance others might still have of enjoying themselves without fear.
We had a grand total of two trick-or-treaters last night. One was dressed as a football player, the other dressed as a ghost. One was Chinese-American, one a WASP American. Both were wearing homemade costumes, and one has been up here to visit Mr. AOW.
I doubt that they would have come to our door without my having already been on the porch to take out the trash.
Alas! We had NONE. I've lived here nearly twenty yers, and have seen all the young children who used to live in this neighborhood grow up and leave home. Their aging parents remain, but a pleasant spark I used to enjoy has gone out. Life without children at Halloween –– or any of the traditional holidays and holy days is pretty dreary.
Would you like to ride in Trump's beautiful balloon? Would you like to ride in Trump's wonderfful balloon? We could meet Trump by the stars, you and I For Trump can fly, Trump can fly. Up, up and away! Trump'swnderful, Trump's powerful balloon!
The world's a nicer place in Trump's beautiful balloon. It wears a nicer face in Trump's beautiful balloon. We can sing with Trump and sail the silver sky For Trump can fly. Trump can fly! Up, up and away!
Trump's wonderful, Trump's beautiful balloon Suspended just beneath a twilight canopy We'll search the clouds knowng Trump will guide us
If by some chance you find yourself loving Trump He'll find a cloud to hide us He'll keep the moon beside us Trump is waiting there in his wonderful balloon Way up in the air in his powerful balloon If you'll hold my hand we'll chase our dream across the sky For Trump can fly. Trump can fly Up, up and away Trump's glorious, Trump's fabulous balloon! Balloon!... Up, up, and away!
We welcome civil dialogue at Always on Watch. Comments that include any of the following are subject to deletion: 1. Any use of profanity or abusive language 2. Off topic comments and spam 3. Use of personal invective
Note: Only a member of this blog may post a comment.
_______ All Hallows Eve _______
ReplyDeleteTrick or treating, barren branches claw
On rooftops ‘gainst the biting Autumn air.
Jack O’Lantern flickers. Would he gnaw
An arm away, or set aflame the hair ––
Conspicuously real above the masks ––
Kindling Kindergartners at the door?
Only Satan’s own perform such tasks,
Leering, lisping, limping as to war.
Awake! All Hallows Eve lets loose the ghosts.
No one escapes the Grave for long. Be wise.
The Jack O’Lanterns flicker on the posts ––
Each one a sentry for the Lord of Flies.
Run home to mother lest the Evil One
Nabs you, while you think you’re having fun.
~ FreeThinke - The Sandpiper, Autumn, 1996
Oh, and by the way
ReplyDelete________ HAPPY HALLOWEEN! ________
Be sre to tell your kids to watch our for those razor blades put in apples, and steel filings or dish detergent –– or cyanide –– baked into any homemade cookies or candies. Leftist fiends lurk everywhere doing thier best to destroy our Traditions, and remove any chance others might still have of enjoying themselves without fear.
};^D=
This comment has been removed by the author.
ReplyDelete
ReplyDeleteMendelssohn's WITCH'S DANCE is a terrific discovery. Mendelssohn may have achieved a solid reputation and a place in the pantheon of great composers, but I don't believe his incredible genius has ever been given the full measure of recognition it deserves.
And we MUST give credit to the utterly brilliant performers.
Daniel Hope, violin
Sebastian Knauer, piano
Thanks, AOW, for brightening our day with this WONDERFUL, energizing musical discovery.
Boo! Happy Halloween.... :)
ReplyDelete_ AN UNHAPPY HALLOWEEN _
ReplyDeleteA little child knocked at my door ––
He looked so pallid, thin and poor
He meekly murmered, "Trick or Trea?"
He seemed pathetic, yet so sweet.
My heart was touched. I did not see
His parents hid behind the tree
Not three feet from my open door,
Tired, hungry, dirty, poor.
They had used their child as bait
Alas! !I learned this much too late.
For they rushed at me wth a knife
I felt they meant to end my life
But no they just swept through my door
And tramped all over my clean floor,
Rifled through each dresser drawer
Taking silver –– jewelry –– more
Stuffed them in my pillow case
Then ate ate the food stored in the place
I hoped by then that they'd just go
But when I asked, they just said "No!
"We like it here, we're going to stay
"You tried to lead our boy astray.
"We mean to be your family, see?
"Accept us, and we'll let you be.
"Remember you abused our kid.
"We know he'll tell the cops you did.
"You'll have no chance 'gainst us in court,
"So get this straight, and make it short
"We're living here at your expense
"You'll buy our food, we'll pay no rents.
"That's the price for being blind
"While believing you were kind."
That was several years ago.
They're with me still. They'll never go.
They've forced me to give them the deed
To my house, and watch them bleed
My stock account and savings dry,
But I won't let them see me cry.
For them I was an easy prey,
How long they'll let me live they never say!
~ FreeThinke, 10/31/18
Excellent poem!
DeleteThank you.
DeleteCultural appropriation turns Halloween into a nightmare
ReplyDelete“cultural appropriation” that has triggered a tradition of recrimination and anger.
That makes Halloween a nightmarish orgy of cultural appropriation.
Turly reaches a logical conclusion: Halloween itself is a British appropriation of Celtic culture, which we have appropriated from the British.
Ironically, under the standard definition, Halloween itself could be denounced as a raw cultural appropriation. The precursors to Halloween can be traced to the old Celtic tradition of Samhain that explores the line between the living and the dead. However, there has long been a fantasy tradition around the world of using Halloween festivities to pretend you are someone else, as shown by the British tradition of “fancy dress” balls.
I hate Halloween. It is a satanic holiday. It says much about our cultural decay that Halloween is now the principle American holiday.*
*- but thank you for the Mendelssohn!
AW NUTS!
DeleteWe loved Halloween when we were little kids.
As Shakespeare famously said, (but please dont't ask me where):
There's NOTHING either good OR bad, but THINKING makes it so.
"CULTURAL APPROPRIATION!" HMMMMMMMMMMMPH! Never heard of it till just this year. I say it's nothing but just another LEFITIST CONSTRUCT to give those sourpussed, axe-grinding bastards something ELSE to bitch and moan about.
Whatever happened to "Imitation is the Sincerest Form of Flattery?"
Medieval torture, burning "heretics" and "witches" at the stake, staging "CSADES" to "capture" the HOLY LAND, Murder, Dismemberment, Rape, Theft, Vandalusm, Extortion and rganized campagns of Harassment ARE profoundly EVIL things.
Playibg Dress-Up, and Ringng Doorbells in hopes of getting candy may be a bit SILLY, but 's anything-BUT "satanic."
PLEASE get a grip.
Life is MUCH too important to be taken so SERIOUSLY.
};^)>
SF,
DeleteBack when I was a kid, Halloween was all about "vagabonding."
We have few houses to visit. But the ones that we did visit -- my uncle's house across the field, my best friend's house (next to my uncle's house), Mr. Smith's house across another field, and the old lady's house literally over the hill behind the house where I grew up.
Northern Virginia was still quite rural back then: tractors on the main roads on spring days, acres of wild strawberries. Truly idyllic!
Hard to believe the changes which have been wrought here in Northern Virginia since the arrival of I-66 and I-495. Progress? Really? Depends on the definition of the word progress.
Anyway, almost all the treats we got were homemade: cookies, brownies, donuts, popcorn balls, caramel apples, etc. Most times we were invited inside to participate in the final minutes of the treats' preparations. Great fun! All those fresh from the oven or fresh from the stove top treats!
Only occasionally did I get something as big a treat as a Snickers Bar (still my favorite).
Sure, I dressed up as a witch with a throw-together joke of a costume, but nobody took that costume seriously. Others of us dressed as hobos, clowns, cowboys, cowgirls -- none of the costumes store bought.
Damn, I sound like an old woman with all this nostalgia!
When I was a kid, Halloween was still a children's holiday, not a national celebration of neo-paganism.
DeleteIn my teen years, it was mainly a night of vandalism.
_____________ Little Orphant Annie ____________
ReplyDeleteLittle Orphant Annie’s come to our house to stay,
An’ wash the cups an’ saucers up, an’ brush the crumbs away,
An’ shoo the chickens off the porch, an’ dust the hearth, an’ sweep,
An’ make the fire, an’ bake the bread, an’ earn her board-an’-keep;
An’ all us other children, when the supper-things is done,
We set around the kitchen fire an’ has the mostest fun
A-list’nin’ to the witch-tales ‘at Annie tells about,
An’ the Gobble-uns ‘at gits you
Ef you
Don’t
Watch
Out!
Wunst they wuz a little boy wouldn’t say his prayers,—
An’ when he went to bed at night, away up-stairs,
His Mammy heerd him holler, an’ his Daddy heerd him bawl,
An’ when they turn’t the kivvers down, he wuzn’t there at all!
An’ they seeked him in the rafter-room, an’ cubby-hole, an’ press,
An’ seeked him up the chimbly-flue, an’ ever’-wheres, I guess;
But all they ever found wuz thist his pants an’ roundabout:—
An’ the Gobble-uns ‘ll git you
Ef you
Don’t
Watch
Out!
An’ one time a little girl ‘ud allus laugh an’ grin,
An’ make fun of ever’ one, an’ all her blood-an’-kin;
An’ wunst, when they was “company,” an’ ole folks wuz there,
She mocked ‘em an’ shocked ‘em, an’ said she didn’t care!
An’ thist as she kicked her heels, an’ turn’t to run an’ hide,
They wuz two great big Black Things a-standin’ by her side,
An’ they snatched her through the ceilin’ ‘fore she knowed what she’s about!
An’ the Gobble-uns ‘ll git you
Ef you
Don’t
Watch
Out!
An’ little Orphant Annie says, when the blaze is blue,
An’ the lamp-wick sputters, an’ the wind goes woo-oo!
An’ you hear the crickets quit, an’ the moon is gray,
An’ the lightnin’-bugs in dew is all squenched away,—
You better mind yer parunts, an’ yer teachurs fond an’ dear,
An’ churish them ‘at loves you, an’ dry the orphant’s tear,
An’ he’p the pore an’ needy ones ‘at clusters all about,
Er the Gobble-uns ‘ll git you
Ef you
Don’t
Watch
Out!
~ James Whitcomb Riley (1849-1916)
When the Frost is on the Punkin
DeleteBy James Whitcomb Riley [known as "The Hoosier Poet"]
When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder’s in the shock,
And you hear the kyouck and gobble of the struttin’ turkey-cock,
And the clackin’ of the guineys, and the cluckin’ of the hens,
And the rooster’s hallylooyer as he tiptoes on the fence;
O, it’s then’s the times a feller is a-feelin’ at his best,
With the risin’ sun to greet him from a night of peaceful rest,
As he leaves the house, bareheaded, and goes out to feed the stock,
When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder’s in the shock.
They’s something kindo’ harty-like about the atmusfere
When the heat of summer’s over and the coolin’ fall is here—
Of course we miss the flowers, and the blossums on the trees,
And the mumble of the hummin’-birds and buzzin’ of the bees;
But the air’s so appetizin’; and the landscape through the haze
Of a crisp and sunny morning of the airly autumn days
Is a pictur’ that no painter has the colorin’ to mock—
When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder’s in the shock.
The husky, rusty russel of the tossels of the corn,
And the raspin’ of the tangled leaves, as golden as the morn;
The stubble in the furries—kindo’ lonesome-like, but still
A-preachin’ sermuns to us of the barns they growed to fill;
The strawstack in the medder, and the reaper in the shed;
The hosses in theyr stalls below—the clover over-head!—
O, it sets my hart a-clickin’ like the tickin’ of a clock,
When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder’s in the shock!
Then your apples all is gethered, and the ones a feller keeps
Is poured around the celler-floor in red and yeller heaps;
And your cider-makin’ ’s over, and your wimmern-folks is through
With their mince and apple-butter, and theyr souse and saussage, too! ...
I don’t know how to tell it—but ef sich a thing could be
As the Angels wantin’ boardin’, and they’d call around on me—
I’d want to ’commodate ’em—all the whole-indurin’ flock—
When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder’s in the shock!
[More poems by James Whitcomb Riley, including "The Raggedy Man."
DeleteHAPPY HALLOWEEN! –– A Cautionary Tale
ReplyDeleteTell your kids to watch our for those razor blades put in apples, and steel filings or dish detergent baked into any homemade cookies or candies. Leftist fiends lurk everywhere doing ther best to destroy our Traditiins, and remove any chance others might still have of enjoying themselves without fear.
};^D=
We had a grand total of two trick-or-treaters last night. One was dressed as a football player, the other dressed as a ghost. One was Chinese-American, one a WASP American. Both were wearing homemade costumes, and one has been up here to visit Mr. AOW.
ReplyDeleteI doubt that they would have come to our door without my having already been on the porch to take out the trash.
Alas! We had NONE. I've lived here nearly twenty yers, and have seen all the young children who used to live in this neighborhood grow up and leave home. Their aging parents remain, but a pleasant spark I used to enjoy has gone out. Life without children at Halloween –– or any of the traditional holidays and holy days is pretty dreary.
Delete____________ UP UP AND AWAY____________
ReplyDeleteWould you like to ride in Trump's beautiful balloon?
Would you like to ride in Trump's wonderfful balloon?
We could meet Trump by the stars, you and I
For Trump can fly, Trump can fly.
Up, up and away!
Trump'swnderful, Trump's powerful balloon!
The world's a nicer place in Trump's beautiful balloon.
It wears a nicer face in Trump's beautiful balloon.
We can sing with Trump and sail the silver sky
For Trump can fly. Trump can fly!
Up, up and away!
Trump's wonderful, Trump's beautiful balloon
Suspended just beneath a twilight canopy
We'll search the clouds knowng Trump will guide us
If by some chance you find yourself loving Trump
He'll find a cloud to hide us
He'll keep the moon beside us
Trump is waiting there in his wonderful balloon
Way up in the air in his powerful balloon
If you'll hold my hand we'll chase our dream across the sky
For Trump can fly. Trump can fly
Up, up and away
Trump's glorious, Trump's fabulous balloon!
Balloon!...
Up, up, and away!
~ Apologies to Jim Croce (1943-1973)