Monster’s Ball

When the nights draw in and the clouds unpour,
When the blood-red leaves mark advancing Fall,
When the threat of winter bangs at our door,
It’s time once again for the Monster’s Ball.

All the usual suspects have come this night:
The undead, the quick and the corpsified;
There’s Count Dracula, flown in for a bite;
Doctor Frankenstein’s brought his creature’s bride.

On the dance floor zombies are shuffling slow
While the werewolves howl to the strobing beats;
Lord Cthulhu limbos the bar down low
As the Donald lies and again he cheats.

It’s a Monster’s Ball on All Hallow’s Eve;
Time to trick or treat, time to make believe.

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Surviving: a sonnet

You know what I need? A survival guide
For when the shuffling zombie hordes arrive;
Instructions for when I should run and hide,
With fighting techniques for staying alive.

No hold up, scratch that, what I really need
Is a kick-ass guide for vampire slaying;
How to save my neck when they try to feed,
Avoid their glamours with well-placed staking.

Or maybe, just maybe, what I need most
Is a guide to surviving high school cliques;
At my current rate I’m as good as toast,
Always marginalised with the other freaks.

In life’s monster’s ball you’re sure to be trolled,
That’s doubly true when you’re thirteen years old.