Poetic Reflections: hallowing

Did I spell it wrong, as in “Halloween”? Or “Hollowing”, as to carve a pumpkin’s snaggled grin? Let me rub my chin and contemplate. Nay, I think the word should be this way.

Then what do I mean by “Hallowing”? Is it reverence or cleverence, or something close to benevolence? Why must I speak like a rocking chair’s squeak, and a ladder’s “rung”, without a tongue? How can I rhyme when I should compose a preface on verse in prose? Have I lost my senses, my grammar and tenses, my participles and predicates? Oh me, oh my, what a quandary of pondery have I.

Nothing is clear, yet I’m filled with fear. I shrink at a whiff. My posture is stiff. I’m afraid to breathe lest the shadows seethe. My toes but tip, my lips are zipped, as if I harbor a fugitive — for the door has chimed and I’ve naught to give. Oh, the devils, the demons, they’ll eat me alive! Where to hide, out of sight, wracked with fright, until the next day’s welcome light? How might I survive this night? The following, the hallowing? The sallowed Hallowed Eve when all is wrong, nothing right, and I must crawl beneath a stone . . . else my terror of terrors be known.

(Oops, I seem to have written the poem first — in paragraphs! Well, it’s a bit peculiar but so am I, so I guess it’s all right. I’ll just write another and perhaps no one will notice.)