Sylvia Tanaka is our October 2009 Selected Poet

You can email Sylvia at midnightmorbid@yahoo.com

All Hallow’s Eve

The souls of the dead are roaming the streets
On the night before All Saints Day.
The evil ones are pacified with gifts and treats
So that in their graves they’d stay.

And who is knocking at my door?
Who wants my soul for evermore?

I am afraid of the wind out there.
The dead leaves skip on the porches bare;
The windows clatter and whine
As through the glass I stare.

The Jack-o-Lantern silently laughs,
His eyes glowing from the candle inside
His orange skull; see his loathsome features shine,
His teeth gnashing with inaudible snarls,
And I am afraid of the dark out there.

I am afraid because it is Halloween night.
I see ghosts walk in the dim lamplight
On the sidewalks, in the full moon's silver ray;
It is the children, come to play.
And, full of song and costumed mirth,
In one glad moment of rebirth,
The ghosts walk the ways of earth.

Inside the Coffin

His eyes are closed, and heavy fetters keep
His senses bound in never-waking sleep.
What mysteries did this dead man see
When he gazed into his own private eternity?
Is heaven really a place, or is it a state of mind?
What answers did this dead man find?

And as I gaze into his waxen face,
His head lay on a pillow of satin and lace.
I want to know if there is life after death;
What happens when there is no breath?
Is death really the end of all things?
Can darkness be all this stillness brings?

I want to shake him awake: please do tell,
Is there really a heaven and hell?
And so my musings stay in dispute,
Because the man in the coffin remains mute.

The Psychology of Michael Myers

What is the psychology of Michael Myers?
Were his parents only gone on Halloween night,
Or were they often out of sight?
Who had chosen Michael’s costume that day?
Was he embarrassed about a clown’s foolish display?
Why was Michael so angry at his sister?
Was it because another boy had kissed her?

And in the end . . .

What kind of parents puts a small child away
Into an asylum for such a prolonged stay?
Shouldn’t a child so young and confused
Have received therapy that was obviously refused?

And most puzzling of all . . .

What woke Michael Myers from his catatonic dream
In 1978, on that frightful Halloween?

Whispers in the Wind

October nights I lay awake as the gentle breeze softly speaks,
Whispers in the wind; almost I can hear it say your name.
Nights such as these are elusive, bordering upon fantasy;
So soft, time could stand still, hauntingly evading reality.
Another breeze passes, your name I hear it say;
But I must listen carefully now, as its source is far away.
Time never ceases, yet it is only now I am able to see
That your lifestyle was merely expressions of your creativity.
You attempted to show this by reaching out for my sensitivity.
Your heroes are ghosts and visible only to you,
Spiritual fantasies and colors of yet undiscovered hues.
As I lie here on this October night, I hear against my window pane
Whispers in the wind. Always they will call your name.

Sylvia Tanaka

Sylvia Tanaka was born in Japan but came to the United States when she was seven. Primarily an artist specializing in oils and acrylics, she writes poetry in her spare time. The Horror Zine is proud to display Sylvia's first publication of poetry.  Once you read it, you'll wonder where Sylvia has been all your life!