Another turn
Another Samhain Eve
How many times have
I gazed through the thinning veil?
At bonfires dotting the valley
At Women spiriting embers—for luck
At herdsmen driving flocks
Through purifying smoke.
How many times
Have I ridden
Across that liminal line
Bridle bells calling
We search for those
Who’ll gaze our way
How many times
Have I searched
For a daughter, a son
For we, who live so long
Must grow our numbers
By taking theirs
How many times
Have my daughters
Crossed with me
Searching for their own child
It matters not, for tomorrow
We ride again
Another turn
Another Samhain Eve
Ken Whitson is a retired civil servant who hasn’t yet figured out what retirement means. In turns, he consults, mopes around the house, and crafts wildly varying types of fiction and poetry – literary, horror, humor, as well as many things undefinable. His work appears in various horror anthologies, humor magazines, and literary journals and has found a place of honor on at least two coffee tables that he is aware of. When the weather is just right—because he’s a Goldilocks angler these days—Ken plies south Virginia’s many spooky waterways in search of bass and story ideas. He’s often quite surprised by what he scares up.
Published 10/30/25