by Patrick Doyle

Labor Day happened and now it feels more like autumn. That’s okay to me, I always enjoy the recycling-type-feeling that this time of year represents … also B-horror movies, The Misfits (’77-’83, duh), Scorpio birthdays (Scorpio = autumnal, right, or is that just totes Scorpio of me to say?), harvest traditions, brisk day hikes in the woods … gee, all of these instances of fall’s beautiful reds and oranges of both color and mood, who cares about summer?

Since I have a Scorpio birthday (Oct. 28^th), which is also near Samhain (aka Halloween), I start to feel more like myself as we near this time period. Granted the solstice doesn’t happen until September 22^nd but I can feel it pouring through me!

These poems conjure up some feelings that appear to me to be associated with my perception of fall. Do you have a fall/autumn/B-horror poem you’d like to have in The Beacon? E-mail me at: patrickddoyle@smccme.edu to submit something you think I’d like to have on over here.

Kick Off The Mental Anguish And Give Me More Chips, It’s Almost Game Time!
An Occult ceremony of the tough guy kind,
instead of using candles they have pork rinds.

When You Joined The Coyote Church
Run into a thicket,
you cut conditions with two eyes.
[you broke tradition with new eyes.]
Ordered in and out with a scamper,
yelling to an Altar made of bones.
Look at yr jowls, molten drool,
they look like Dew on trees.

The Grim Reaper Surfing
He’s a ritual Aid
He brings artifacts to replace new visions
Hang ten with a skeleton
Straight from a Straitjacket
Death Surfer