Spirits of the Cause

The Spooks United Nations held a summit to debate

The consequence of climate change on spirits small and great.  

The ghosts and spectres stated that the warming climes were daunting;

They needed icy winds and snow to activate their haunting. 

And vampires said the sunshine would make coffins so much warmer,

They’d think they’d gone to Sweden and were lying in a sauna.

The witches warned how broomsticks would grow dearer by the day,

As wood became much scarcer, when fires burnt the trees away.

And all the fairy creatures, from the spriggan to the piskie,

Said rising seas would make their coastal hideouts very risky.

Then spoke an ancient zombie: “It seems crystal clear to me,

All earthly living creatures face a huge catastrophe.

What causes us small niggles, brings to them a last goodbye –

They cannot live on air alone no matter how they try.”

The delegates concluded – (opposition there was none)

The world would be a boring place with all the humans gone,

For no one would be left to scare, no human left to fright,

So all the spirits fast agreed to join the climate fight!

    This poem follows on from yesterday’s article on why otherworldly creatures support the campaign to halt global warming.

A Night in the Literary Life of Aunt Grizelda

Midnight: Am awoken by the next door neighbours practising their cackling exercises – an annoying but necessary part of their profession. Ten minutes later, a whoosh as they take off on their customised vacs. A peek out of the belfry window reveals they are still not wearing crash helmets – neither have they had seat belts fitted. Make mental note to send them latest copy of the Skyway Code and invent a witch’s hat-shaped helmet.

12.30: Slide out of bed and partake in a cup of black tea then make my way to chaise- longue to recline and muse mournfully. Decide to write an Icelandic Saga.

2.00: Start writing Icelandic saga. Name the hero Knut. His tragic flaw is a phobia of blades. His enemy is a sword wielding half-wolf half-troll warrior. It won’t end well.

2.30: Finish Icelandic saga. It didn’t end well. Ruefully regret the declining popularity of the Icelandic saga. Return to chaise and languish a while.

3.30: Finish languishing and set up ouija board to speak to agent. Am informed by her PA she’s in a meeting with William Caxton. Isn’t it time she got out of the 15th century? Consider looking for a more modern agent. Wonder who Bram Stoker uses.

3.45: More mournful musing to the sound of Leonard Cohen’s Famous Blue Raincoat.

4.00: Take Fang and Baskerville for a lurk over the moors. Baskerville chases a boggart. Thankfully doesn’t catch it. Gloomy thoughts accompany return to the belfry.

5.00: A light snack of shadows marinated in tears. Dolefully delightful.

5.30: Back at desk to pen next chapter in my forthcoming non-fiction title: Bringing Up Your Changeling from Its Unexpected Appearance in the Cradle to its Mystifying Disappearance Some Time Later.

6.15: Contemplate desolate view from belfry window. First glimmers of dawn. Lower veil and strike a mournful pose. Note with horror ceiling is entirely bare of cobwebs. Must have word with maid. Hear bats returning from a night’s hunting. Look out and see them assume formation in shape of a shark in hunting frenzy. Very realistic.

7.00: Bitterly sour cup of wolfsbane cordial before bed – delightful. Close shutters against the irritating sunshine, retire to four poster and having congratulated myself on productive night, drift off into a sombre slumber.

Aunt Grizelda’s Belfry.