I wanted to post something suitably spooky and decided upon...Tim Burton! I love watching his films this time of year, but I wondered how many of you knew he had written and illustrated a book of poetry? It's very suitable reading for today, and is full of his trademark creepy, gothic fun. You can read his collection online: The Melancholy Death of Oyster Boy.
And here's one of the poems: Mummy Boy
He wasn't soft and pinkwitha fat little tummy;he was hard and hollow,a little boy mummy."Tell us, please, Doctor,the reason or cause,why our gundle of joyis just a bundle of gauze.""My diagnosis," he said"for better or worse,is that your son is the resultof an old pharoah's curse."That night they talkedof their son's odd condition-they called him "a rejectfrom an archaeological expidition."They thought of some complexscientific explanation,but assumed it was simplesupernatural reincarnation.With the other young totshe only played twice,an ancient game of vergin sacrifice.(But the kids ran away, saying, "You aren't very nice.")alone and rejected, Mummy Boy wept,then went to the cabinetwhere the snack food was kept.He wiped his wet slockets with his mummified sleeves,and sat down to a bowl of sugar-frosted tanna leaves.One dark, gloomy day,from out of the fog,appeared a little white mummy dog.For his newfound wrapped pet,he did many things,like building a dog houseà la Pryimid of kings.It was late in day-just before dark.Mummy Boy took his dogfor a walk in the park.The park was emptyexcept for a squirrel,and a birthday party for a Mexican girl.The boys and girls had all started to play,but noticed that thing that looked like a papíer mâché."Look its a píñata,"said one of the boys,"Let's crack it wide openand get the candy and toys."They took a baseball batand whacked open his head.Mummy Boy fell to the ground;he finally was dead.Inside of his headwere no candy or prizes,jast a few stray bettlesof various sizes.