For today’s prompt, write a phobia poem. There are so many possible phobias from which to choose, including some of the more popular phobias like arachnophobia (fear of spiders), claustrophobia (fear of confined spaces), acrophobia (fear of heights), and coulrophobia (fear of clowns).
Here’s a list of 200 common phobias.
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Here’s my attempt at a Phobia poem:
“Chronophobia”
Here we are again:
And it doesn’t matter
if we fall back
or spring forward,
I’m still paralyzed
by the thought
of time passing
even when it doesn’t
and all in the name
of saving time.
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Robert Lee Brewer is Senior Content Editor of the Writer’s Digest Writing Community and author of the poetry collection, Solving the World’s Problems (Press 53). He edits Poet’s Market and Writer’s Market, in addition to writing a free weekly WritersMarket.com newsletter and a poetry column for Writer’s Digest magazine.
He loves a lot of things on this planet, but daylight savings time is not on that list.
Follow him on Twitter @robertleebrewer.
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Find more poetic goodies here:
- WD Poetic Form Challenge: Trimeric. (Deadline: 11/30/16.)
- Rimas Dissolutas: Poetic Form.
- Bryan Borland: Poet Interview.
Spyder
it’s spine-chilling to
spot a speckled spy
spacewalking down
the spotlit wall of a
sport-n-spa as I lie
sprawled out on the
splendor-table… until…
I sprang up to see
the spreading of its
spreaders too close
to my spirit and my
spine at which time I
go splatty-splat-splat!
Between 12 and 14
My, my, Friday’s happ’nin’ by,
a windy gale is tippin’ the sky.
Grey clouds, too, act none too shy,
on this, the 13th, that’s happ’nin’ by.
Triskaidekaphobia,
makes them all hem and haw,
got them slingin’ from the jaw,
triskaidekaphobia.
Too much a mouthful to say it right,
and on the page a frightful sight,
but thirteen’s got a lot o’ might,
snuffin’ a candle’s flame outright.
13, it’s odd, that this one’s frightnin’,
striking into the heart light lightnin’,
when 7, or 10, 63 might’n
be as bad or worser frightnin’.
40 years them people wandered.
666 treasures squandered.
Infinite number of thoughts been pondered,
But 13’s kept on and on it wandered.
All it took was one black scourge,
a number to play the funeral dirge.
These things drive a man to the verge,
because of that one black scourge.
But 13, well that’s just a number,
one that’s deep and dark in slumber,
until that day it starts to lumber,
and becomes more than just a number.
Triskaidekaphobia,
13, boo!, it’s right behind ya!
-JR Simmang
Cremnophobia
(the fear of cliffs)
Starting is simple. He knows
he won’t be afraid to look down,
halfway to the top and no
safety in sight. The effort
is welcome: hand over hand,
toes jammed into crevices.
Light tremors in the arms
and a tightness above the knees.
He is eager for callouses
and a sharp wind against
his legs. At the top there is
a plateau but his breath
doesn’t come easier. At the top
this collaboration of rocks
and angles becomes a cliff
instead of a challenge
and he must admit
his ascent has changed
nothing. In dreams he
still won’t try to fly.
I fear all things political
Underhanded and criminal
Media coverage can’t be minimal
It’s hard to stay respectable
But this fear’s ingrained too deep
I cover my head to sleep
I don’t wish to whine and complain
But wake me after election day.
–ShennonDoah
Phobia?
They say I have Entamaphobia.
No I say I fear no doors
Opened or closed that do not spin.
They say I have agoraphobia.
No I say.
I have no fear of small places.
Call it what it is Spinophobia revolaphobia
I can swirl spin rotate so no.
But give me a flat door, dutch door
French doors, sliding doors
I walk them all.
But I need a shiver
Panic moment
At pushing a revolving
Door
Swish
Swoosh
Click.
Enochophobia
I froze at Woodstock ’99.
Not from the cold,
it was pretty hot there.
I sat on the grass and did not move
for hours
as people walked all around
me,
swinging their arms, and hips
and $4 water bottles and their joints and
hash pipes.
I could not move from that spot on the small hill
while I listened to the Counting Crows and James Brown,
the Red Hot Chili Peppers and Dave Matthews Band.
Rocking back and forth helped,
but not much.
So much fear,
stopping me from enjoying the music and
time with my brother.
Metrophobia
Beware all you elites:
I think that there is a special place
in hell
for anyone
who makes anyone
feel less
for writing words of rhyme
meant to express
their better nature.
Shades of Meaning
A woman
of few words
she
fears the power
that they wield
(knows all too well
the damage
they may do.)
She’s troubled
by the thought
that they might
come back
to haunt her
(and
she’s sore afraid
of ghosts too.)
Creepy Crawly
Creepy crawly
Slithering sliding
Busy hiding
Ready to jump
Ready to drop
Land on your head
Make you hop
Make you squeal
Make you squirm
Make you go a-a-c-k
Give you a heart attack
Arachnophobia
fear of next
by Patrick J. Walsh
in the gray of morning
she sat silently
at the edge of the sea
drenched in moonlight
warm but for the wind
tugging gently at her ear
don’t worry, don’t worry
it whispered
there is nothing in the water
for you to fear
EIGHT
I’ve a fear of eight
and especially of late
I’ve started to really hate
those that have smaller mates
who weave webs across doorways and gates.
But worse are those big monsters who sit and wait
in corners of my room before they skate
across the floor heading straight
for me, who is in a great state
at the sight of those eight
creepy legs.
I always seemed to know;
It always started with nightmares;
A wolf’s howl, a bear’s growl, a shark’s kiss;
Puppy kisses, kitten hisses, billy dances;
Scary or cute, it was a nightmare all the same.
A phobia, so illogically conceived,
That endures,
Lies dormant, waiting
For me to be with child;
Rehashing fears and unleashing terror.
What if the little one is not human?
What if he/she has fur? Claws or a beak?
What if he/she has a dorsal fin?
Hooves, they have them for sure;
Man beast or werebaby of that I am sure.
~ Meena Rose
Herpetophobia
Slithering, slinking,
Crawling
Black, brown, or multi-colored
Thin, fat, round head,
Triangular head
I’m not staying around
Long enough to assess
Head shape
Poisonous, non-poisonous
Who cares? I don’t!
Curled by the back door
Entering the house
It can have it, I am leaving
There is no room for both
The snake and I
Mount Ellen, Vermont
My brother clings to rocks above
the tree line as if gravity
would undo itself were he lax
enough to let go. Nothing changed
in pitch or incline save a dearth
of trees. He squats among boulders.
Never mind, his equilibrium,
were it true, would send them tumbling
into sky and he become
a bird fleeting toward the sun.
We feel our truth in blood and bone.
Harrowing the hawk’s eye view,
a world spinning beneath the wing.
His feet of clay, his body air.
Naming Fear (Dizdain poem)
I think I’m mostly a Mazeophobe,
if I were asked to put a name to fear.
I’m scared of getting lost upon this globe.
Driving places unknown, both far and near
makes my heart palpitate into my ear.
When I look out, beyond my mind’s clatter
past day-to-day noise and pitter-patter,
lies another worry, its ache the same.
The fear is a question. Do I matter?
Athazagoraphobia: it’s name.