Writing Prompt
    Boot Camp

    Subscribe to our FREE email newsletter and get the Writing Prompt Boot Camp download.

    Wednesday Poetry Prompts: 199

    Categories: Poetry Prompts, Robert Lee Brewer's Poetic Asides Blog, What's New.

    For today’s prompt, write a creepy poem. Then, get some rest, because the November PAD Chapbook Challenge begins tomorrow.

    Here’s my attempt at a creepy poem:

    “Right Back: The Cabin Poem”

    The first teenager, a football lineman,
    left to grab a beer, said “I’ll be right back,”
    but that was an hour ago. Since then, Han
    and Leia (costumes) slipped off for a “snack,”
    though everybody knew what they meant,
    and they said, “We’ll be right back.” Most people
    had heard the rumors (about the kid sent
    past the edge of madness and church steeple),
    but an empty cabin deep in the woods
    is a bear trap. The final two teens heard
    the screams outside, the wind shaking the shack,
    and Johnny, the high school quarterback, stood
    (trying to be brave) and revised the words
    for Jane, the smart girl: “I won’t be right back.”


    Follow me on Twitter @robertleebrewer


    Build your novel the right way!

    What’s the right way? Just like you’d build a house brick by brick, writers should build novels scene by scene. Learn how in the Writer’s Digest University course Build Your Novel Scene-by-Scene. Course starts November 1, 2012.

    Click to continue.


    You might also like:

    • No Related Posts
    • Print Circulation Form

      Did you love this article? Subscribe Today & Save 58%

    About Robert Lee Brewer

    Senior Content Editor, Writer's Digest Community.

    76 Responses to Wednesday Poetry Prompts: 199

    1. JRSimmang says:

      Is this love?
      I ask myself this question every time I get this close to someone.
      She has laid herself bare for me.
      She has done wonderful things to me.
      She laughed,
      let little twinkling tears of sorrow
      quench the parched dimples
      in her porcelain cheeks.
      Red though they were,
      they were always thirsty.
      She snored, on occasion,
      which was just a symbol of her sublime femininity.
      She tiptoed through her apartment
      because she lived on the second floor.
      So conscious of others.
      She left her door unlocked

      So, is this love?
      As she lays on my table,
      her bright red whimsy
      draining under her,
      I can’t help but think that her
      flesh took so long to lose its heat
      because of me.
      Her eyes still trained on me.
      But, then again, they always will be.
      They always will be.

    2. carolemt87 says:


      Cold fingers tiptoe
      stop just short of my throat
      fog reflects shadow
      one glimpse of an outline
      velvet curtains fall
      hard over the morning
      while I hide
      content beneath
      a fading whisper

    3. Juanita Lewison-Snyder says:

      Left my Anger
      by Juanita Lewison-Snyder

      I left my Anger back on I-25
      enshrined in darkness beneath
      a secluded Rest Area
      just beyond a little grove of trees
      trimmed in gold
      and red.
      It wasn’t anything
      She had said or done,
      just an unfortunate stumble
      upon a private tussle amidst
      ancient amoral demons
      I had no intention
      of loosing ‘gainst.
      An innocent caught
      in the crosshairs of Rage,
      a sacrificial pawn
      upon the stone altar of Penance,
      whose only sin was simply being
      in the wrong place at the wrong time.
      A broody irreligion
      consumes both our Souls,
      filling a void with sadistic sorrow
      for those who would later grieve
      inconsolably for a Life
      cruelly forfeited in the name of
      now just a carnal autumn memory
      rippling, bowling lane-like
      in my rearview mirror
      as I ease into gear and
      simply drive away,
      leaving my Anger
      enshrined in darkness beneath
      a secluded Rest Area
      just beyond a little grove of trees
      trimmed in gold
      and red.

      © 2012 by Juanita Lewison-Snyder

    4. Poet Ariel says:

      Cabin in the Woods

      Don’t enter the empty cabin
      that breathes in the dark;
      its maw of a door
      sucking in absence
      and silent, slithering sounds of dust moving.
      It even eats up the sound of the clock;
      it’s hands move silently,
      gears that won’t give away their presence
      even with a whisper that could be heard
      by the gathering dust, the waiting dust.
      So much dust, blanketing everything,
      waiting on the table, the rummaged bed, the floor -
      waiting in the dark corners of the rooms.

      Don’t enter the empty cabin
      that breathes in the dark;
      ignore the baited light in the window
      in a building too lost for electricity.
      And do not discount the empty cobwebs;
      even the spiders wove their own shrouds
      now covered with the gray dust.
      Even the footsteps have been eaten up,
      muffled divots that have now been filled in
      like rain filled an empty bed,
      Dust covering it’s blood trail,
      waiting in the dark corners of the rooms
      breathing in the dark.


    5. Treats or Death ( A Blitz)

      Give some tricks
      Give some treats
      Treats for me
      Treats for you
      You sing and dance
      You scream and run
      Run for your life
      Run here he comes
      Comes after you
      Comes after you with a knife
      Knife gleams
      Knife drips with blood
      Blood drips and drips
      Blood drips to the beat
      Beat of your running feet
      Beat of your heart
      Heart beats fast
      Heart takes a leap
      Leap over stump
      Leap over fence
      Fence too tall
      Fence too long
      Long way to run
      Long way to home
      Home is safe
      Home is where you want to be
      Be there now
      Be there soon
      Soon or not
      Soon he will catch you
      You look behind
      You scream again
      Again you run
      Again you look
      Look there he is
      Look there is blood
      Blood no longer drips
      Blood gives you chills
      Chills your soul
      Chills run along your spine
      Spine will break
      Spine of steel
      Steel can’t break
      Steel is strong
      Strong enough to fight
      Strong enough to beat death
      Death is me
      Death you fear

    6. tunesmiff says:

      G. Smith
      Green embers glowing
      Along the treeline tell me
      Dogs are out – I hope.

    7. seingraham says:

      Seriously Spooky

      In McDonald’s, over nuggets and fries
      With super-heroes, dinosaurs, monkeys
      And all manner of disguised children
      And adults milling about, one son-in-law
      The one you would mistake for the toughest
      Confesses he’s just seen “The Exorcist”
      For the first time, the original, made
      In the seventies – he is shaken, it is obvious
      As he recounts the parts that bothered him
      The same parts that bothered me way back when
      Imagine – psychological horror wins out
      And profanity from the mouth of a child
      Comforting really, in this age of over-the-top
      Special effects and gore … I hear “Tubular Bells”

    8. SharoninDallas says:

      And a simple post for last week’s chant poem that I missed.

      How Do I Love Thee?

      She loves him
      She loves him not
      She loves him
      She loves him hot
      She loves him
      She loves him cold
      She loves him
      She lets him go

    9. Visit

      Shadowy man moves
      me to sleeplessness, in the morning
      just a picture
      where it’s always been,
      to the floor, hazy hand

    10. It has become SOOO hard to post out here. :( All I wanted to do was give Laurie Kolp a smiley face. After my 12th try, I gave up.

      As usual, there are fantastic poems out here. My favorites so far are De Jackson, Jerry Walraven, Bruce Neidt, and Jane Shlensky.

    11. RIDER

      One of my children’s favorite amusement park rides
      Was the Rotor -
      A large barrel that spins,
      Creating centrifugal force that pins its upright riders
      To the wall, as the floor retracts from beneath their feet.
      Adults seemed to like it as well.

      Especially him.

      Once the ride came to a stop, folks cleared the barrel
      To allow for a new group of riders.

      But not him.

      With a disturbing smirk, he would hide behind the door
      To sneak another ride.

      And another.

      And another.

      Until the park closed.


      Silence surrounds; the sounds of night pervade,
      Shadows crawling, calling in the vacuous void.
      You avoid the spot in the corner where darkness
      is all consuming. You are assuming that all that lays
      at rest is best left alone. The breathing you hear
      is clear across the room; not your own.
      A moan, a creak sneaks to slip beside you.
      Disembodied shivers sends a quiver down
      your spine. The whine in your ears disappears
      as your thoughts perceive what you disbelieve.
      Your recorder catches something that concerns you,
      but you can’t discern what it could be.
      A whisper? A cry? A scream nearby? You spy that shadow
      again rising like an orb left to fend for itself.
      The playback confirms these ghosts do not feed the worms.
      They’ve come out to play, or so that’s what they say.

    13. “Forever Old”

      The moon was full, the graveyard
      Was misty and serene,
      The party had not started,
      Just two of them were seen –

      Just two decaying corpses:
      A beggar one had been,
      The other one, with tresses,
      She’d been a cruel queen.

      The beggar begged, “My dearest,
      Come rattle bones with me,
      I’m lonely, o my scariest,
      As lonely as can be.”

      Her teeth did click-cluck-clatter,
      “Me? Rattle bones with you?
      But, frankly, as a matter
      Of fact…I’m lonely, too.”

      “What do you mean, my mummy?
      What is your final say?”
      “Oh, do not be a dummy,
      Come, rattle me away!

      Let’s spend our death together,
      Why not? I’ll be your queen.”
      (The dead began to gather:
      ‘twas time for Halloween.)

      “What’s up?” they said. “We’ll marry,”
      The beggar told them. “Hey!
      Woo-hoo!” they howled, “Be merry
      And wed without delay,

      Don’t let the iron go cold,
      Strike!” So, that night they wed
      And stayed forever old,
      Forever happy dead.

    14. Jane Shlensky says:

      The Wind

      Some feelings in the heart are hollow
      Swept of leaves and fallen branches
      As if an ill wind blows through
      Its chambers and veins seeking marrow.

      Sometimes the best of people that you know
      Are dark and twisty with me-ness, hissing
      Through their sharp teeth like asps,
      Like wolves, like things that run in packs.

      Some eyes don’t see the light and praise the day.
      Some creatures favor night, skulking beneath
      The moon, hiding in shadows, foraging
      On things that sleep, praise of darkness on their lips.

      For everything that lives there is a wind
      That scrapes a path and cuts a swath,
      A massive movement of sky across the ground
      That strips life bloody clean

      To teach us what power looks like,
      How fear radiates from our centers,
      When we are merely particles of being,
      Why we cling to prayer and light.


      If you twiddle your thumbs clear down to the bone,
      they’ll beat you like drums till you cry and you moan.

      If you pull wings off flies and torch bumblebees,
      they’ll come in disguise and bite you like fleas.

      If you stick out your tongue like a fork to stab words
      they’ll puncture your lung, you’ll be speechless as birds.

      If you spit out your food and smear it around,
      they’ll arrest you as rude, you’ll be shackled and bound,

      you’ll be tied to a table or left in the ditch,
      and you’ll never be able to scratch where you itch.

    16. Ber says:

      Howling In

      Clashing of the old iron gates
      of the years they left behind
      whispers on the silent wind
      words carry on by

      Wondering souls gather
      delight in their eyes
      hunger of the night
      fills their hearts desire

      Feeding full of want
      thirsty for the fill
      years of all this happens
      giving us a chill

      Open up your doors
      invite let us in
      we wont trick or treat you
      we wont stand and stare

      Clashing of the clouds
      bursting open moon light
      souls of those who have passed
      it is Halloween at last

    17. claudsy says:

      Bygone Temptations

      Within a hollow, deep into woods,
      Shrouded by mists seeming to
      Hang forever above clearings
      Filled with mosses green and brown,
      An altar claims prominence;
      Stark stone lengthened to hold a
      Long body dominates with its
      Simplicity and pile of bones
      Scattered at its granite base.
      Skulls mingle with toes,
      Femurs tangle with ribs,
      And all around seeps tingling
      Anticipation for the night ahead.

    18. PowerUnit says:

      Can I have one for my brother?
      He’s at home passing out.

      He’s a creepy brother.
      I don’t like him much.
      He hurts me.

      Do you have a son?
      Does he catch cats too?
      And kill them.

      Did you get many kids yet?
      It’s dark out, and
      I’m alone.

      Thank you sir.
      Your home looks nice.
      It feels warm.

      Goodbye now.
      or treat.

    19. The Old Hag And The Beagle

      On a rainy Halloween
      night, I passed a corner
      house, fence splintered
      like splayed legs, green
      siding, color of mucous,
      broken off in chunks,
      and weeds leaning against
      front window, nearly up
      to its grayed middle. A lamp
      flickered catching my eye.
      I blinked. Old hag sat across
      from an equally aged beagle.
      They were playing cards.
      The beagle showed his hand.
      Old hag cackled. A flash
      of light nearly blinded me,
      but I stood, a concrete
      statue, and when the flashing
      stopped, at the window,
      I could see the old hag
      and her faithful beagle
      had switched heads.

    20. DanielAri says:

      Not really creepy.

      For a couple days it seemed everyone
      went ahead and stopped dead still, like gophers
      during a blizzard, which is basically
      what we were, except for being humans
      during a hurricane. On the West Coast

      The World Series ended in a giant
      win, plus it was Halloween. We all quit
      working to celebrate and give the East
      time to get our prayers and their power back.
      We pretended, but Wednesday was a wash.

      Where were you? I was on the fifteenth floor.
      When I looked down, I saw the orange crowds.
      When I looked up, I saw the foggy clouds.
      Rain is forecast while the costs get tallied.
      Maybe we should all just let the tap run.

      I can’t remember for the life of me:
      what was the point of working overtime?

    21. Andy Brackett says:

      Dark of Night

      Outside the wild tempest blows
      Raging winds in deathly throes
      Slashing rains and dark of night
      Join together and steal my sight

      In the darkness I hear the sounds
      Of crazed killers and baying hounds
      They come for me, of this I’m sure
      I run inside and lock my door

      I cower in my bedroom corner
      And pray to God to end this horror
      The rapping on the window pane
      Is slowly driving me insane

      Evil goblins are drawing near
      My heart races, filled with fear
      Lighting strikes and turns dark to light
      Illuminating a ghostly sight

      A pale face with blood shot eyes
      Stares back at me, it’s time to die
      The world before me fades to black
      As I lay dying on my back

      When I awake it’s light once more
      And I’m still lying on the floor
      I sit up, and things get clearer
      I’m staring at my bedroom mirror.

    22. The Wired Journal says:

      It is so frightening this eerie night
      Goblins and ghosts all roaming about
      Knocking on doors demanding some more

      Good lord have mercy I think to myself
      Watching these children as they tout about
      No manners at all no none at all
      Filling their bags with treats and sweets

      May the good lord have mercy on the poor tooth fairy
      She will be so weary and probably go broke
      Paying for teeth that will soon fall out

      She’ll be forced to eat peanut butter on turkey day
      She’ll not afford a turkey nor trimmings too
      for thanksgiving dinner she’ll be so poor

      It’s the dentist’s I bet yes it’s all their fault
      They’ll surely make millions pulling rotted teeth out
      Their devils those dentist’s all dressed in white

      All they want is to pull your teeth out
      It’s an eerie thought I think to myself
      Toothless children all running about


      Sweep the chimney
      to let in bats.
      Scrub plans to clean the drains –
      that’s how the scorpions
      Leave the dust-mites safe,
      they love a cozy
      drought. Leave the cobwebs
      for the spiders
      and the flies. For the house-mice
      pumpkin pie with happy face
      of meringue for its sweet.
      Here come the
      ghosts and witches,
      the graveyard’s
      anti-gravitational creeps.
      Throw open the
      welcome. it’s Halloween!

    24. jared davidavich says:


      delicate fingers trace the path
      of hers along a steely rail,
      just moments behind,
      just feet away

      goosebumps spread across her skin
      giving rise to faint hairs,
      even with a warm breeze,
      even with his damp breath

      the wind swirls between them,
      carrying her scent, and his;
      he hangs back cautiously
      he leans forward with hunger

      his presence sends a shiver,
      imperceptibly shaking her from inside out,
      but he notices,
      though she does not notice him

      a cautious thought,
      carelessly tossed aside,
      leads her from the crowded street;
      her leading him from the same

      a quiet urban trail
      provides a welcome seclusion
      from the nuisance of the city’s mouths,
      from the nuisance of the city’s eyes

      she embraces nature’s purity
      and embodies its innocence;
      he who follows does not,
      what follows does not

    25. Storm Clock

      The power goes out just before dark, so my teenage son
      asks that we press the old grandfather clock into service.
      Neglected in the dining room corner, it hasn’t been asked
      to keep time for years, or tell us the hour
      with Westminster chimes. As night falls,
      we pull the counterweights on their chains,
      ratcheting them to the top of the glass case,
      then nudge the pendulum into motion,
      so the heartbeat begins – tock-tock, tock-tock.
      Each quarter-hour, it strikes part of the tune,
      and when the minute hand creeps to the top,
      the whole tune again, with the count of hours.
      It sounds creepy in the dark, his sister says,
      and he suggests we sit around it and read Poe stories.
      Instead, we play a board game by candlelight,
      while rain and wind rattle our windows.
      The night lengthens with flickering shadows
      till we blow out the candles, and one by one
      we turn out our flashlights to try to sleep,
      bedded on the first floor lest a tree come through
      the roof upstairs. The clock ticks on to midnight,
      then strikes twelve, when ominous things
      are supposed to happen. I think of all the ghost stories
      I’ve seen and read with that obligatory clock,
      and standing in the shadows, it resembles a man.
      My flashlight beam is now the only light in the house,
      so I keep it blazing a little longer. Lying down,
      I do not sleep, as the storm bellows in the black outside.

    26. RJ Clarken says:

      Where are You?

      Hold on, man. We don’t go anywhere with “scary,” “spooky,” “haunted,” or “forbidden” in the title. ~From Scooby-Doo

      Forbidden, haunted, spooky? Yikes!
      We’re scared of zombies, fangs and spikes,
      of vampires, werewolves. What to do?
      Oh, Scooby Doo! Zoiks! Where are you?

      Each mystery is shrouded with
      macabre. Is it the stuff of myth
      or is it real? And where’s our clue?
      Oh, Scooby Doo! Zoiks! Where are you?

      Did you just see that portrait’s eyes?
      They seemed to follow us. Surprise!?
      I think I heard a ghostly, “Boo!”
      Oh, Scooby Doo! Zoiks! Where are you?

      Forbidden, haunted, spooky? Yikes!
      Oh, Scooby Doo! Zoiks! Where are you?

      Sorry – I couldn’t resist. Boo!

    27. barbara_y says:

      I tried creepy, and it came out dreary. Alas. Hope everyone’s monsters stay cheery tonight.

      Halloween Day

      Halloween day arrived with frost.
      Ice glitter on rusty leaves, past
      their brilliant prime. Lifeless things sprayed
      with new coats of light like the gray
      dead wearing shrouds of diamond dust.
      The smells of fresh coffee and toast
      warm the waking house. It’s almost
      happy. One shouldn’t feel this way,
      Halloween Day
      joys are tender. With the night lost
      chances and failures–and the ghosts
      like cold lovers– come back to play
      filthy games, turn a memory
      rotten, then snicker from the dust.
      Halloween Day.

    28. jared davidavich says:

      A true story from halloween in a small town.

      My Last Halloween

      I almost skipped his house this year,
      his centerpiece too creepy, too real.
      It was a man in his likeness—
      his perennial personal touch—
      suspended by a stable rope,
      his eyes alive with terrifying sadness,
      and tightly pursed lips,
      afraid they would betray his secret,
      curled up at the ends in an eerie smile.

      The body hung from the porch eave,
      gently swaying in the blustery evening
      as if weighted by a remorseful burden—
      rocks perhaps.
      All Hallow’s Eve always brought out the best
      of a lonely man who embraced this day
      and nothing else.

      The short walk to his steps,
      and the porch to his door—
      ever a gauntlet of demons and suffering—
      guarded the most coveted experience
      and the sweetest prize in the town.
      But this year only my pride moved my feet
      as my courage waited patiently on the sidewalk.

      It did not acknowledge our hurried steps
      as we passed shyly
      to the door, shut tightly with no light,
      but a bowl nonetheless, awaiting eager hands
      that took only one, for fear, for respect.

      But as we exited, quickly, not stopping to admire
      his masterpiece, I bumped it,
      and noted the craftsmanship as it responded
      unexpectedly; how could he ever top this?
      Thoughts of next year carried me back to the street.

      The next morning the police cut it down;
      he had gone too far I suppose, even for Halloween.
      He was still smiling as they bagged him at the scene
      and buried him with little fanfare, as I guess he expected,
      but not before one last trick
      for the treat-seeking fiends, his only friends,
      or at least the only ones who appreciate
      a celebration of the dead.

    29. foodpoet says:

      had to come back and post after lunch kept getting you are posting too fast – fast writer not that fast lol

    30. foodpoet says:

      On a night of eaten moons
      I gaze at the fading light
      I roll broken runes
      On a night of eaten moons
      When the darkness brings sight
      I listen to night tunes
      I gaze at the fading light
      On a night of eaten moons

    31. miss josh says:


      Broom is ready at the door
      Wart on nose. Something more?
      Green indeed her face and hands;
      Hair is black in greasy strands.
      Black cat hisses; cauldron by the door.
      Is there anything, anything more?
      “TRICK OR TREAT!” from outside,
      There really is no place to hide.
      Now to pass out candy, ample
      To fat little kids who really need an apple.

      “Every year I dress as a witch,
      Halloween night is really a bitch!”


    32. handyman43127 says:

      Night Of Nothing

      Empty is the hollow
      Void is the pumpkin
      Carved is the grave.
      Innocent is the believer,
      Darkness cover’s what
      Rules the night.
      Reflection’s light street’s.
      Hiding evil in her shadow’s
      She rules for hour’s
      Until the sun rises again.

    33. Marianv says:

      Encounter the Night Before Halloween

      Dark man so suddenly
      leaping in front of my car -
      That wild night frantic
      With falling leaves
      And angry bursts of rain ?

      Startled – I tried to stop-
      Skidding off the road,
      Headlights tilting crazily –

      You vanished with the wind.

      Was that the same wind
      that whispered to the leaves?

      What did it promise as you
      joined them on that
      wild journey ?

      Did you hear it
      howling with laughter,
      while all of you tumbled
      down into the ground?

    34. Domino says:


      A woman alone must take precautions
      that men don’t often know they must.
      Even a simple shopping trip
      can turn into
      a nightmare
      so easily
      if someone behaves
      a little too

      I noticed him following me from
      lane to lane
      and decided I must be
      imagining it.

      So I went to the opposite side of the store
      just to reassure myself.

      But he still followed.

      He looked average enough,
      and I never caught him staring
      but I was aware
      and frightened
      as only a woman alone
      can be.

      I checked out.

      He was at the other lane
      and got done just before me.

      He had a smirk on his face,
      and I didn’t like his certainty
      because though he had said nothing
      and done nothing overt,
      I had a bad feeling.

      So I asked the store manager
      to have someone walk me to my car
      because someone had been following me
      and I felt uncomfortable about it.

      He was happy to, and in fact, had two of them
      accompany me
      and they helped me unload
      my squash and milk
      and hamburger buns
      and canned spinach
      and paper towels.

      And just when I’d started to feel foolish,
      as if to affirm my senses,
      the creeper zoomed out of the parking lot
      high speed
      tires squealing
      deprived of his prey.

      At least today.

      Diana Terrill Clark

      • De Jackson says:

        Oh, Diana. As a woman, it’s impossible to read this without shuddering. SO thankful he was “deprived of his prey.” Something about that grocery list haunts me…the mundane in the middle of what could have been an unspeakable, life-changing day.

        And that last line seals it. Perfect.

        • Domino says:

          De, this happened many years ago when my kids were still small, and all I could think was to wonder how they could do without me. It is so important to be aware of ones surroundings, it really is. Thanks, De! XOX

    35. SharoninDallas says:

      Not for me the supernatural
      Give me all that is factual
      Give me sweet children
      Who speak to me; sweet Nancy
      Who I see.
      Sweet is she? The form over there?
      Where? Yes, it’s Nancy, please. . .
      Who is looking back at me?
      Do I run? Do I stay?
      Will I last through the day?

    36. RJ Clarken says:

      She Howls

      “There are nights when the wolves are silent and only the moon howls.”
      ~ George Carlin”

      I sense a presence here, inside.
      Is it a monster, bona fide?
      Or is its voice a hoot of owls?
      The wolves? No sound. But Moon? She howls.

      In fear, I clutch the balustrade.
      whilst going down the steps. Betrayed
      by heartbeats loud (and tightened bowels)…
      The wolves? No sound. But Moon? She howls.

      Is this a night of fatal chance?
      I turn and give a backward glance
      up steps. I’m watched by that which prowls.
      The wolves? No sound. But Moon? She howls.

      I sense a presence here, inside.
      The wolves? No sound. But Moon? She howls.


    37. Karen31 says:

      An echoing drip on the staircase.
      Electric sockets that supply only shock.
      That spot in the master bedroom, bone cold
      despite the clang of the steam heat.
      Withered remnants of flowered gifts
      whisper absent of wind
      in palpable silence.
      Outside the sun shines sweet and warm.
      Inside the house there comes a storm.

    38. Karen31 says:

      Talk to myself? No.
      No, that’s not it. I argue
      sometimes, with thoughts that need
      taming, is all. Thoughts
      I’d be better off without. If
      an urgent notion, a tempting
      push, a call to action comes
      from an errant area of my
      being, I might
      long and hard,
      brows knitted, hands knotted,
      eyes fixed on a certain spot in a far corner.
      I might hope to win the argument.

    39. Domino says:

      Movement in the dark
      Heart pounding I look again
      It’s just a mirror

      Diana Terrill Clark

    40. Mike Bayles says:

      Back from the Dead

      His face, ghastly white
      glows under the light
      of a full moon. Tonight
      he says he’s back
      for another try
      to reclaim all he knows,
      to walk the streets alone
      and seek others
      to possess their souls.
      In an empty park we stand,
      and we talk about desires and acquaintance
      and lost lives
      in familiar overtones.
      A chill overcomes me
      when I look at his face.
      It looks just like me.


      A near-full Hunter’s Moon
      glows through ground-mist this evening,

      turning my puppy sable-
      platinum and the old black & red dog

      dewy-silver. Their breath steams.
      Scraps of fog swirl up

      ghosts over the pond. Twig-
      snap. The puppy shoots off to trick-

      or-treat in the dark of oaks.
      Walking without a light, I startle

      at a trigger-crack
      of limb-snap overhead. The old dog

      plods on. Like all the long-
      dead grand-

      father dogs, ever-present
      padding beside me.

    42. Scary

      Dressing up is fine for kids,
      pint-sized princesses, Spiderman clones
      canvasing the neighborhood,
      bed sheet ghosts and grinning witches,
      front teeth missing, freckle-dusted noses,
      but when the grownups dress up,
      donning scary masks,
      as warty, hirsute ape men,
      zombies, red eyes bulging,
      the smaller children quake in fear,
      unable to convince themselves
      that the man making scary sounds
      in the front of the classroom
      is really Mr. Monroe, the music teacher.
      Long after the man has removed the mask
      and headed to the car
      for his first cigarette of the afternoon,
      Bailey’s begging his mom and dad
      not to make him go back to music class.

    43. Misky says:


      She lives in the forest near the River Få,
      alone and single, except for a brindle cat,
      a fat yellow dog and a robin trained to eat
      from the wide brim of her hat. She knows
      the way of things, the power of healing,

      the way nature thinks and speaks to her
      on the breeze. We told how she knows
      of snow and rain, said she smells it
      chased by the wind, howling its arrival
      on a shiver of leaves. She knows the black

      damage hidden within fear and the whisper
      of dark wishes curling in her ear. And it’s true,
      we said, that we watched her twist a white
      strand of her hair, lick it and thread it through
      a needle’s eye, and then wrapped taught,

      where she bound toys together, face to face,
      figures of men and women held there fastened
      in a long lingering kiss, sealed with her spit
      on a square-shaped knot. And we told all we
      saw of her, and we said that she be a witch.

    44. Haunted

      She loved the house—
      two levels plus
      cellar and attic—
      built just after the Revolutionary War.
      But now, her children moved on,
      her husband passed to the next life
      and she hears
      voices in the attic,
      groans in the cellar,
      whispers and footsteps on the stairway.
      At night, she takes a sedative,
      and as she drops off to sleep,
      she wonders which would be worse—
      if the sounds were real
      or if they weren’t.

    45. Playing around with the Blitz form. Came up with a haunted hairdo. See you all next month!

      Comb in Fear – the Haunted Hairdo

      Grab a chair
      Grab a comb
      Comb your hair
      Comb every possibility
      Possibility of life
      Possibility of rain
      Rain on your parade
      Raindrops keep falling on your head
      Heading for trouble
      Head this one off at the pass
      Pass the bottle
      Pass for someone half your age
      Age of innocence
      Age of majority
      Majority rule
      Majority of voters said…
      Said “Forget you!”
      Said their prayers
      Prayers for help
      Prayers at bedtime
      Bedtime for teddy bears
      Bedtime bath
      Bathtub bubbles
      Bathtub ring
      Ring of truth
      ring me in the morning
      morning breath
      morning dear, how’d you sleep
      sleep flees my eyes
      sleeper cell
      cellulite secrets of the stars
      cell phone tower
      tower of power
      tower of London
      London Underground
      London Bridge is falling down
      Down came the rain
      Down and out
      Out of patience
      Out of time
      Time to go
      Time waits for no man
      Man of sorrows
      Man you look awful
      Awful prospect
      Awful look of fear
      Fear the hairdo
      Fear you’re haunted

    46. JWLaviguer says:

      Eyes adjusting to the dark
      Wish they hadn’t
      of the light switch
      is the power out?
      Feeling the breath
      of something old
      I hope it’s the vent
      Please tell me
      there’s a vent
      in the attic

    47. “Perhaps the Answer was Yes”

      The quick
      brush against my cheek
      as I lay in between awake
      and asleep
      startles me
      and now hyper alert senses
      see nothing
      feel nothing
      and hear nothing
      except the pounding of my heart
      and the last “es”
      of a whisper.

    48. JWLaviguer says:

      Haunted, Fact or Fiction

      They hosted a haunted house
      For charity
      Supposed to be fun
      In this house
      Until things began
      To change
      In this house
      Who is the ghost?
      Awesome special effects
      In this house
      We didn’t do that
      Where did you see it?
      In this house
      We didn’t touch that room
      We better leave
      Something is wrong
      In this house

    49. De Jackson says:

      Sleepy Hollow

      When the wind blows her howling hatred
      through these aching trees, you can still

      hear the hooves and the hollow, haunted
      cry of one who moans without mouth, and

      nary a sigh under this sliver of moon, but
      a silver scythe in a barren sky. These stars,

      only pinpricks of imprisoned pain, cannot
      help you, cannot sustain the lost tortured

      tongue of one who can neither groan nor
      grimace. You will run, fumble, fall, as

      terror takes all – breath, blood and reason.
      Spill your last of tears, tremble, treasons,

      and wait here, where galloping fear will find
      you. Don’t look up. Look out. Behind you.

    50. Just for fun:

      Spooks to You!

      Creepy, crawly, ooey goo
      Gooey, chewy, candy, too
      Shivers, quivers at the BOOs
      On Halloween, my spook’s for you!

    Leave a Reply