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.
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
even.
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.
Ghost
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
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
emancipation,
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
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.
Ariel
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
Fear
Me
HOLE IN THE FENCE
G. Smith
—————————–
Green embers glowing
Along the treeline tell me
Dogs are out – I hope.
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”
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
Visit
Shadowy man moves
me to sleeplessness, in the morning
just a picture
hanging
where it’s always been,
slamming
to the floor, hazy hand
demanding
attention
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.
Oh … and Taylor Graham. BRILLIANT.
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.
I can still picture him so clearly, and it sends a chill down my spine. I suppose I should have simply felt sorry for him. Something must have been terribly, terribly wrong.
ELECTRONIC VOICE PHENOMENON
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.
“Disembodied shivers”
*shiver*
“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.
I’m not sure it was creepy enough, I guess I’m in a happy mood, Happy Halloween, everyone!
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.
CREEPY CAUTIONS FOR KIDS
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.
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
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.
Can I have one for my brother?
He’s at home passing out.
Candy.
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.
Trick
or treat.
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.
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?
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.
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
WHO COMES CREEPING?
Sweep the chimney
to let in bats.
Scrub plans to clean the drains –
that’s how the scorpions
arrive.
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!
followed
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
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.
Oh, Bruce. Many prayers for your family, and all of those impacted by this terrible storm.
This piece is haunting. It’s the real “ghosts” that get you.
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!
chuckle.
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.
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.
had to come back and post after lunch kept getting you are posting too fast – fast writer not that fast lol
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
WHICH WITCH?
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!”
10-31-12
hey! it only took me three tries to post this one! yeah!
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.
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?
Creeper
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
strangely.
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
outright,
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
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.
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
ANNIE
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?
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.
###
Oh, RJ. Form Master.
So great.
She howls, indeed. Perfect.
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.
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
argue
long and hard,
brows knitted, hands knotted,
eyes fixed on a certain spot in a far corner.
I might hope to win the argument.
Movement in the dark
Heart pounding I look again
It’s just a mirror
Diana Terrill Clark
Ooohh.. I really like this. Nice thought process.
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.
Ooooo. Chilling, Mike. And I love the internal rhyme within.
HAUNTINGS
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.
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.
Bewitched
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.
I love this piece, Misky.
This, especially:
“She knows the black
damage hidden within fear and the whisper
of dark wishes”
Thank you, De!!
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.
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
Haunted
Hairdo
Awesome, Andrew! Excellent use of a frightfully fun form!
Eyes adjusting to the dark
Wish they hadn’t
Click-click-click
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
But… if the power’s out… how did the AC move air? O_O
good point unless it’s not that kind of vent lol
“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.
Ohhhhh. YES. Creepy, indeed. Excellent, Jerry.
Awesomely creepy, Jerry!
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
Yikes! O_O
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.
…
Chills… I love the sounds and internal rhyming throughout, De.
Already in full November form, I see. Wonderful.
Oooh, spooky! Reminded me of the headless horseman!!
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!
Fun, Laurie.
Am I first? Creepy…