Notes About The Poem
Second Place
Writing Challenge Past Memories "T" Forms Poetry
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A Tail-Rhyme is a type of poem that has a very specific structure. In short, the piece begin with either a couplet or a triplet of lines that consist of rhymed lines. This set of either a couplet or triplet is then followed by a "tail", which is a fourth line that does not rhyme with the couplet or triplet that preceded it. This tail line tends to be shorter in length than those lines within the couplet or triplet. This type of poetry can also be used with stanza, known as a tail-rhyme stanza, but in these pieces, all of the tail lines rhyme with each other.
image credit Hillside Graveyard Path /graveyard www.reddit.comwww.reddit.com
Gravity Hill
"recently scenes of early life have stolen into my mind, like breezes blown ..." Quote by _Samuel Taylor Coleridge (from his writings)
There’s a magical cemetery north of here they say,
It’s a pleasant place to visit during the day.
Be sure the gate is unlocked if you plan to stay,
some just go for a thrill!
Visiting the dead is not the only reason to go.
A paranormal natural illusion awaits, a creep show.
A strange, haunting experience is all we know.
We need to listen, be still.
Pitch black at night, a warning if you easily scare.
Running out on a grave gets you points, it’s a dare,
I heard it in school, they do it bare but it’s rare,
and against our will.
On a lonely stretch of road, objects, gravity defies.
When you get to the spot, your vehicle flies.
And all must be quiet to hear the spirits cries,
or see feathers of a quill.
Santeria is noted when feathers have been gifted.
In space, the car, with all of us in it, will be lifted.
This is a story ‘bout the Halloween night we drifted,
through Gravity Hill.
An old Chevy Impala is what we teens packed into.
Fright stories were told along the way, some true!
Hair stood on arms, Bloody Mary, was one of the few.
It gave us such a chill.
One girl shouted; I looked in the rear-view mirror!
I saw her ghost! And so, it couldn’t be any clearer,
We were close, suspenseful of what grew nearer.
Then sounds of a French trille.
Natural illusion’s tricking everyone, in a mystery spot,
With no view of the horizon line, and near a dark lot,
The driver put the gear in neutral like he was taught,
as if by magic, began rolling uphill.
A slight downhill slope appears to be going up slope.
Then somebody asked, did anyone hear that? Nope.
A cayote ran across the road, had hoofs like an antelope,
with a wide grin and grill.
A layout of the land produces an optical illusion,
What you see is what you get, my conclusion,
Let ghosts lie, for it is us who are the intrusion.
Memories non-fiction, no frill!
GRaViTy HiLL
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