Best Creaks Poems
Sounds of a Day in the Past
Cherry Creek was a thriving small town
Children played on swings up and down.
They screamed with delight and why not?
Today with no school, so homework forgot.
How they laughed and frolicked and ran,
All cares forgotten, catch me if you can!
The swings were well-oiled and so no creaks
Could be heard, but happy they enjoyed their leaps.
Not far away, parents and singles formed a march
Protesting against chemical factory built beyond the arch.
Sounds of a Day in the Present
Cherry Creek is now a ghost town
And all the rusted swings are down.
The chemist factory spoilt their fun.
Children in Cherry Town were none.
So many died from deadly fumes
All protests covered in all newsrooms.
But to no avail, for protests fell on dead ears.
Parents left to other places shedding tears.
The only sound you hear is the wind
No swing moved, empty all rust lined.
But I forgot the sound of money,
The factory simply insults me.
Worn wood is on the barn
like wrinkles from a hard life
Many long years have passed
It served its purpose, now filled
Things people didn't want to let go
As I walk toward the entrance,
I could feel memories burn
Not mine, but others that are left behind
It is like the flowering scent of Lilac
It stays, it does not leave
I thought I could hear chicken clucking,
along this dirt path with weathered dips
Rosy colors emerging in the sky, remind me why
we hold onto things that are so precious
No matter how old or worn, it doesn't matter
The barn is full, there is no emptiness
Then, sun gives reminders of color before dark
It is quiet, but for some creaks
Those are just the old barn speaking
For there is always a story to be told
Heidi Sands
3/1/24
(C)opyright
You didn’t notice my tears.
As you both kissed each other
like two lonely plungers
who just escaped from plumber’s solitary confinement,
your eyes open and wander up.
You didn’t look across that banquet hall
with my feet planted against wood polished tendencies.
Its creaks motioning time towards yellow-signal identity.
As my breath declares sudden death
against lake’s dripping reflections…
…you didn’t think to set your photo album on private.
Advertising lust
wrapped in pretentious cloak
sewed in recycled fibers of “love”.
With ignorant enablers speaking chic-flick tongue,
“Oh My Gawd! I’m so happy for you! I wanna ovulate!”
As I, put my head down
returning to this moment in time,
I had to let my song…cry.
Lenny Williams begins to exude “cause I love you” chorus,
as I walk towards bar
sensing your seductive retinas
stroking against my Latin swagger.
Your ring finger
chained by 3 carat, naïve cut, diamond
motions an intense, streaking caress
against wine glass filled with Zinfandel sin.
Because you know I am your addiction.
Your diabetic lips never forgot
that taste
of my
brown
sugar.
But, you didn’t notice my tears.
I wish you had.
For all this time, these tears
were of joyful splendor.
Because solace holds my hand
with candlelight warmth.
Slow dancing with my soul
in mystery Salsa sway.
While you stand on home plate,
holding your 2nd place trophy,
with 3 strikes against you.
A reminder that my heart,
was flexible enough
to dodge
a bullet.
© Drake J. Eszes
As I sit upon these old porch steps, that I have always known
A weathered stoop, with gray floorboards, that shake with every wind
These creaks and groans, the flaws and chips, ... familiar to my hand
I have come to some conclusion,,,
I've come to understand,
how well I know each board, each slat, the shape, the size,
the warps, the cracks, ...each rusty nail, ....
but not the facts of you.
Oh yes, ... I've seen a glimpse or two,
in photographs. I have a few
I see a robust man, in yellowed hues, of vintage stock...
By a house, a barn, where land is strewn with stones to move.
You stand behind a horse and plow, in coveralls,... a mustache. too.
I do recall, so vaguely gray, as gray as the paint beneath my hand...
a jolly man, a wrinkled face,
with a smile, a laugh, a loving way
A dream I have, or is it real?
Is that me when I was two,... sitting here, beside you then?
Or is it just my wish to know... more than just a trace of you?
I never knew the man you were, your hopes your dreams...
the thousand schemes that brought you to these rocky slopes
so far from where your hopes began
Where the steep cliffs rose and seas were blue.
Today, beyond these furrowed rows,...
tall grasses grow in amber waves
The eyes will wander, and shadows grow
I ponder how it came to be....
that I am me,....
who came from you;
a man I never knew.
_____________________________________________________________
(To watch the youtube video recitation:)
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hF4GCLqf9_o
In those bleak fields that so quietly lie - stilled as graves,
Between where the thin wind creaks and upwardly heaves,
Unseen feet can sometimes be heard
Shuffling through the old woods discarded leaves.
For i have seen those strange distant lights
That detach themselves from heavens spilling crowds;
When dropping over the blindside of the little ridge
They rise to leap from cloud to cloud.
Impossible angles of inexplicable darting momentum -
Inwardly gyrating wheels now ingeniously turning;
Marvelous these the strange crafts of unknown design...
Yes - I have seen the night skies burning!
For well i remember as a reckless child
How i stole out to ascend that one forbidden hill:
Cast deep plans, set the clock ticking accordingly,
Rose, wrapped myself against Novembers raw chill.
Deep inside the Beech-hanger the Plough was struggling,
And over the despairing holt a devisive breeze...
As, of a sudden, on the edge of swirling darkness -
Showered particles upon vapourous ethers so violently seized!
Oh the hissing bolts of sizzling electrons -
Brilliance of colours like a dying meteors last rites!
Anti-Graviton paradox of mastered equational conundrum
Igniting the latent freeze within winters sharp night.
Radiant orb held aligned by polar-opposites forceful lines,
Spinning upon a singular point with such consummate ease;
Roaring furiously liken fabled dragon of Arthurian legend,
Hot breath licking across lines of illuminated trees.
Momentary seconds that crept alongside an age enraptured
Amidst tumbling thoughts of - "Just another Alien abductee"!
Then, gently tilting starboard, accelerating smoothly away,
Vanishing over the stacks and tiled rooftops of nearby Walton-Lea.
Often have i wistfully pondered in ever hopeful, watchful years:
What was it so witnessed as it hung before me in suspended flight?
And - with many cramming thoughts - groping for answers sought -
Recalling the wondrous moment of such an awe-inspiring sight!
The Haunted House
Driving with my date at midnight, looking at the August moonlight,
lonely road, no one in eyesight, searching for a place to park.
Off the road a mansion ‘pearing, in the woods, back in a clearing,
all alone this mansion fearing, stands deserted in the dark…
the mansion stands there in the dark.
Vacant now for many ages, rotting as her time turns pages,
legend of her haunting rages, haunting ghosts that oversee.
Eerie winds around are blowing, in the window soft light glowing,
curiosity is growing, soft light beckons us to see…
the soft light calls for us to see.
Feel like we are strangers poaching, on this haunted house encroaching,
front porch creaks as we’re approaching, and the front door open wide.
Through the door now we are heading, on the inside odor shedding,
musty air with dust is spreading, leaving us red blurry eyed…
the dust makes us red blurry eyed.
In our ears there is a droning, down the hall we hear a moaning,
sounding like an old man groaning, leaving us to wonder why.
Down the hallway we go searching, knowing not what evil lurching,
through the door we see there perching, skeleton from days gone by…
bones sitting there from days gone by.
On the floor there is blood pooling, ‘neath the ashen bones so grueling,
such an eerie sight befooling, tell my date to turn and run.
Chasing close behind I follow, for this fear I cannot swallow,
felling like my life is hollow, thinking that my time is done…
I’m feeling like my days are done.
Wake up in a forest clearing, in the sky, sunlight appearing,
from the night my mind is veering, how I got here I don’t know.
Leaving now my gut is churning, don’t think I will be returning,
evil place my mind discerning, wrought with spirits from below…
the evil spirits from below…..
this haunted house has got to go.
August 18, 2018
Whispers of sunset
Carry on wings of evening birds
Rising moon awaits wolfs’ howls
Sundown serenade
Crickets chant their scratchy song
Hooting gallery comprised of owls
Phantoms awaken
Stalkers prowl ‘neath opera stages
Graveyards welcome spectral spirits
Points of light
Stars glisten in darkening sky
Street lamps guide travelers home
Fireplace crackles
Kindling ignites thick trunks of oak
Welcome warmth fills country homes
Toasts of wine
Lovers enjoy a fireside embrace
Candlelit shadows dance on walls
Grandma rocks
Old chair creaks on hardwood floors
Children gather for bedtime tales
Stillness follows
Consciousness retreats to dreamland
Tooth fairies and sandmen emerge
You won't find a yard like this anymore. You'd think it would seem smaller now that I'm an adult, but it doesn't. It's still enormous, stretching far beyond the house like a grassy sea. The hills roll like the tide, dotted with patches of melting snow that remind me of cresting waves. All around me, the gardens wake from a wintry slumber.
tiny buds
cling to naked branches--
a robin sings
Time stands still here in Nana's garden; the ghosts of childhood haunt every inch of the yard. There's my brother, climbing the ancient apple tree, throwing crab apples at my sister as she plucks daisies. Even as she dodges apples, she plucks away - asking no one in particular if she's loved or not, leaving a trail of petals in her wake. And there I am in my grass-stained skirt, twirling and twirling, falling dizzily to the ground, oblivious to my sister's shrieks of protest and my brother's triumphant laugh.
I shake my head and the vision clears. Now the garden is empty - still overflowing with trees and shrubs and flowers, but lacking in laughter, mischief, and innocence. Innocence has been replaced by wistfulness.
two robins
glide across the sky--
a door creaks
"Tea's ready, dear."
I glance over my shoulder at Nana. She stands on the back porch wearing her favourite apron and my favourite smile. Like her garden, she hasn't changed. A few more silver strands in her hair, a few more lines around her eyes - but she is still the same woman who took care of us, tending to us just as she tended to her gardens. She smiles at me now, as if she knows that garden has cast a spell over me.
With another glance at the apple tree, I follow Nana inside the house - and I swear I can hear echoes of laughter behind me.
Steps in -
What din!
Rat squeaks
Floor creaks
Let loose,
Ghost boos
Blood Pool -
Bats drool!
Strobe lights,
Snake bites
Suspense -
Live Fence!
Zombie -
Crombie*
Cat's eyes -
On mice
Closed space,
Lined face
Blue slime,
Red grime
Skulls stare -
BEWARE
Quiver,
Shiver!
Loud cry...
Mouth dry
Our horde
Spots board: ....
Your end,
My friend
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The light is coming and I wish you well...
Behind the running, running man the land
Lies silent, fallow, haunted by the cry
Of one lone mourning rook who flies alone
Inscribing solemn circles in the sky
There is no time to take a backward look
Just running, running, running, running blind
He leaves the flowered garlands that she wove
With ribbons bright, with summer’s love, behind
He runs with only hope in empty hands
All faint of heart, with life blood running cold
The chill of winter earth beneath his feet
All water turned to ice in frozen fold
All out of breath with minutes yet to live
He runs, through elder grove and stand of yew
Runs, seeking for the ancient Solstice door
Described in tales the bards and ancients knew
‘Till suddenly he stumbles on a glade
All silent where no wild bird wheels or calls
And in the glade there stands a single stone
And on the ground a moon dark shadow falls
And there, within the shadow’s light he sees
That which before him other men have found
A stairway leading down in to the earth
A dark descending path in to the ground
No way but down now, this the only way
He gathers one last breath, and full of fear
Goes down the old and foot worn ancient steps
That lead towards the portal of the year
How dark the endless steps of winter’s stair
That shadow down, down to the Solstice door
To where, beneath the door a chink of light
Hints soft and bright across the cold stone floor
He sits upon the bottom step to rest
Reflect, and contemplate the year behind
And lo, she comes, bedecked in leaves and fruit
And dancing, dancing, through his weary mind
Forget me not, she sings; I am still here
I wait for you, for life to shift and stir
And through the keyhole and the chink there blows
A fragrant waft of birch and silver fir
Reviving, blessing, soft upon his face
The promise of new life upon her breath
Touched by her grace he weeps upon the step
For she has saved him with her love from death
Another year dies, another lives
He sits and waits; she watches from afar
And as he waits the light in darkness shifts
And creaks the ancient Solstice Door ajar…
by Gail
The old rusty gate CREAKS open,
I hear the blowing wind WHOOSH and HOWL,
blazing autumn leaves waltz MURMURING
stories from a forgotten past,
The lonely owl HOOTS, SHRIEKS TU-WHIT TU-WHOO,
rain falls DRIP-drop…PITTER-PATTER
A door shuts BANG somewhere
making me SHUDDER!
The desolate staircase is dusty and empty -
lamenting for footsteps of CHATTERING, GIGGLING
children playing hide-and-seek,
dry leaves CRUMBLE under my feet in the orchard
which once smelt ambrosial!
The place WHISPERS an exuberant childhood…
my heart FLUTTERS to recollect
the HUMMING music of the quaint hamlet…
bees BUZZING around the colourful flowers,
butterflies flirting with roses and dahlias,
birds CHIRPING melodious tunes which
serenade to far-away RIPPLING streams.
The swing has stopped, birdsongs are gone!
The rusty gate SQUEAKS open..
July 3, 2021
"Onomatopoeia" Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Emile Pinet
23 Onomatopoeia words (In Bold) have been used.
22 Lines
THIRD PLACE
The Mill wheel wouldn't turn until the Spring
And still today in thought a chill it brings
The vision of the ice upon the lake
That time in passing still can not erase
That mill wheel in the grip of winter's breath
Stone cold and still ... a lifelsss wheel of death
When on that morn there in the ice appeared
Beneath its surface there a face of fear
Whispers ran through the town from door to door
Whispers that Charlie Winters killed Lenore
Frozen streams of blood there on the wheel
Found on that morning... by old man Mac Neil
A long lock of flaxen hair...gathered there
Beneath that wheel...a weight to much to bear
Oh ! How the broken vows of marriage weep
Ice melts, revealing secrets wheel creaks
~~~
Behind these prison bars I pass the years
Finally stripped of anger by my tears
July 15, 2018
Author: Elaine Cecelia George of Canada
in the first crevice of light
as dawn flushed its skies
her frail fingers struggled
to pluck weeds from spring buds
that laid like a colorful quilt
on her once rolling green lawn
you could hear the creaks on wood
as she rocked on the weathered porch
watching for the children to walk by
as the school days finally ended
she'd speak to anyone that listened
her story was hapless but known by all
her loneliness was seen in the depth of her hazel eyes
no one ever turned down the jaunty invite
inside her antiquated home
where her fingers danced nimbly
across the piano as she sang them songs
she hid her loneliness and darkness of life
reserved her tears behind closed blinds at night
when the blinds remained unopened the children knew
and they flooded the funeral homes to say their goodbyes
march 20, 2020
He lay outside on the cellar door one day
Lazy gazing at the sky
A child a dutiful child
Before he knew clouds move or why
Those scattered billows grey fringed hung high
It was late afternoon with ghostly moon
The lively honey bees some suspended sip then buzzzzzzz zip!
He's heard from experienced older folk
The earth years from the sun goes round
Dreamy following eyes go round and round
On carousel astride mind's steed he's off the ground
Gently rocking lifting on that waving sea
This quite a vital sort of primal ecstasy
Clouds and festivals Picassoette surreal
That music in the air nature's breath infects the skin the veins
Ah those few moments so rare so hauntingly spare........
When the screen door creaks open he shivers!
then
Mother calls him in to dinner
Hints of warmer days and barbeque dreams
filter through the last gasps of winter air
cold drinks and late nights soon to be seen
through tiny openings of the back door screen
I've been knocked down, stained and hammered
screwed tight over and over and about to be stripped
laid out, measured, broken, rotted and ripped
rained on, burnt up and walked upon by lesser men
I'm weathered and worn but I'm still alive out back
my creaks tell a different story as I sway in the wind
inebriated adventures still speak of regretful moments of sin
the birds have all used me and I'm barely hanging on
Still standing in a spot of your last shooting star wish
Waiting for some attention and that first springtime kiss