Best Eerily Poems
The butcher came for the sheep
the cow did not moo, she wasn't a sheep
The butcher came for the goats
the cow did not moo, she wasn't a goat
The butcher came for the pigs
The cow did not moo, she wasn't a pig
Then the butcher came for the cow
her bull and her calves,
The rest of the farm was eerily silent
Remembering the poem of Martin Niemöller
"First they came …" a post-war 1946 poem written in prose by Lutheran pastor Martin Niemöller, who was a German (1892–1984). In it he speaks of cowardice which German intellectuals as well as some of the clergy felt in the hellish nightmare of the Jewish people. In this poem, by his own admission, a coward, looking away during Hitler's rise to power. In my own rendition of a farm, compared to his, is rather ridiculous. I just want to acknowledge his poem at this time in history. Please pray that God give our leaders insight, and clarity on what must be accomplished. Please pray for the people of Ukraine, and, please look the poem up.
Categories:
eerily, angst, bullying, conflict, courage,
Form:
Free verse
He can turn the crank, to tunes of happy song,
One that his crowd has cherished for long,
But something has so terribly gone wrong
For someone has declared: you don’t belong,
O, you don’t belong; no, you do not belong,
As organ music on streets is forever banned
Dismantling livelihood, so long he planned.
So today he turns the crank to words forlorn
As emotions torn, in wistful rhythms mourn,
This miserable morning of a beauteous day,
Oh, the heavens know why the sky is gray,
And the organ blares missives that betray:
Nothing can unsay ~today is that final day.
They watch him grooving as if in festive dance
Feigning happiness, hiding dolorous glance,
Decrying audacity of fate, eerily gone awry,
As he accepts reality, uttering a silent sigh,
Watching the crowd clap, as spirits amplify
His reason for being, reluctant to bid goodbye.
From street to street, he will endeavor to go
Visiting every place familiar, despite angst of woe,
For one last act of songs and music they know,
Collect what he can, past goodwill will bestow;
Turning the crank, to tunes of happy song,
One that his crowd has cherished for long,
Though something has so terribly gone wrong
For someone has declared: you don’t belong,
O, you don’t belong; no, you do not belong.
Categories:
eerily, emotions, farewell, music,
Form:
Rhyme
I drove home from a party one winters night
I'd had quite a few drinks but I felt alright
It was pouring rain as I approached our town
My girlfriend said to me, "John will you slow down" .
I turned up the volume of my favorite song
And pressed hard on the pedal speeding along
I was oblivious to everything that lay up ahead
And failed to see a traffic light that was on red.
A blue car suddenly appeared right before me
I found out later it was a young man and his family
There was a loud bang as my airbag deployed
My first thoughts were my boss will be annoyed.
Next thing I knew there were blue lights all around
It was eerily peaceful there wasn't a sound
I just felt so tired all I wanted was my bed
Looked at my girlfriend and I saw she was dead.
The big shock of it all made me come to
I thought this is a bad dream; it can't be true
A fireman got me out; he had to cut the door
There was glass, metal and blood all over the floor.
Everything was surreal and I woke up in a cell
And this was just the start of my living hell
The four people in the other car they too had died
Along with my girlfriend, I just broke down and cried.
A week later I was in court and I heard a few jeers
The Judge showed no mercy and I got twenty years
Two witnesses were called and said I was to blame
And all I could do was just hang my head in shame.
I'm in prison now all my friends disowned me
And often get flashbacks of that awful tragedy
If only I had got a taxi and chose not to drive
Then those five people I killed would still be alive.
I have trouble sleeping; I just lie there at night
Thinking of a way to try and put things right
A year later I wrote a book telling my story
Called ,The Drunk Drivers Guilt by John.T. McCrory.
If it stops someone driving and having a drink
Or even makes a driver just stop and think
Then my book will have been worthwhile; every single word.
As a warning to others, making my mistakes heard.
Written 24th January 2020
Categories:
eerily, car, death, drink, family,
Form:
Narrative
Blood Red Moon
Deep devouring passions bleed now from this solar eclipse
As black blood flows from an evil army of “undead” beings
Whose fangs hideously and cruelly pierce the veins of their
Mesmerized and unsuspecting victims who are held at bay.
In such silence burdens prowl inside deep sad heartbeats
As ghastly living shadows creep eerily in and knot the
Tortured guts of a twisted scared bloodless life falling
Under the dark macabre gaze of the Blood Red Moon.
At night uncanny black magic spells are intoned in the
Old Latin scripture as large spider webs cast a gloomy
Presence and envelope now all those trapped by them as
The misted breath bleeding hearts howl to Heaven’s roar.
Standing upon a rugged and lonely mountain crossroad
There can be no release from the devilish glare of the
Vaunted “Blood Red Moon” whose evil presence pervades
Every breath you take and casts a demonic derisive stare.
My senses are now frozen in place as a deep chill shakes
My soul to the very core of its primordial existence as I
React to the cutting cold of a dawning maleficent darkness
Invading every corner and space of my psyche and existence.
The wicked jaws of a rabid beast seek now to bite and rip
All beauty from me and all thoughts I hold close and dear
As I gasp now for life and painfully feel my tired heartbeat
Slow as my immortal soul numbs and cries crocodile tears.
I’m cursed now to walk alone forever as my spilled remains
Are cut now and my ties of human existence have disappeared
Putting me on the ground on all fours as I ponder my ultimate
Fate in the hands of a supernatural force beyond any mercy.
As the shadow of Lucifer’s Blood Red Moon passes over my
Tortured face I spy a look at one demonic siren prompting me
Now to follow her as my body is placed on a sacrificial alter
And my life ebbs away as I’m kissed by spirits of the damned!
Gary Bateman and Liam McDaid – A Collaborated Poem
Copyright © All Rights Reserved – October 11, 2015
(Narrative Quatrain)
Categories:
eerily, dark, evil, fantasy, halloween,
Form:
Quatrain
As All Hallows’ Eve approacheth my thoughts turneth to darkest dread,
Whilst in old age I harboureth a deep fear of seeing this one’s grim head;
Methinks the Grim Reaper cometh this time with his scythe in hand,
Which striketh maximum fear in me and maketh him feel quite so grand.
Death and darkness doth pervade this spirit’s intent from that great beyond,
And bringeth one a chilling fear if one’s destiny be unending Hellspawn;
All Hallows’ Eve is the image I conjureth of my imminent departure,
But I hopeth for divine intervention and protection during this departure.
For I shan’t want to feel the fear and malediction of the Grim Reaper’s gaze,
As he eerily walketh in the deep mist to bringeth my soul into that darkest haze;
I prayeth then Oh Lord God, haveth an Angel escort me on my final trip beyond,
And spareth me the Grim Reaper’s terrifying visit and his image of Hellspawn.
I asketh thy divine power and all goodness in protecting my eternal spirit and soul,
And delivereth them to Heaven on All Hallows' Eve most sound and quite whole!
Amen! Amen! Amen!
Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved - October 25, 2014
(Shakespearean Sonnet)
Categories:
eerily, allegory, dark, evil, fantasy,
Form:
Sonnet
How do you change a lie into the truth?
Alchemy, dear children ...
this is how it's done, using unverifiable proof
First, you take a sick, dirty lie,
and doctor it up as truth
Whitewash and scrub it clean,
then jet power it with unsubstantiated verbal steam
That should make the lie thoroughly sanitized
Then play a continuous sound byte loop,
uncorroborated and fact-free
Present the fake news with a five-star salute,
then say secrecy is the true path to liberty
This rings eerily like New Age alchemy,
bell-tolling Faustian chemistry
If that ain't a manufactured alternate reality,
then somebody is lying to us obviously
How do you do this, change a lie into the truth?
Alchemy, dear children ...
this is how it's done, using fabricated proof
Next, you take a package,
and deliver it to the people,
with a Trojan horse message inside
But the people don't know it's harmful,
because they labeled it with a lie
See, that's the beauty of deception,
they don't call a lie a lie
Instead they choose another word,
as they place the pirate patch over their eye
Misleading, false claims
Plausible deniability
mis-remembering
Choose whichever words you will,
a lie is a lie is a lie still
Changing a word won't make a falsehood real
Taste the propaganda spoiled sauerkraut;
as alternative facts are trotted out,
and disinformation is bandied about
Know that immoral alchemy is being performed
by high wizards of the dark arts
Frankenstein experiments in need of more body parts
Don't be bewitched by lying craft,
don't get (con)fused by this manipulative graft
into a cancerous body politic
Changing a lie into the truth
is the ultimate alchemist trick
Categories:
eerily, corruption, dark, psychological, word
Form:
Dramatic Verse
I walk past empty bedrooms that once held my boys
The beds made so perfect, the absence of noise
Books there on the book shelf and not upon the floor
No ear-splitting music, no slamming the door
It’s eerily quiet now these once busy dens
These bunkers of bustle with brothers and friends
They’re off to college now the closets are clean
They only come home now on days in between
The weeks of the study the homework and toil
With loads of their laundry all dirty with soil
These nice empty bedrooms so tidy and neat
Just aren’t the same in their pristine retreat
As when the sneakers are thrown in a corner
The fridge it is drained like an unwilling donor
The noise and the smell of exercised teens
Showing off muscles with biceps and spleens
Banging a cupboard while toasting some bread
At three in the morning before heading to bed
Now some dorm at the coast, in some far away place
Or corner of frat-house who’s presence they grace
Our bedrooms are empty the rooms nice and quiet
The sheets all in place and the fridge on a diet
But once in a while it all comes to life
Things they are back to the brotherly strife
Rooms not so tidy and sharp as a knife
As when we’re alone…just me and my wife
David Kettler
Categories:
eerily, kid,
Form:
Rhyme
Blood Red Moon
Deep devouring passions bleed now from this solar eclipse
As black blood flows from an evil army of “undead” beings
Whose fangs hideously and cruelly pierce the veins of their
Mesmerized and unsuspecting victims who are held at bay.
In such silence burdens prowl inside deep sad heartbeats
As ghastly living shadows creep eerily in and knot the
Tortured guts of a twisted scared bloodless life falling
Under the dark macabre gaze of the Blood Red Moon.
At night uncanny black magic spells are intoned in the
Old Latin scripture as large spider webs cast a gloomy
Presence and envelope now all those trapped by them as
The misted breath bleeding hearts howl to Heaven’s roar.
Standing upon a rugged and lonely mountain crossroad
There can be no release from the devilish glare of the
Vaunted “Blood Red Moon” whose evil presence pervades
Every breath you take and casts a demonic derisive stare.
My senses are now frozen in place as a deep chill shakes
My soul to the very core of its primordial existence as I
React to the cutting cold of a dawning maleficent darkness
Invading every corner and space of my psyche and existence.
The wicked jaws of a rabid beast seek now to bite and rip
All beauty from me and all thoughts I hold close and dear
As I gasp now for life and painfully feel my tired heartbeat
Slow as my immortal soul numbs and cries crocodile tears.
I’m cursed now to walk alone forever as my spilled remains
Are cut now and my ties of human existence have disappeared
Putting me on the ground on all fours as I ponder my ultimate
Fate in the hands of a supernatural force beyond any mercy.
As the shadow of Lucifer’s Blood Red Moon passes over my
Tortured face I spy a look at one demonic siren prompting me
Now to follow her as my body is placed on a sacrificial alter
And my life ebbs away as I’m kissed by spirits of the damned!
Gary Bateman and Liam McDaid – A Collaborated Poem
Copyright © All Rights Reserved – October 11, 2015
(Narrative Quatrain)
Categories:
eerily, dark, evil, fantasy, halloween,
Form:
Quatrain
The poem must begin with .. And the cemetery was then continue with your poem
And the cemetery was shrouded in a veil of early morning mist
which rose eerily from the grey granite and marble graves.
Desperately searching I crept silently from gravestone to gravestone.
My breath came out in tiny white clouds
as soft white snowflakes performed pirouettes,
falling like a downy blanket over the cold marble.
Eventually I came across your final resting place
I recognised the two golden cherubs, carved on either side of your headstone
Gently I brushed away the snow and traced your names with my fingertip
It had only been a few weeks since you had fallen asleep forever
How I longed to hold you and sing you both a lullaby
But it was too late and you lay together in the arms of Jesus
I placed two red roses on the snowy pillow
Then lay down and waited for the sleeping pills to take effect
So we could be reunited in death
Submitted to Laura Loo's Best sad poem ever contest.
Fictional write for ‘And the Cemetery Was’ contest sponsored by Broken Wings
05~17~16
Categories:
eerily, bereavement, dark, heartbroken, sad,
Form:
Free verse
A teal twilight inks cobalt silhouettes
while distant stars unveil their twinkling lights.
And shadows slink forth, melding with the night,
as a setting Sun feigns a scarlet death.
Pink clouds cluster at the horizon's edge,
garnering shades of cerise and purple.
And daylight shrinks to a brindled aura,
reflected in rusty crystals of ice.
Dusk weeps dewdrops, yet grieves to no avail,
as darkness dims, the last lingering light.
And brisk breezes whisk heat away in gusts,
eerily chilling both body and soul.
Long skeletal fingers anchor the sky
to a lone tree rooted in ebony.
And a marshmallow moon appears snagged,
in the netting of its velcro branches.
Creatures of the dark stir from sleep's slumber;
in the wake of a slowly sinking Sun.
And where silence rules, sound bends to its will,
all but a cricket's haunting, piercing shrill.
Categories:
eerily, nature,
Form:
Blank verse
In my grandpa’s field I stand midst rows of grain
whose gray-green blades stir softly in the moaning wind.
A night chill permeates my skin.
I look down at my arms and legs and realize
I’m a little girl again!
How did I get here? Why am I now standing here in the dark of night?
Far ahead of me, I see the old worn farmhouse.
Moon, big and golden, seems to have left the sky.
It’s reappeared at the window of my grandparent’s old house,
where it glows with a mesmerizing light eerily beckoning me.
I stand transfixed, not knowing what to do.
Is this a dream? It has to be!
Grandma sold that house when grandpa died.
I’d seen it one more time remodeled and repainted
and with another owner’s name.
The house I’m seeing now is the old one from my childhood.
Many things from long ago are coming to my mind:
The fields where my sisters and I frolicked in the summers;
the long dirt lane we skipped happily along;
the berry bushes along many pathways we discovered;
the hollyhocks we learned how to make cute dollies from.
It was daylight when I knew the farm back then. Sun was high in the sky.
Now I’m only seeing the eerie glow emanating from grandpa’s house. . .
I awaken to the darkness of a winter morning’s gloom,
vaguely remembering a vanished moon
which turned up on the face of my grandparents’ old farmhouse
as if to beckon me back to my childhood.
But somehow I knew (even while asleep)
that to near that house and then to go inside it
would not be the stuff of happy dreams.
There was a reason for the coldness of the night, the moaning of the wind.
The summer days have fled. Between the nightmare and the dream,
subconsciously I knew
you simply cannot go home again.
Categories:
eerily, cute, house, nostalgia, old,
Form:
Prose
looking beyond discovery
within one universe
the dark side
faceless without moon
illusion shadows
taking you there
were a fire burns
heart burning dreams
nightmares of reality
a maze
of colours
begin fading
imprisoned eerily
invading black cells
opening hell's gate
eating the light
meaningless hurt
inflicted upon ache
the animal inside
begins to roar
deep churning emotions
mixing feelings
in a cauldron
slowly dying inside
to enter the land
of walking dead
love eats into pain
demonic torture
cold face
of truth
light within reason
slowly coming out
of the dark
clouds shedding tears
a crow caws
entering grey area
one bell strikes
tolling slowly
echoed in
the deep cave
a heart died
out of love
here lies
one broken heart
buried
Categories:
eerily, dark, universe,
Form:
Free verse
A few moments past twilight,
half a moment before blackfall,
I was sure there’d be time enough
and light enough
to return to the bodies I’d left behind.
My lifelong friends followed me,
we quaked under the bridge,
through the narrow tunnel,
up the steep, narrow footpath,
through the second tunnel.
We saw them still there,
just where I’d found them
and left them,
why would they not be there ?
Yet somehow
I wasn’t sure that they would.
Eerily visible from the distant road,
so brilliantly white
they almost glowed,
seven bodies hanging in the gloom,
this was how I found them
and left them.
Now they were five,
there was no hint of a breeze.
No longer hanging,
they stood like forgotten mannequins,
hoping, perhaps,
that we might breathe new life
into the quiet foothills.
29th April 2019
Categories:
eerily, allegory, metaphor,
Form:
Free verse
Poetry Soup and America, 2019
A country rich in schools and diversity.
Many here have esteemed college degrees,
Yet, why do Americans communicate by smileys?
Worse, we cannot hold a conversation
Neither on the telephone, nor in person
"Gotta run, gotta go", "Text me later".
Why did I ever go to a university?
Why does anyone ever want to go?
You will end up like the rest, living
your entire day on texts!
Unable to write a complete sentence.
Even a 6th grader can do this!
The nation writes in practically Morse
Code,
Or at best, something eerily similar.
Even phone calls, once appreciated,
Get hit with the same darn plague.
"Gotta Go", is all the rage.
This poet feels is human outrage!
Thus, Poetry Soup, is a place,
Where one can be fully heard and
be responded to.
Not in a technological, cold way of
symbols,
But in a fully, intelligent, literal
level. I do mean sentences!
No baby words here, nobody would
listen.
Cute keyboard keys leave me cold.
Can't I use words instead of LOL?
Do I have to use -)) ?
Ugh! With great online sources for
words, I stand in shame for not so doing.
Where are we all rushing to?
What's our ultimate human destination?
Why do I sign PR, in such an absurd way?
Panagiota is a much more beautiful name.
In a world that adores instant delusion!
To be part of obnoxious technology and
revolution,
For me, can be a tragically sad,delusion.
However, to be part of The Poetry Soup, is a most blessed and joyous conclusion.
Panagiota Romios
4/29/2019
9:15am
Categories:
eerily, america, how i feel,
Form:
Free verse
The fire pit has been made
The kindling has been laid
The match was put to the dry, dry wood
And the flames began to play
The fire now is burning bright
The coffee pot is on
It is the way to start the day
On this cloudy, misty morn
The quiet of the darkened night
Flowed back thru greyish mounds
The moon was playing hide and seek
With drifting wispy clouds
A shadow blanketed the camp again
Closing out the morning light
The breeze then chased a leaf down hill
Like a windblown handmade kite
The icy hued moon was sliding
It soon would leave our sight
The hope for sun should soon come about
From this sharp and frosty night
And from the sky quite unexpectedly
Came rain drops as big as grapes
It pattered through the shroud of trees
A whooshing sound it makes
The raindrops hit the burning logs
With a hissing reptile sound
That caused an apparition of pure-white smoke
To eerily hug the ground
As fast as the rain began to fall
It just as quickly did dismiss
And lanching shafts of sunlight
Replaced the lingering patchy mist
The sleepy woodlands did then awake
To the grandeur of a brand new dawn
And flitting through that peerless sky
The birds began their morning song!
Categories:
eerily, april,
Form:
Rhyme