Best H.P. Poems
Come upon tomorrow,
you'll think back to this horror,
incomprehensible, feel sanity leaving you,
You'll see in a minute,
you can't kill it,
you're insignificant,
under the gaze of the universe you'll crumble,
not even sorrow, a single glance is insanity,
so numb you can't use profanity,
hear them coming for you,
a single thought and you'll perish,
a candle snuffed out in a vacuum,
its light so small, not even noticed when it vanished.
They're coming for you, if they knew you were there,
but you're too small;
they won't make you fall,
you'll do it for them,
such unconscious insanity lingering below the surface,
ready to be exploited by an alien mind.
My Spellbinding Obsession
Written by D.W. Breidenthal
Like all obsessions,
I feel regret for getting
Into fantasy
Like all obsessions,
I think about my crazy
Fantasies...my mind's spinning & spinning...
I'm consuming ideas
Bliss - I'm a victim
Of my imagination
And my magical...
Spellbinding...desire
T'wards the Harry Potter books
J. K. Rowling's cool!
Kiss reality
Goodbye! I embraced fiction
In my childhood nostalgias
I'm brewin' up ideas
Like all obsessions,
They can be unhealthy
Or rather bizarre
Like all wild children,
I'm honestly curious
Of what lies ahead & its mysteries
But it's buried far
Below our feet...I'd rather
Drive a flying car!!!
Dedicated to my unhealthy obsession towards the Harry Potter series written by J.K. Rowling (one of fav. authors like evahhhhhh), but it was my childhood heroin (it got me hooked till this very day).
A written word wistfully wrought into a compendium grim,
Of the darkling ravens beset upon the plutonian shores,
Hither did your shapeless muse invade our psyche and vapid minds dim,
Edgar has retired his effete quill yet still
it inscribes beyond our slumbering doors,
Into the ebony emptiness of a nebulous
night,
Stranger the stars wheeling acrid the sky keening past the silver gate,
The grip of Hypnos tugs upon the astral cord of Dantean flight,
Around Innsmouth conticent shadows arise unbound by the dreamer's fate,
Missdeeming angles converge the zenith disguised,
The hounds approach Tindalos has awoke from his hypnic repose,
Descending down to the fathomless depths within R'lyeh's halls Cthulhu prepares
for his imminent supernal rise,
H.P. you dared to dwell upon the periphery of folie your mantle taken up by future
librettist anew to compose,
Mr. King, Mr. King your words, sui generis, liberated this vestigial mind,
Carrie the queen, Cujo, how does your coat gleam Neath an insomniac's sky,
Silence plays in the streets of Lot just
around the bend Christine's cherry shine,
Tommyknockers knock after a Stand is taken, dusty boots bestride upon a pathless
road naught is heard but a lone gunslinger's sigh.
A Mist departed for a raven flurrying to Lenore,
It dropped Poe's Palladian laurels before
H.P.'s forlorn feet,
Visions of the Crimson King preparing his
generous gift, a Colour from space not seen before,
A Delphic legacy handed to a youthful King entranced by a sulphuric smile and a
clown's gentle wile the circus awaits all below Derry's cozy streets
Let It Be HP
On another poetry site
the winding road
took me for a ride
from the top of the mountain
to the bottom,
at least in my eyes.
Along the way my confidence
inflated.
It grew,
especially with increasing
reader views.
This was good,
seeing myself growing into a tall oak.
This was the spark I needed.
And recently it deflated.
This popped my balloon.
This little piece of rubber
shriveling up in my mind.
"Poof."
It hurts.
It hurts
to pass this story along
of always being an acorn.
What I see over there
is that the new car
smell wore off
quickly, my value
depreciating even
quicker.
At first, my ride
was on uncharted territory,
this the terrain I coveted.
I yearned for attention.
Reader views were like
sky towers to me,
initially, some dozen
poems put out 500 watts
with one at a 1000+ watts.
The whites of my teeth
were shining, the shining spotlight
on my stage for once.
My eyes looking up.
My mind even musing about
parting with the pup-tent views,
here.
It was short lived success...
to say the least...
dozens of poems left in effigy,
sub 100's, the last one flickering
on and off at 15 prayers.
It was a crying shame.
Yet
it was electrifying at first at HP,
my charges stimulated,
then seemingly overnight
my poems were sequestered.
His new car smell waned.
Where did the lights go?
I do ponder
maybe it was me that sank,
probably so,
and not the readership
... as my mind picks
up the pieces, saying
to
Let it be.
Let it be.
connie pachecho
8/9/17
Inspired to write this poem after reading entries
to the "Let It Be" poetry contest.
H.astily I traipse “amidst these tombs,” “untainted eye…”
P.reparing the way for the “hidden world of yore.”
Luring lovers in, “lost Nevermore…”
“O’er the midnight moorlands crying,”
Verily to “wreck the solace of the poet’s mood!”
Even now, “drunk of the fog-foetid fountains.”
Cerebrally “reject[ing] the language of the glowing heart.”
Revered and “done are my trials,” “my heart is reposing.”
“All the years of fruitless quest” culminate in this...
For all the “prosy thoughts,” past “ghoul-guarded gateways of slumber,” a
“Tale confide[d]” in “the shade of Poe” and I will be forevermore alive.
Quotes from:
“Where Once Poe Walked”/ “Despair”/ “The Bride of the Sea”/ “Fact and Fancy”/ “Nemesis”
Acrostic Homagerie