Best Horrified Poems
Why I did it, I don’t know
Tornado of regret tortures my heart
On a moonless night, he approached
Limping toward me as I pumped gas
Why was it fear and not compassion
With which I greeted him
Surely homeless, he must have slept ‘neath stars
Society’s outcasts camp on the beach,
Crossing the coastal highway only under night’s cloak
Deep lines on his sun-aged skin
Bespoke many years, perhaps 70
Dirty clothes tattered, barely covering his thin frame
No, I have no spare change
No, no, I won’t help you
I just wanted him to go away
Disappointment filled his eyes
He turned and hobbled to a nearby bench
When he sat, I was horrified
All his possessions lay beside him on the seat
An old Army cap he pulled out
And placed it on his head
He fought for our country
And I could not find a few dollars to help
As I drove away, I burst into tears
Feeling ashamed, disgusted with myself
Only two blocks from home,
I turned my car around
But he had moved on
January 13, 2020
You will need a terrific setting. The suck up kids are nodding.
Make sure that your character is interesting.
She says this in a monotone voice.
The only voice she has.
The one that puts me to sleep.
I languish back, whispering with my tree.
A willow with flowing hair, and a sweet nod.
Her bluebirds call my name, inviting me to dance.
A teacher’s droning is in the background, but I can ignore her.
She is easy to ignore.
Here is a template you’ll need.
Two teacher’s pets immediately say they will pass them out.
The teacher calls another one’s name.
A reluctant student who is probably in the land of giants
Slaying dragons.
I smile. It’s not me this time.
Cardinals and robins flit over, hunting for food.
There is a brush against my arm. It’s the template.
But I pretend it is the willow tree, loving me.
My eyes begin to close, a nap in the works.
I enjoy my soft day with her gentle quick ways.
I am in the zone, asleep under the willow. It is a warm day. The sun is gentle.
“Will need a partner,” teacher says, bringing me back to my 5th grade desk.
I choose Jameson, I say, noting his horrified look.
He knows I did not hear almost any of the instructions.
They all know I am usually more than half asleep in most of my classes.
Someone giggles.
The teacher must have given her a sharp look.
The giggle stops in mid giggle.
Jameson is terrified that I will not know what to do, but I do.
Taking the paper out of his hand, I offer to do the writing.
I ask for his ideas.
He has none.
So I begin with a flourish!
One night while stargazing, Dragon and I, got to see a falling star… descend.
I thought that would be great, so I told him he could make a wish on them…
But Dragon’s are really quite unique, and don’t always think, like you and me.
No, NOT at all! And you should believe, things began to unravel, immediately:
About to make that wish… He realized the moon descends every night.
And the sun descends, like the moon… every single day, at every Twilight.
Becoming horrified that so many wishes had gone by him, totally unused!
He decided to wish upon the star, that all past wishes, can now come, to be used.
There is logic here, I think, as Dragon hordes things; he’d do it with wishes, too.
When I tried to explain, that’s not how wishes work, they have to be rare and few.
With falling stars, it has to come from one, that came to ground, willing to share.
Now Dragon is a stubborn thing and decided, I wanted them all for myself, to snare.
He stomped his foot, as the 2 year old he is, crying he didn’t want to share not one.
So I patiently explained that there are bigger stars everywhere, bigger than our sun!
He was sure I’d done him wrong and had lied, after all, his eyes are very keen.
The bigger, the better, and our sun was the biggest thing, that he had ever seen!
It’s brightness has gobs of power, in fact, I’d said it powers all the Earth, he recalled.
So its wish couldn’t be small… he said it’s not nice, to not share, with him at all.
Now a tantrum was about to ensue, from our 2 year old who’d skipped his nap.
And don’t forget he’s a Dragon, too! It wasn’t a good idea to fall into this trap!
Some things are better to not go through. Why fight the battle, if you can stop the war?
In the end I took that wish… and wished I’d never took him on that wishful tour.
You know what? I did find that peace finally came back and did preside, in a wink.
As I got his blankie for his bed, and tucked him in so nice and neat, I paused to think.
Next year would be a better time, to view the meteor showers, after we both have…
A well-deserved nap. Don’t you think? When he’s a tad more grown up, I did add…
Besides my wishes, in the past, have served me well, as they brought him here to me.
And I ’d need one more wish this year, to help him when flying… to not hit the trees!
I walk through the life of silent dreams
A museum of sorts
I passed by my reflection
Not a mirror in site
I was horrified
As I stared into my face
No, no, I could not
My eyes could not view such horrors
Shut tight for fear of light
The journey was long ago
Where emotions floated or not
The soul fell into the sea
I belong to no one
Thus they say I am free
I belong no where
Thus I am in a prison
I float inside a bottle
Like a goldfish in bowl
Waiting to be painted
Knowing too well
The drawing will never be done
The wilted rose shall weep
One more time
For the face no one shall seek
Incomplete
TOTAL ECLIPSE OF THE SUN
We watched horrified, awe-struck for hours while the sun died
Slowly, shorn of long golden locks, suffocated by the oncoming moon-rock.
Samson, blinded. His eyes bitten out - nothing left -
Devoured, destroyed : then completely consumed as he died in silence,
In his Stygian cave, as he gave up the ghost, as he left us alone.
Shadow of moon like a hunter’s pitch cloak encroached with vulture speed .
Birds, even the skylark, silenced, harking in their stark branches
For the inky wings of the angel of death, coming - not to Ramases - to us.
Bleak mark in the east dark: coming fast - it was upon us even as we asked
What is it? Grey through miles of mist, then raven-darker, as it closed on us,
Swooped us into its black veil, sunless, lightless, lifeless - where no bird sings,
And our breath stopped, held, unnoticed: and we, bereft, waited in mourning.
Till the sun -Samson- with re-grown bright hair poured out behind the moon,
Miraculously rose from the dead, pushed the black cave-stone into oblivion
And pierced a hole in the veil, burning that hole infinitely, gloriously,
And we were restored to life in the smile of heaven.
……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………
Note:
A total solar eclipse is an unforgettable sight. This poem is about such an
eclipse which I saw in Weyburn, Saskatchewan i n 1977. One cannot help
being struck by the loss of the sun in the daytime. Birds and animals also react
strangely. I recommend anyone to try to see a total solar eclipse if it is
possible. A partial solar eclipse, or a lunar eclipse, are not remotely as
spectacular as a total solar eclipse.
I just KNEW I was a woman
a woman inside a man’s body
therefore I went under the knife
(My surgeon said it went well)
But when I looked in the mirror
I was appalled and yes, horrified
Even after applying makeup
and donning a push-up bra
I was just plain----Ug-LEEE
(We shan’t discuss chest-down)
Thus, I had a change of heart
I wanted to restore my manhood
and kindly asked my doctor
for a reverse operation...
Wanna know what she told me??
“GIRL, you ain’t got the BALLS”...
Standing in a foreign nation, fragrance from a fresh cremation
Lost and long forgotten by the beasts that roamed my home
Nights are dark and gloomy but the tundra’s so damn roomy
Here is where I want to be so leave me standing here alone
Here I stand a man with quill in hand is all I own
That, my crown and throne
Walking on the sandy beaches, there I saw the strangest creatures
Living in a unison together on their own
Then behind the bushy myrtle, hid the cowardly old turtle
“Don’t be hiding there old turtle, don’t be hiding all alone!”
But the turtle stayed behind the bush beneath a stone
This, he calls his throne
Night defeats the sunlights laughter once the mockingbirds cry after
Day has set so I can be the king of lands I roam
Darkness gives me all the cover, more than I could need a lover
Here is where I want to be so leave me here alone
Darkness is my friend so I can call this land my home
Here, I sit on my throne
Moonlight let the turtle scurry athwart on the beach to hurry
Into deep blue seas where he is free to swim atoned
Creatures from the deep blue ocean bow down to their king’s devotion
When the sun arose he then recoiled back in his dome
“Pity you old turtle” I said, “hiding there alone.”
That, you call a throne?
Days long gone that I remember, Spring-time joy in mid-November
Hiding in and oak tree from the creatures of my home
Now my kingdom bows before me no one stares or dares ignore me
Here I stand a king, adore me, lord of all I own
Pity all I own is barren, barren to the bone
At least, I have my throne
Then one starry twilight dreaming, where I stood there pride redeeming
Came along the turtle beaming till he saw my throne
In a flash, his neck retreated in his shell and self conceited
“Don’t be shy and self defeated!” Said I, in stern tone.
“Stick your neck out, coward, or you’ll end up all alone!”
Returning to his throne
Returning to my throne
When I woke in shock and horrid, scaly felt my morphed new forehead
Overwhelming dread and torrid shook my body to the bone
There I was a transformed turtle hiding there beneath the myrtle
All along I was the turtle standing there alone
Horrified of all the creatures rounding my new home
My shell that I had grown
A self-made, feeble throne
Botched Artwork Saves Town
Sometime last year, in late August 2015, something unusual went viral..
It was an ancient picture on the wall, vastly unlike its original art..
A piece of botched artwork, unfinished, and yet all over the world it enthralled..
People, the tourist kind, they made a quick bee line, to see for themselves..
Ecce Homo, a seemingly priceless ancient painting in a church , upon one of its wall..
Time has ravaged its brilliant colours , and its paintwork well flaked off the wall..
One artistic old lady of 83, she took it upon herself to try restore its beauty..
Painstakingly she laboured upon days on end, as expertly as she can..
She meant well, it hurts her artistic soul to see the priceless artwork fade..
She tried her best, but the colours, they ran and it was a difficult task..
She had to go away for a short while, she left behind a half restored art...
Someone in church, horrified no doubt, took a picture of it as a matter of fact..
The uploaded picture in the internet, it was shared and quickly it went viral..
Many found it amusing, there was so much scorn, it was soundly ridiculed..
The Ecce *****fresno, or Behold The Man, it now looks like a monkey or a porcupine…
A picture of a mournful Jesus is no more, in its place is an artwork that is one of its kind…
Poor Cecilia, a widow and amateur painter, she never had a chance to finish her effort..
Her failed restoration effort rocketed around the globe and then a miracle of sorts..
People started thronging to this church in Borja, Spain, it was a pilgrimage of some kind...
After the viral picture on the internet, people just had to see and view this new find…..
Now that 150,000 visitors have come and gone, Borja is a town rejuvenated and restored..
In this village of medieval palaces and winding lanes, this botched artwork has the town resurrected…
All the free publicity from a botched artpiece, it has been a breath of life to the local economy..
God works in mysterious ways, it explains the good fortunes that follows from the smudgy renderings..
http://www.nytimes.com/2014/12/15/world/a-town-if-not-a-painting-is-restored.html?_r=0
It was long gone midnight, and nervously I walked
There was something in the bushes, I was being stalked.
I could smell it's fetid breath, It was lurking in the dark
It scared me half to death as I hurried through the park.
My step quickened, my nerves could barely cope
For above my head the moon was full, the night of the lycanthrope.
Now my heart was racing, I began to flee
I could hear the slavering beast, and it was coming after me.
I was nearly at the gate much to my relief,
Thinking I was safe, that's when I felt its teeth.
It was ripping at my skin, tearing me to shreds
There I lay bleeding, amongst the flower beds.
It fixed me a stare, through furious blood red eyes
It left, I lay savaged, as daylight filled the sky.
I staggered home wounded to the safety of my room,
I couldn't know how things would change, come the next full moon.
Weeks later it was dark, the moon was full and bright
I was going nowhere, I'd stay in tonight.
Then I heard a noise, so guttural, so foul,
Horrified, I couldn't stop myself, I began to howl!
Entry for
Scary or Spooky poem Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Tania Kitchin
19/9/18. Placed 1st.
The day Democracy died,
I was a little lad, yea, knee high
Papa turned on the telly
to watch the White House news
Curious to hear if the
whether forecast rumor was true
Did the First Amendment reporters
get carried away
by a baton wavy sea of blue
Horrified streaming video voices said,
it was a shot live bulletin event
Terrified eye witnesses stammer bled
in the Death Valley of Dissent
This is what I saw
the fateful day Democracy died,
I was a mere lad, yea, only knee high
Me remember Mama sobbing,
wiping her reddened eyes
Broken-hearted pulse skipping,
repeating: “Why, oh why?”
As freedom of speech believers
were wrongfully
read last rites in the streets
OMG! were the blog bleats
Palace guards were told to forge ahead,
by orders of authoritarian consent
Replacing the non-lethal bullets instead,
in the dire Death Valley of Dissent
The tragic day Democracy died,
I was a small lad, yea, barely knee high
But, I’ll always remember
that sorrowful Constitution mourn
When freedom was abortion borne
Foul eerie, dark crimson reign
was a-falling from abysmal, grey skies
A tsunami tide of muzzle pain,
cursed flood of voter suppression sighs
Watching pacifist protesters drop dead,
their peace signs
consumed by tyrannical flames of dread
I heard swastika shouts (guillotine hatred
coming down razor sharp, unedited)
from the Ivory Tower of Power,
saying, “Lady Liberty, off with her head!”
And the ballot tears got trampled dried
by the scattering lead
I saw the Bill of Rights defenders on their knees bent,
as their sacred write fell by the wayside
Dictatorial forces said,
“Only funeral marches in the Death Valley of Dissent”
To this day, tortured Democracy never got revived
Now, I'm a grown man
with a lion mane
And a firmament roar that can't be mute crucified
Mapping my final ride to the other side
Oh how I want to feel like I have arrived
Seeing so many good reasons why I have survived
Like I have climbed the highest mountain totally revived
Believing in myself knowing I will not be denied
Dreaming of my God that makes me so satisfied
Doing what I had to do so I didn't collide
With the love waiting on the other side
Only God gets to decide
Who gets to go on this amazing ride
Enjoying going to heaven where God resides
Feeling like I belong rested very much alive
Applying myself being careful not to divide
My faith that makes it all so personalized
With his wisdom and understanding he provides
His truth in the bible makes us unified
Oh how I want to make sure I realize
Jesus was tried and crucified
Giving up his life so we would be supplied
With a way, we can be revived
When Satan only promises genocide
Disguised as some better kind of high
That leaves us completely horrified
Making Gods plan justified
Mankind needs to open his eyes to unwind
How much he needs to live in our minds
Only God knows what happens when we die
Bringing his divine harmony
So when Jesus returns to rectify
What Satan tried so hard to nullify
Knowing that I won't be left behind
Believing I didn't live my life blind
To the truth that gives us passage to heaven
Where my soul can reign on high
Knowing or lord and master would never lie
About what will happen if we except him eye to eye
Oh, my gosh, I’m freaking and feel such dread.
What the hay is this nonsense on my head?
I can’t go to work, can't enter the office!
I will be seen, visible to peers and bosses,
be the fool who provided entertainment gossip.
God, please, send help, I am stress-nauseous.
I do not care about appearing faultless,
but I'd rather errantly tuck a dress in my hose
and walk through the office cluelessly exposed
than have everyone think this is what I choose.
I wonder if I should call in with a case of ugly,
hire someone to gently, but effectively mug me?
Perhaps I'll get pulled and cuffed on the roadside
for publicly exposing the ugliest hair ever dyed.
Shame a wig class wasn't at business school:
"How to Avoid Looking Like the Office Fool."
I look like a horrified, horror movie hostess.
Even my own mirror is refusing to focus.
Here I am, paler than even fresh new snow,
with midnight black hair grooving to and fro.
My very first dye and, oh my, I could just die!
Box said ‘brown’, now I'm so down, I might cry.
Universe, please – send a natural disaster,
nothing fatal, it's just one repair day I’m after.
She sees herself suddenly as a small girl
bare feet on the cold black and white tile
little toes curled
sees the white porcelain tub and
how pretty the light blue water was
so deep it almost came to her chin
as she climbed in
For hours she'd play with her dime store sailboat
loving it though it would hardly float
always taking on water
listing, never level
her wet skinny back hunched over
shoulder blades like primordial wings
every few minutes she'd have to shake the thing
Trying desperately not to break the spell
of pretend
and when
it was time to let the water out
she'd always stay to watch the water drain
weighing the emotional pain
both fascinated and horrified,
as the suction intensified,
by the force of the water
the unstoppable slaughter
waiting for the inevitable rotation
to begin
the dizzying spin
Slowly at first growing faster and faster
a miniature cyclonic water disaster
The dime store boat of course on its side
circling faster in the relentless tide
Then the drain would give a horrible belch
much satisfied with itself.
As she grew the tub got smaller
with shallower water
less and less room
for pretend to bloom.
Years later, dime store sailboat long forgotten,
life having been mostly rotten
working with the most cynical of cynics
ER nurses bitter that it's more like a clinic
runny noses and coughs that folks thought were urgent
working hard to save those who were truly emergent
Hearing from them the phrase: "circling the drain"
memories suddenly flooding the brain
almost able to feel herself as that young girl
watching the sailboat beginning to swirl
Feeling the blood drain, face going pale
she sees vividly the boat with its bright red sail
yellow hull and blue plastic deck
fine hairs rising on the back of her neck
She realizes now the fatigue of age
is from fighting the pull with defiant rage
The closer you get, the faster you spin
and soon the dark whirlpool draws you in
With a knowledge that seems to be purely primal
she now understands the downward spiral
And she knows that she will not put up a fight
she'd rather go silently in the dark of the night
And the dime store boat comes to rest on its side
so it's all come full circle at the end of the ride.
SADNESS
©Danielle White
Dark denizens of the night
gathering in ill-lit backrooms
haunts of the night
They tease each other with
rouged cheeks, their mascara
their pimply breasts, shaved legs
Some are known for tantalizing
tempting striptease, revealing
hairy chests and knobby knees
Their hardened faces greeting poor
unsuspecting 'straights,' who, horrified
run screaming off into the night
And now the Left has lumped these
misbegotten sickos of the night
in with today's 'civil rights movement'
of transgenders, kweers, and worse
too debauched to describe, to be
celebrated in 'Drag Queen Shows'
in our public libraries, where America introduces
her precious youngsters into the fraudulent
creepy cabals of Satanism, endorsed by 'leaders' gone mad
"I saw some road kill on my way over," she said.
She had a horse laugh. "Just a dumb raccoon," she added.
I leapt over the sink and slapped her, hard.
Leaving my entire hand print on her cheek in pink.
Her prissy stuck-up lady face looked stunned.
She stood up, and ran off without any more incessant yapping.
My husband walked out of his man-cave just in time to
see her running flat out past the picture window, clutching her purse.
"Playing with the new neighbor?" He guessed.
I glared at him.
"The woman pushed her way in with a 'yoo hoo', She was not invited."
"She doesn't share your love for animals?" he guessed.
Oscar Opossum pushes open the cupboard doors under the sink, wanders out and chomps noisily from the dog bowl.
Sophie, our most spoiled cocker spaniel growls.
Reggie Raccoon runs over and slaps Sophie.
"Look what you are teaching them!"
My husband says to me, horrified.
"Reggie is a raccoon," I inform him. "She TAUGHT slapping to me!"
I doubt this nosy neighbor will be back,
Which is a perk because I truly and deeply
Like my woodland creatures much more than pushy humans.