Best Spirits Poems
It looks like a simple brownstone building,
Not much different then any other but it’s residents,
Are of the haunted kind, not made of flesh and bone.
In every window a wind chime stirs, gently caressed by
A chilling winds icy finger tips, after all this is known as
The house of spirits.
Witchery or voodoo’s domain, it is a place of salvation for
Spiritual challenged, listen to the beautiful music they make,
Singing within this their walled cage of brick and mortar, these
Ethereal victims lost.
Here in peace they wait for the light to find them, a waiting chamber,
Of the lords misstep souls, those whom walked off the righteous path,
Yet are not without redemptions wanton of need.
Wanders of limbo’s astral plain, seekers whom roam blindly until
Finding a doorway threshold, then crossing over, into this the house
Of spirits.
A corridors slender passageway, a way stations layover for those tired
And weary travelers to rest until their final journey’s end comes for them,
Sanctuaries power house of the supernatural.
Behind these red doors dare not the mortal flesh clasp the gilded knockers,
For within are things of the unspoken variety, creature protectors waiting at
Bay for the stray intruder to wander forth upon this sacred ground.
Angels kindred brethren whom seek out evil, destroyers patrolling the
Darker shadows for night stalkers whom wish to feast upon the forsaken.
But light’s white power is a mightier force to be reckoned with, and vanquished
Will the devils spawn into the depths from which they came, into the bowels
Of hell shall these demons be thrown into the blackened pit from which they came?
In the twilight’s ethereal hour, a mid-ways breaking point between light and dark,
A shimmering glow strikes this standing watch tower of abandonment’s forgotten,
And heaven’s flood gates are opened unto them, calling these the lost upwards
Towards nirvana and at last know true peace.
It looks like a simple brownstone building,
Not much different then any other but it’s residents.
Are of the haunted kind, not made of flesh and bone.
In every window a wind chime stirs, gently caressed by
A chilling winds icy finger tips, after all this is known as
The house of spirits.
BY; CHERYL ANNA DUNN
Lantern of the Shadowed Glade
In shadowed glades where spirits dwell,
Beneath the boughs of an ancient spell.
A pumpkin awaits, its fate foretold,
By tomes of old and tales untold.
Carved with care by children’s hands,
A toothy grin upon its face expands.
Yet, within those haunting, hollowed eyes,
Lies a deeper truth in dark disguise.
On Halloween, beneath pewter beams,
Wailing winds weave ominous screams,
The Jack-o’-lantern’s gaze ignites,
On ghoulish forms lurking in the night.
He sees the village, veiled in fear,
In costumes worn, yet souls austere,
For lurking ’neath the festive guise,
A darkness deep, where evil lies.
Children laugh with voices bright,
While shadows waltz in ghostly light,
Sinister secrets, whispers heard,
Carried on the wings of a devil bird.
But deeper still, the pumpkin knows,
The ancient lore, the forest’s throes,
For spirits rise on this cursed night,
To dance beneath the pale moonlight.
In solemn vigil, silent, and grim,
The gourd watches, a veil so thin,
‘Twixt shadowed realms of dark and light,
A sentinel of the Styx, in eternal night.
When dawn breaks o’er the ghastly glade,
The pumpkin’s light begins to fade,
In its heart, an ember of infernal lore,
A demonic lantern, cursed forevermore.
...when thorns ruffled my rose
and sunflowers stole the light
my intuition searched
those seven spirits of faith ~
once lulled by whispering waves...
caressed by wisdom
wild stars wore breaths of saffron...
raining alphabets
I glitter in mermaid grooves ~
hymn of herbs healing my heart...
Speechless clementine horizons infuse lilac hues,
tinting twilight's tepid breeze, reflecting sensually,
kissing tranquil waters, forming momentary ripples.
Chocolate cosmos awake greeted by fresh frangipani,
blending luscious flavours into an aromatic paradise.
Mockingbirds serenade sun into a silent slumber, its
fluorescent friend parades a galaxy of pellucid pearls.
Menagerie trails lead to zeniths where only eagles soar,
where vermilion dahlia sneak through mountainous smoke,
isolated by time - haunted by ghosts of ancestral Apache.
Silent One
6 January 2018
Example for 10 word and 10 lines challenge contest.
Ten words used:
Menagerie
Vermilion
Infuse
Mockingbirds
Twilight
Frangipani
Luscious
Pellucid
Ancestral
Ripples
Welcome my dear
what can I do you for?
I offer spells and charms galore
A love philter you say?
I know just the thing
When I am done
to you he’ll cling
When sun takes its bow at the close of day
In a place where ocean waves meet bay
Let curtains close to mortal sight
Behold
desire’s flame ignites
Employing drift wood
in the sand
Inscribe his name
Feel heart expand
Stir 3 times in clockwise motion
Whilst we brew this lover’s potion
A drop of blood
a strand of hair
Will free you soon from your despair
You’ll feel the warmth spread through your
being
You’ll both find this most agreeing
Feel wind’s breath upon thy cheek
Sacred words you now must Speak
Tell the Earth, the wind and fire
Inform the water of your desire
Let Cupid’s compass spin once more
For His benevolence you must implore
East and south
West and north
Spirits of seduction I call thee forth
Hark to the rhythm of the drums that pound
Thrashing out the heart beat
of the one to be spell bound
Whilst the bonfire slowly dies
Images flash before his eyes
Untie him now
He will behave
I have cast a spell
He is enslaved
Hit him now with passion dart
And then my dear you have done your part
All that’s remains is for you both
To gulp it down
Let’s have a toast
Before you do you will pay me now
There are others who need me anyhow
His Affection will grow like weeds
I must away now to do good deeds
Will my enchantment stand the test of time?
I hear you ask, Well they’ll be just fine
Sleep now children in my domain
I promised to free you from your pain
Their lust will last eternally
Till I dump their bodies in the sea
17th October 2019
For love potion poetry contest
Sponsored By Julia Ward
angels descended
on a bloody battlefield…
soldiers’ spirits rise
Heaven’s door opens
Freedom fighters’ souls enter
Forgiveness is found
“Thou Shalt Not Kill” set aside
By a righteous Creator
(Senryu and Tanka)
*By Carolyn Devonshire for Russell’s “A Mesh of Forms” contest
Like Harry Potter, the sorting hat (my mom)
has placed me in a bloody, crimson colored school.
It’s disorienting, as I go about, the logos are wack.
Poor little rich girl
no beachside lovers
this interminable, scorching summer.
I’m swept up by scholastic spirit.
Can you hear it? Cause it’s deafening me,
on this cool, dry, Boston orientation day.
As we finished our morning 8k jog,
the sunrise blossomed, painting hot lava clouds
with hues of yellow, orange and pink.
We’re traipsing unfamiliar paths,
It’s not what we’re used to, the roads are uneven
and the architecture’s all boxy and wrong.
.
.
Songs for this:
New Toy by Lene Lovich
Better After All by Jonatha Brooke
Now At Last by Feist
Spirits Leap To Touch Autumn's Splendor
When small fires and hot soups are needed,
We think to leave behind great summer greens
Looking back at crops long ago weeded
Recalling future promise of our teens,
Good-byes, waved to grains heavy and golden;
We give hellos to coming Autumn's hues
Memories stored from ancient years olden,
Admiration for past skies deep blues.
When keen hearts see beautiful leaves shedding;
Thoughts of winter's cold about to arrive
With wise caution, we add extra bedding,
For comfort and warmth needed to survive,
And vivacious colors found alluring,
We gladly view this bright colorful season,
As if beauty we be briefly touring
And love of life now has deeper reason.
In midst splashing colors and gems falling
Our souls may celebrate pages soon turning,
In sad hearts vacate places recalling,
With desires strong, deep and fiercely burning;
We see such bright color and falling gems
Spirits leap to touch Autumn's splendor
With tender voice, we sing cheerful new hymns
Thanking God with words soft, true and tender.
Within scenes and times now quite rewarding,
Paintings of joy and dear hope abounding,
We light morning fires with hopes regarding,
Daily lives giving clear shouts resounding,
Happiness in small pleasures growing
Foods prepared delicious for the season
Resting calm in so faithfully knowing
We may note Autumn's gifts for good reason.
Robert J. Lindley, 8- 11 -2017
Listening peacefully to Bach I soar,
Above the clouds as a hawk I soar.
Lying on forests mossy floor,
Listening to natures talk I soar.
Watching geese fly south, encore,
Majestically beautiful flock I soar.
Knowing life has so much in store,
Answering its every knock I soar.
At times life is like a lions roar,
Standing as a solid rock I soar.
I shall hear natures call, and open its door,
Making sure that with every breath I soar.
Written by Brenda Meier-Hans
November 2012
She was like Bordeaux,
a tall drink of spirit
He was more a hopped
pale lager like Pilsner,
both gorgeous and
super gingered flavors,
although clashing mid
respective savored aplomb,
one so refined the other
rowdy after hours,
yet they complimented
each other in the way
they blended their
drunken demeanors,
intoxicated by mere
existence of nature's
essential complexities
Each day in Tombstone as tourists watch
The OK Corral gunfight plays out
Reenactments staged by the locals
The Earps always prevail in this bout
Saunter down to the Bird Cage Theater
Now a museum in this Old West town
Actors aren’t needed to play roles
The original cast is still around
Sixteen gunfights caused 26 deaths
Poker players who were dealt bad hands
Tourists still hear the shuffling of cards
And music from the piano man
Gunshots, images captured on tape
Dancehall girls still perform on the stage
Scents of old ale cling to dusty walls
And card game losers express their rage
Doc Holliday and Clanton Brothers
Look on as Wyatt holds all the cards
Virgil, Morgan glare at the McLaurys
Lawmen and outlaws send their regards
Spirits may rise from nearby Boot Hill
To visit the Bird Cage for a while
Delighting modern-day visitors
With a taste of history, Tombstone-style
To learn more about the Bird Cage Theater hauntings and see photos, visit http://www.ghost-
trackers.org/birdcage.htm
Life is like being a passenger on a luxury ocean liner
That is sails across a Sea of Turmoil.
Passengers feel safe by putting their faith in the sturdy construction of the ship’s steel hull.
Their senses are enveloped by the beautiful gold, silver, brass, wood that accents the interior of the ship.
There is a Spector who‘s heart is dark as black satin and as cold as an iceberg.
Who is rarely seen by the human eye, for he stealthily move under the cloak of night,
And dwells in the shadows by day.
His nature is deception and violence
His power are death and decay
He Rome’s and back and forth on the sea of Turmoil, stalking luxury ocean liners.
Sometimes He will play cat and mouse games by enoying the passenger slowly picking their ship apart with rust and rot.
Other times he will crush a ship with a title wave,
Or blow a ship apart by an onboard fire.
The Spector evilly snicker when the survivor have to abandon ship and try to tread water.
The passenger try to cling on to their strange Theologies and Philosophies to keep themselves afloat.
The Spector stirs the sea of Turmoil with his crooked finger to create great tempest to try and drowned his victims to transport them to the lake of Fire that lay beneath the Sea of Turmoil.
The passenger’s desperate out cries for help reach the ears of The King of Light.
He send His Son by His swiftest ship
To rescue anyone who will receive their help.
The Son will transport His passengers to the shores of His father’s kingdom
Where they will be made heirs with the Son.
They will dwell in the eternal golden city of The King of Light.
The King of light will forever remove the Spector of Darkness and His domain the Sea of Turmoil.
Writen by Stephen J. Vattimo
July 12, 2016
Twilight Whispers
Our whispers during twilight,
highlight a mystical moment
of owl-light during our special
walk together in this lush forest.
This moment captures for us a
period of true tranquility where
issues, problems, and other earthly
worries carry no weight, no penalty.
Holding hands now, we walk slowly,
whilst gently speaking to one another
in whisper-like tones bespeaking a
mythic rhythm now that’s one with
our souls and the spirits of this forest.
Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved
October 5, 2018 (Free Verse)
At Halloween
At Halloween, just a few nights ago,
I saw a sinister dark and tangled wood
Beside a town where two rivers flow.
Entering by hidden paths not many know,
There an old and crumbling castle stood
At Halloween just a few nights ago.
From that castle a hooting owl flew low,
Leading me through that dark and tangled wood
Beside a town where two rivers flow,
Ancient halls lit by shaded new moon’s glow
Where spectral guardians in armour stood
At Halloween just a few nights ago,
I was lost in that place dark spirits know,
The owl perching in that haunted wood
Beside a town where two rivers flow
Close by that castle old where shadows grow
And silent ghosts of warriors stood
At Halloween just a few nights ago,
Beside a town where two rivers flow.
10/31/2022
Entered into Halloween Poetry Contest
By Emile Pinet
In her eyes from across the room
our glances make a spark,
the magic in our eyes, unmistakable.
Upon a brief exchange of chance, something more leads us away from who we are, to a
chemistry unspoken. The magic between us continues through the night as we softly
tear down the walls of inhibition. The booth cradles us through obscurity as the wine with
gentle sips warms our emotions. Time does not exist, enchanted minutes and hours
become eternities. Smiles and soft caresses of her arm, she lightly plays
with her hair...each touch sparks our souls and pull us closer to the truth. We are not
making it out of this perfect night untouched. To a small back room alone holding hands,
lovers stop abrupt. Slowly and passionately a gentle embrace lead slowly to
the light touch of lips. The moment engulfs the now with fervours magnitude.
The passion burns our shadows on the wall with volcanic lust, the paint
sweats like rain. The flowers bloom fills the room with sweet celestial heat as the love in our
hearts race to warm culmination. A perspirant palm print slams, leaving behind
the fingerprints of our flames. Trembling love exchanges with eyes agaze with no cares of
what's to come. The magic in our eyes at this moment would never come undone.