Best Spooking Poems
There is a place I will not trend nor will Angels least attend,
Where witches mix their brew and the warlocks let it spew…
All spiders on the walls keeping busy with their creepy crawls,
Wolves howling at the moon dancing darkness in their commune…
Beware evil spells incantation as you turn to stone upon creation,
The Ghosts there that reside spooking the halls no place to hide…
Vampires that wake the night are happy to see you before they bite,
Footsteps that never ceased echoing eternal of the family’s deceased…
Gremlins and goblins in their yearn watching bodies as they burn,
Demons dancing in their dine macabre merrymaking in their wine…
The serpents serve their deeds within the silence as Satan seeds,
Frankenstein wakes in his den reading stories of the haunted pen.
Sept.26.2019
Haunted Poetry
Sponsored by: Tania Kitchin
Placed 3'rd...Thank You
Agile
Black
Cats
Dart
Eerily
From
Gloomy
Hallways
Initiating
Jolts -
Killing
Lackadaisical
Moods
Notably
Of
People
Quintessentially
Ruffled -
Spooking
Them
Unduly -
Verifying
Wanted
Xenial
Yearnings
ZAPPED
Nov. 9, 2021
for William Kekaula's Alphabet Soup Poetry Contest
The Haunted House
Abandon all hope on haunted hill enter the house with a bitter chill
Walking bold with a thrashing thrill breaking through the rusted grille
The door slams shut as we look behind now facing fear and confined
We roam the bowels in darkness blind shaking silly to what we find
+
Spiders finish their webbing spin and entangle with our shrieking skin
The house grumbles a grunting grin so it may welcome its kindred kin
Spirits approach to dance and dine as we stand with a shrinking spine
The floor is set for a spooking shrine the broods macabre now entwine
+
Necromancer of the nefarious night waking the dead in a frantic freight
Evening emulous enchantress in flight descending from a haunting height
Caldrons cabalistically calm in their still before the fire breaks their will
The ravens caw a shivering shrill and the wolves salivate a bloody spill
+
Open caskets appear in a vaporous view attended by a skeleton crew
Witches walking with a shriveled skew as warlocks wine in their woo
Tombstones lift above the ground the dead arise to break the mound
Admits shattering screams that surround only wake the hilltop hound.
Aug.12.2018
The Haunted House (Scare Me or Make Me Laugh)
Sponsored by: Dear Heart a.k.a. Broken Wings
Placed 4'th
"Thriller"
upon eerie coverlet of faint moonlight
midnight creeps to touch tombstones of cursed undead
haunting entities delight in spooking night
zombies open coffins to ravish with dread
feasting upon flesh and bone in vampy style
tasting blood from jugular...victim defile
staring motionless submissive to witch chant
enticed by love ... death charms innocence to pant.
Wondering where you are tonight?
Under the starlight I sail so bright
Rowing on surface waters that haunt me
Your faces on calm waters showing me
With my oars I hold so tight
Like your hold in me that caresses me
Winter dew that chills at night
Your heart in me, snugging me
Darkness now crawling on land and seas
On this river fitful hours spooking me
As birds and bees hiding in waft trees
Nearness of you following me
Winding, reaching the river bottom
Standing in white is cladding me
Over troubled waters you're standing over gollum
Your heart in me that's shielding me
Violet it pours, sinuous swirl into the glass,
Rich in darkest ruby amethyst lavender glory,
Lower left in France, Bordeaux, Chateau Margaux,
Floral wine that hides you from almost everything;
It even smells like violets.
Indigo Children are wrapped in that aura,
New Age thinking; are they protected from evil?
Blue was their name, was their car, their house at the end of the street.
They sheltered in silence; kids never answered in school,
Their father seemed mute, the mother spoke two words to me
The one time I was in their hushed house - a big room with cool air,
The children slowly orbiting the parents like faint, cold little moons.
Green river rushes screened me from the world
When I was river-swimming young.
Yellow, the color of cowardice and hot stars.
I'm a coward - nobody's ever done anything to me;
You haven't, but a part of me will always hide from you,
Even if it had to go to the far side of the sun.
Orange was the giant pumpkin long ago,
My full body mask for Halloween,
A lair behind the dark face,
Watching trick-or-treaters approach.
At their closest, I would roar at them,
A true if momentary spooking.
Red was my friend's truck when I was seventeen.
Out with my brother and his buddy, the four of us, autumn night fun.
Steering broken, hit telephone pole guy wire,
Pulled the pole down on the truck; smash.
Silence, no movement, then my brother said, "I'm okay."
Other two not talking, more red from my brother's friend.
I ran to nearby house, ambulance came,
My friend's neck broken, my brother's friend dead.
No camouflage for me with this red.
I wish I could go back in time and remove it from my rainbow.
March 24, 2017
Before it’s too late
Distant bells clatter on cloud fed weathered skies where
darkness creeps past low light vestibules, faded beams flicker
Short skirts wave in a winter wind, breezy attributes
revealing fishnet thighs calling to the next hidden passenger,
batting lashes and blowing bubbles of stale gum placed under
crushed velvet seats worn in places, stained deliberately
for bragging rights and handkerchief blotting
A ghostly mist lingers as lips are touched up, bright red, crimson,
shades of desire, occupational decisions, advertisements leaking
into sewers and hopscotch squares spread along the avenue
Silhouettes in porch lanterns, whistling…so unladylike, ducking
constables with nightsticks swinging like the clapper in those damn bells
waking the unsuspecting and spooking the transients offering
a few coins for a ten dollar dream
Swine wallows in last week’s gossip, slimy little beings
fat on sausage and biscuits, cursing the rats pushing their way in
below curtains and kitchen windows framing inquisitive eyes,
watching cash change hands and satisfied smirks
on the faces of those wiping feet on mats,
greeting the family in disguise, shirt un-tucked,
long day rewards and dinner on the table
Yesterday’s newspaper tumbles down the walk,
clinging to sign posts, featuring headlines of death, a warning in bold print,
still at large, a menace to society in a grey overcoat,
double breasted and fancy shoeprints in the fresh mud
No further traces except the body, contorted and frozen, smeared faces
littering cobblestone gutters, frightening children and pets,
as passersby look to second floor balconies, oblivious
Midnight calls, staggering drunkards exit Chauncey’s,
hard up and spent, slurred laughter, boisterous to hide worries
and tomorrow’s jobs, time clock lies and penciled in wishes
Iron fence posts rust at the gateway as they glance to the headstones
of friends long past and recent memories, sensing the urge,
seeing the painted nails and low cut blouses, thinking…
before it’s too late
While from a secluded archway…
Bickering sunlight,
I must leave now.
Just when it was getting good
The pitcher pitched back,
With the juices starting to flow.
So settle your hounds,
Bottle your wings,
Or watch the glass smash in the mirror.
My mind is witches glue.
Audacious, vile, spooking your spine
Into living again.
Spirits
Ghostly Visions
Haunting, Moaning, Spooking
Visits From Beyond The Cold Grave
Dead Souls
in every serious human idea
presented to the world as an engagement with it
there is an unavoidable lacking in meaning
which becomes left behind in the womb
like a stillborn freak of words
sticking in the mire of that amorphous sludge
of unutterable intuitions and emotions,
the uniqueness of personality,
from which it originates.
ponder this:
yes, in every serious human idea
presented to the world as an engagement with it
something dire is lost,
even has to become lost:
drag out - isolate - the flash of genius from the complex electricity of personality;
define it with language; compromise as to make it as commonly understandable as possible,
and it too shall die;
every idea that is born out of the genuinety of individuality,
having been ouroborically fostered, nurtured by it,
but has shifted into depending essentially on the mechanisms of the outside
and its automation with the social machinery of communication
as a measure of involuntary and instinctual endurance in order to thrive in continuity,
shall wither with the systems of socialization on whose waves it floats,
for they can not be of eternal substance; they too
are aghast by the wraith of ominous impermanence
haunting and spooking like acoustic feedback all around,
bouncing, looping
in the rehearsal room of eschatorchestra, the final and ultimate end,
with which the idea in itself has become inseparable.
A shadow visits me at night
He has long curly hair and wears a robe of black
When I lay down to rest
I immediately turn my head.
And he disappears.
This shadow has been chasing me a long long time
I wonder who it could ever be, spooking me out everynight
One day I watched my mother and I thought well
She has long black wavy hair and wears a gown.
Yes I thought it must have been her prayers.
Then a voice said, no it is your unconfessed sins and darkeness in your soul.
I don’t remember how many confessions I have had since then
But the shadow is there no more.
(alternately titled: ah me go march'n home on derange)
I'll play the devil's advocate, yet
prepare a stance with pitchfork
against misinterpreted faux attempt
to describe, how whet
d'ya column re: immigration officials coe vet
patrol, police, and poison tranquil casa blanca
where killer attack dogs fiendishly pin set
ting sharp fangs at jugular vein of respectful,
dutiful, and blissful (or at least
prior to being sniffed out) innocent
long time laborer on American soil now get
ting Das Boot to their unfamiliar Motherland
(despite living social
as law abiding righteous folks) fret
full, cuz unfairly punished, and
cruelly deported, dispirited, doomed
pained visage non verbally articulates
at un war rented deportation you bet!
with just a flick of the wrist
and alien hated, pigheaded,
and xenophobic ventriloquist
bring back the Alien and Sedition Acts
with a Trumpeting Latina, Hispanic,
and for good measure Mulatto twist,
where original writ (signed into law
by President John Adams in 1798),
historical footnote, aye cannot resist
spooking (like a ghost), those pee pill
born south of the border pooped and pissed
in potties of this proud country, sans free and brave
now frightfully get flushed out
glad to feign dis guise
as one among select Geronimo cadre
we henchman lubricate
wheels of injustice myst
tuff hie hiding dark shadows
(along the edge of night)
thence paddy wagon comes
to screeching halt nabbing
an "illegal alien" name on hit list
code word "bag dad" (biggest quarry)
and score a win
for Barren Trump Tah Mahal Incorporated
impossible mission special ops sentry slithers as trained
fearless to shackle wetback ranked big hest
catch also including booby prize,
as you correctly guessed.
You are spooked, but you are also doing the spooking.
You talk about hearts,
And who can be forgiven.
Or you stand,
Or sit and wonder
On a floating platform believing
You are creating things,
And maybe you are,
Maybe you are always creating things.
But what is it that you are creating?
She sits and waits
Upon the fence
Her hands are cold
The fog is dense
She waits for kids
Dressed in white
And witches dresses
To give a fright
Door to door
‘Trick or Treat’
Hands come out
With something sweet
She creeps up
Behind them all
And picks one out
Slim and tall
Right up close
Next to his ear
Shouting BOO
For all to hear
He screams aloud
She laughs a lot
Pleased it’s an adult
That she got
Her spooking done
She floats above
But not before
And extra shove
So when you
Go trick or treat
I wonder who or
What you’ll meet?
The rocks crumbled underfoot
As I descended into darkness
Eventually my phone became a guiding light
Leading me further into the depths
Eventually I came to the end
And shined my light on wall
There were words etched in stone
Words left behind by me years ago
Prophetic in nature they foretold struggle
And fights with depression
Words of encouragement were needed
To prevent me from finding the noose
A droplet of water fell upon my head
Spooking me so that I dropped my light
The screen went black and I knew only darkness
But really I knew darkness before that
Darkness had seeped into the depths of my soul
Where little light was to ever be found
For this cave was in fact a figment of the mind
Residing within my soul
An epiphany perhaps filled my thoughts
A realization that I control this place
The cave lit up like a Christmas tree
And I realized I created my own darkness
But I could also create my own light
If I had the fortitude to seek it
The rocks crumbled underfoot
As I ascended into the light