Best Terror Poems
Written for Andrea Dietrich, a remarkable, talented human and sincere, caring friend
I’ve never even met her, we’ve never shared space,
Yet I continuously, tenderly, view her face.
She woke one same ole’ morn, on her same ole’ street
To retire that night with terror lying under her sheets.
She’s always been conscientious, responsible and prepared,
But she’s never dealt with this brand of scared.
It isn’t that bad news had never before appeared,
It just hadn’t carried such fierce shades as it neared.
I feel her frightened ache tremble and I silently shake.
My faith demands I believe He did not cruelly forsake
One who never selfishly sought her own delight
Over her commitments to living proper and right.
It must feel surreal to her that the world is the same
When her life’s been yanked, injured and maimed.
Everything must surely seem foreign and strange
As she struggles through fears web just to maintain.
Rudely, she was handed a nightmare wrapped in unfair
That I desperately wish my emotional sum could repair.
His grandfather attacked mine
to remove him from land that grandpa had bought
Oozing hatred from deep in his gut
he'd force grandpa off of land that he sought
Then his father attacked mine
with molotov cocktails, homemade bombs
I asked my father, why not strike back
my dad was silent, a good answer he lacked
Now the grandson attacks me, ever more viciously
Yet the world shrugs it off, doesn't seem to see...
But when my family's attacked, when I strike back at terror
~ Why is it I, the Israeli, who's always in error?!
They believed a Capitol riot could make a loser a winner,
After failing, they cling to changing facts by terror and thunder.
All along the dead valley
I walked with his gun…
How death could escape..
I gave up this thought
He broke my hope
With his narrow eyes
My plead was refused
Oh! That inhuman look…..
turned the sky black....
What prayers could save
this world at last
We were the ONE but we carried the gun....
Not sure about the title of this poem... Plz suggest?
Three celestial bodies 'tis a crowd.
A trinity, a tussle kerfuffle if you please!
The 'three body problem' in space
made Sir Isaac Newton's head ache.
He couldn't sleep at night.
For its easy to see how two bodies interact.
They're a couple
Adding the third one
makes a terrible three, a triad triumvirate.
No one can predict how they will interact
with each other.
Can three tango?
Can you ever really know what
the other one is doing while
you are watching the other one at the time?
It's sneaky what the un-watched
can do behind your back,
in the corner of your eye!
For when three converge,
each longing for an equal share,
on the stage, under the bright lights,
all sense of unity fades into a fractured affair
and a terrible selfish chaotic fight.
But nevertheless, despite all this,
a threesome can be kinky!
What seems dull by day
Flashes peril by night
Sparks far away
A trembling fright
The rustling of trees
Noontide's gentle wind
On nighttime's breeze
Nearly do me in
Night's shadow amplifies
What bright days minimize
Pitch-black terror underlies
The scream of the Evil Eye
a poem woke with a silent scream to find his mom was a machine
Be invisible. Be invisible. Be invisible. It was Jacob’s mantra.
He could taste metal in his bile; he was terrified.
Don’t make eye contact, he told himself. Do not look at the man.
The Nazi soldier came over to check to see whether he wore the star.
Jacob kept his eyes down, not wanting to show any disrespect.
He saw the black boots first. Those marching loud angry boots.
They represented Hitler, hatred, agony and anguish.
Jacob was nine, but he already knew this. His lips began shaking.
Where is your star? The soldier asked. Jacob pointed it out.
The soldier began to belittle him, called him names, spit on him.
Cursed him. Jacob was only nine, and he was horrified.
The soldier laughed. He did not tell him to look up. Thank God.
Jacob was trembling now, shaking hard. Another soldier laughed.
The soldier bent down into his face. He could feel his breath on him.
He muttered some mean words.
Jacob closed his eyes, expecting a blow.
It never came.
He felt a hand on his shoulder. He knew it was grandpa’s hand.
But your grandfather has been dead for two years,
his mother argued when he told her.
I know what I felt, he answered. Grandpa was there.
Grandpa met Jacob in the showers a year later.
Call girl of Thulhu?
I smiled at the voice at the end of the phone.
Not been in action for many years, but had a keenness for a kill.
Sure is, I said in my youngest voice.
Happy it did not crack or give my age.
You can do some delectable things for five hundred? A question.
I said “six” to see if he would bite.
A slight hesitation
We negotiated to five fifty.
Agreed to meet at the Slingback, a seedy motel.
You could torture someone here.
No one would call the cops.
They would not show up in this divvy place
Too scary.
More than one cop had probably
already been murdered at the Slingback.
Run by Mama M,
Nickname: Mama Mortician.
Got out my knives and lovingly polished them.
They had not seen daylight since ’85 when I took out several men
No idea my trick was polishing his knives too
November 29, 2023
_____________________________________
The footfalls are audible in the hall.
I can hear scraping against the wall.
During that time, I was lying in bed.
The obscurity engulfs me in dread.
A screech can be heard in the yard.
Hammering the window truly hard
Shadows wander across the night.
Demons are beaming with delight.
Aeries carried by a hovering broom.
Wolves shout in the gaze of gloom.
Sounds of bat wings flying quite loud.
The moon had been covered by cloud
Exhaustive respiration outside my door
I fade further into the covers and snore.
By making a turning motion on the knob.
The boogie man has completed the job.
Terror filled me ere I slept,
Horrors loomed behind closed eyes.
I recalled Your promise kept;
Darkest visions turned to peaceful sighs.
FIRST PLACE WINNER
(For the ‘Lind30’ Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Chantelle Anne Cooke
2/4/22)
A generation where there is no more mouth to mouth conversations
No more emotions, no more feelings, and definitely no expressions
On my journey of life I’ve been derailed from its tracks
Due to technology our life’s purpose has been lost and we need to get it back
Each of us has been infected by the disease called technology
Please don’t text me a “I’m sorry” …a poor way to express an apology
Just call me on my landline phone
My computer is off so I’m alone
There are 140 characters that unleash unforgettable consequences
Before I type my thoughts it completes my sentences
Whatever happened to our privacy?
Lmbo … with social media there is no mercy
Reboot, restart, refresh, and reroute…everything is going berserk
Have you noticed the” next big thing” doesn’t see to work
Spending quality time and loving our family and friends can't be ignored
It is so God like and beautiful, that is for sure
These social media sites are running our lives and it shows
What would we do without Facebook and twitter, no one knows
Just in case everything crashes we need to be able to write sentences
Face to face verbal communications are essential for our existence
Technological addiction is leading to a more isolated generation
Although technology can be profitable, it must be used in moderation
Exodus 20:2-17I am the Lord thy God and thou shalt not have strange gods before me.
THE UNHOLY TERROR OF LITTLE TOM
The bashing sounds of thunder echo in reverberation
to the electrifying bolts of lightning that illuminated
every single room from dark to light just seconds earlier.
Sheets of rabid rain torpedo upon a leaky roof.
Broken limbs of trees tossed away by raucous sheets of sleet
ram hard against the battered frame of the small cottage.
Little Tom holds close in a fetal position
immobilized in fear and bowed down as a non person
waiting stupefied quivering and frozen in spaceless
timeless obedience to all his emotions.
The vibrations of the shaken windows
push and pull in harmonic rhythms
accelerating into a persistent succession
of unrelenting pounding pistons
upon the naked wooden structure.
Little Tom awaits in terror for the moment
when the storm gates will crash in
allowing the blizzard to surge the void
and tear obliquely at his tender
weakened shivering flesh.
He ties to hide by pressing deeper into the blackness of the night.
But the sparks of the fireplace dancing in rapid cadence
against the wall reveal the shadow of his huddled form.
Wet and convulsing in unbecoming behavior
Little Tom yells out DADDY, DADDY!
.
His father, lays dormant and unconscious
in a drunken stupor passed out and vacant
on an unmade bed.
Worn and withered forlorn and terrified Little Tom
in one last whimper, cries himself to sleep
CAK 5-16-2013
I wake, my eyes rapidly wandering;
Avidly searching for the source of the tapping.
Held captive by the sight demon with it's repulsive hellish guise.
Lingering; Hidden amongst shadows it stares while I let loose my cries.
Raising my shield of comfort, blocking my eyes hoping it'd flee.
Yet still it lingers; feeding my fears; arousing my terror in me.
My creativity betrays me; misconstruing reality for fiction.
Bringing forth a multitude of tormentors of my terrified imagination.
Monstrous shadows and sharp fanged demons are my walls new décor.
They beckon; imploring to be an audience to my shrieks once more.
Shivers travel down my spine, I whisper, “Who goes there?”
The shadows take form; a beast with crimson eyes and the size of a bear.
Turning, raising it's claws; claws tinted with the souls of victims past,
It grins, bearing his jagged teeth, advancing; helplessly I yell, “AVAST!”
“Demon of the night avast! Depart! Withdraw yourself from my quarters!”
Yet still it creeps, pacing closer to the foot of my bunk; disheartened I cower.
Retreating under the warm embrace of my shield, terror torments my mind.
A silhouette rises, looming over my carcass; a vulture awaiting to dine.
Tightly shutting my eyes, begging the reaper my soul quickly take.
It's claws begin tear through the hull of my shield; I wake...
The root cause of Terror is simply Hate,
The lust to control the world with Power.
Denial of this fact will not negate
Its existence, its evident goal there.
Tendrils of this movement we know now reach
Seats of power and might in government.
Truth is so blurred as they dictate and preach
Their beliefs as peaceful, not violent.
Yet by actions any faith is made true
Their beliefs are proven.... by what they do.
Cynthia Buhain-Baello~~~03.15.16
"Even a child is known by his doings, whether his work be pure,
and whether it be right. " Proverbs 20:11