The Left Eyeball
Fired and banned from decorating the
Halloween Ball in Elmwood Town Hall, the
moon-coloured cornea and
pupil and
bloodshot Left Eyeball had been for staring and
creepily weeping at leggy volunteers,
some of whom he’d brought to tears.
Body on the bed burns with fever.
Morning seems brighter, yellowish.
sunlight soaks my dirt-shrunk shirt.
A small page slips from a book,
written: "Take care of yourself."
Liquid gathers in the corners of the eyes.
That silent evening - "yes,"
a touch of her soft hand.
And tired legs roamed through a long day.
Two or three promises were counted
at day's end, the last rays of the sun faded.
Dusk creepily settles in dreamy eyes.
Thunder shudders my fragmented thoughts.
The curtain laps slothfully in a mild wind.
Raindrops drizzle, pattering outside -
Fresh pink petals stare from the green lawn.
Creeping creepily so softly in the dark
A sniffle, a yearning formed deep in the heart.
Is that you grief?
Are you there?
The heaviness feels heavy as it forms in the air.
It creeps so creepily as it is creeping
where there is room
Joy is drained wherever it goes
If only I knew.
You're here.
I feel you.
Grief, is that you?
It seeps into all corners
The lead role, as if on cue.
Tears race into nothing
Creep creeping down my cheeks
A pain so paralyzing, keeps me still and weak.
Creep creep
Creep creep
It is here and here to stay
I go on, I live
It creeps on another day.
©?EarthBranch
dolls with bothersome blank faces
stark staid straight expressions
make my neck hairs stand up
prideful porcelain puppets
placid, plebian and plastic
looking creepily deceased
do not put them in my room
for there is a window
and I will not hesitate to use it
When grief became a shadow
It felt as if nothing else mattered
Like a sudden darkness
Raining down upon us
Like sucking the light from our eyes
Like a wound opened multiple times
It follows you like a stalker
Creepily walking behind you
Keeping an eye on your every moment
And when you think you outsmarted it
When you take a deep breath and treasure the moment
It strikes when you are most vulnerable
Stealing your breath
While watching you struggle
The weight of what could've been haunts you
Wishing you didn't give in to the world's cruelty
Whishing you could travel back to the moment
When the world taught you, your skin was a problem
Telling the broken you
You love them
When the world forces you to carry perfection
Whilst teaching white children that their skin equates to perfection
Wishing the world could see
How damaging trauma can be
When you make black kids believe
That they are a crime against humanity
Carrying it to their teens
And through adulthood
believing
A world harbouring their envy
When in reality
It's us They want to be
12 am midnight hour
Felt uneasy, confusing! How suddenly I lost my power
Went for shower my nervere on edge
Knock knock ! A warning or a pledge
Suddenly my gaze met mirror reflecting my face
A creepy whisper "pretty" from unknown place
My spine shivered , body got numb
Took knife on my hold , reminding myself I'm not dumb
Shadow flickered a suspicious trace
Vanished avoided showing face
Breath hitched when felt the tap from behind
Immediately checked back but couldn't find
As time passing
Things getting into more complexation
It's not a natural thing believed my intuition
Now I'm gasping
Suddenly heard a voice
Roared creepily" it's just started sweety"
Tears rolled down it's so creepy
Thinking I'm wise
Went to the bed
Hide myself with blanket
My tears shed
Leaving everything on fate
Now it's the morning
Im creeped but still went out
Still shuttering
But I had to find out
The untold truth known now
That house were haunted somehow
Thanks
Today was the first day of class.
You should have seen all the people.
Everyone couldn’t have had class, some of them must
have been gawkers, the types that slow to watch
flat tire changings and car wrecks.
Some were carrying maps - freshmen.
Like student drivers they clogged the paths,
drawing a few looks.
They gaggle together like geese,
Jeeezus - shut UP and get ON with it, freshies! I thought.
Not ungenerously - I remember being lost - back in the day.
I have class, myself - in both the intrinsic sense - of style -
and in the “research for credit” ‘check in on the first day,’ kind.
Still, we’re parading, and I’ve always loved parades.
My one regret is that there are no mimes or elephants.
ok.. poetry..
Stress is somewhere in my propinquity.
See, it’s known to stalk this vicinity.
I’m not a freshman, so it hasn’t struck yet,
but when it does, and it will, you can bet,
that initially, it will shake my tranquility
and end our start-of-year festivities.
It will creepily creep, destroying my sleep,
until I prove my scholastic resiliency.
.
.
Songs for this:
Violently Happy by Björk
Schoolin' Life by Beyoncé
Hurricane Ian left no survivors and only a few boats in the water.
Old witch was bailing a pumpkin, heading toward her granddaughter.
But can we get there in time? The black cat asked in a weird way.
She smacked him on the head hard, for she was creepily mad that day.
If we do not, she said, you will be the first cat thrown into the water.
That is when the cat began praying for the health of her granddaughter.
I tucked my head into that pebbles pillow.
Grasping the night would be rather restless.
Your sight crams me, my love and fiery foe.
If ardor was aimed to be creepily hotness.
Grasping the night would be quite restless,
Why does this brisk void squash my bone?
If ardor was aimed to be creepily hotness,
My racked soul cries out for a return prone.
Why does this brisk void squash my bone?
Folded like a shriveled rose's fading petal.
My racked soul cries out for a return prone.
Rotting deftly, accept death with no meddle.
Folded like a shriveled rose's fading petal.
Two days were enough to drive me crazy.
Rotting deftly, accept death with no meddle.
A cracked pane of glass and a train empty.
Two days were enough to drive me crazy.
Your sight crams me, my love and fiery foe.
A cracked pane of glass and a train empty.
I tucked my head into that pebbles pillow.
Written: May 21, 2022
Creepily walking
The feeling of the soft carpet
Moving swiftly and silently
The door continues to knock
The sweet smell of nectar infiltrates my nose
I wonder what's behind the door
I grab and turn the knob to the right
I cautiously open the door
A gust of wind blows
Pushing my hair out of my face
I stare as my face grows blank
Death is at my door
Chet lived creepily in the back of the tavern, hidden.
No one bothered him. He lived vicariously through the others.
The pretty barflies who flitted in chatting too loudly.
Flipping their hair. He had a salacious appetite, saw them all naked.
They sometimes waved to his corner when they were drunk.
He did not think they knew he was perpetually eyeballing them.
Unclothing them one piece of clothing at a time in his mind.
Uncovering their secrets was easy; they shared way too much.
His voyeuristic tendencies got him ostracized and secluded from family.
His mixoscopia and scoptolagnia confusing the prissy Baptists he knew.
He might go Catholic, he had heard they were more open. Nah!
Religion was not for him. His religion was this bar and those bar flies.
One of them was throwing her head back now, laughing loudly.
He would dream of her tonight. He smirked at the eroticism she brought him.
She turned and waved. If he was forty years younger, he would be over there.
But he knew better so he stayed put, swigging back his beer.
I write to vent my deepest feelings
Even if the feelings are deeply sad
Hope to help someone who shares these feelings
Because alone I struggle and hurt so bad
I haven’t written much for a time
But tonight I’ve wrote a lot
I feel I’ve past my prime
So I put down words, lets give it a shot
I struggle late at night
By myself all alone
I hardly feel right
Stumbling in my home
I have a problem with my mind
It causes me to drink it away
Happiness I try to find
So desperate in my bed I lay
I really do want to believe
That I can get better
But my mind says “they’ll leave”
And All I’m good for is to upset her
I feel depressed and full of fear
That I’ll walk this road forever
Without you to hold me near
On this hopeless endeavor
I love many very deeply
Its hard to know they feel the same
I know my doubts sneak creepily
I hope they at least remember my name
To all those who struggle too
Know you aren’t the only one
Because struggle I certainly do
So please put down the gun.
I love you all so much
Please hold on strong
I hope your hearts I touch
Know your doubts are wrong
I cannot lie. A townie’s legs are kind of atrophied.
Too much couch sitting for our tummies to get taunt.
Unfit, unhealthy, unresponsive, unable to hide,
we sit and wait for our food to arrive by aunt.
Our country cousins’ legs are muscular and trim.
They are in the field with corn, haying and picking.
We townie cousins almost always join a gym,
But do not go, our subconscious we are tricking.
Our country cousins get up at five and start working.
We prefer to sleep ‘til ten, some of us do twerking.
Our country cousins go to church, passé’ for us.
They are creepily polite, defer to God, and rarely cuss.
The big muscles in their arms we notice now and again.
We do not make a big deal of it or the muscles in their shin.
They are fit from head to toe, from all the chores they do.
Townies are inside lumps, and it makes us a little blue.
Country cousins are outside most of their day,
we townies use an I-pad or I-pod to do our play.
Country cousins, some of us are envious of you.
Try to get our kicks with buying, which will rarely ever do.
Written 9-8-2019
Contest: Town Children
Sponsor: Julia Ward
drop the "le"
you be jammin'
Mar y
not a rasta
meat but no
pasta
amiga
me a go
i and i
i'm oh so
this creepily
sounds like some
sort of jamaican stalking
awful awkward
birthday bash
celebrated creepily
dubiously, diabolically
enormously enlightening
fastidiously frustrating
gory grotesque
hospital hallways
illustriously illuminating
joyless journey
keeping
little
me
notoriously
ordinary
quixotic
realizing
Sophie
Terrified
Unclear
Very concerned
Wanting me to return home
'Xpecting a hero's welcome
yet
zealously delighted that I will feel better.
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