Could never live in an isolated area
No people around what could be eerier
Hustle and bustle
Without a muzzle
Is what I need to feel much cheerier
Sunset is deep violet color of spirit inhaled by mountain clouds
Snowy peaks stand tall as air wind crowds
In the mystery the visage of the mountains this area enshrouds
The mists of liquid soul shine are beautiful but you don’t want to feel them as thunderclouds
The orb of beyond magic with vortex in it like surreal ethereal typhoon
The magic is spinning and building like billows on the sea lagoon
The cyclonic hyper cane eerier then nirvana and the harvest moon
Magnificent and truly mesmerizing is its countenance but soft yet uncanny is its tune
It is the divine bliss
That is like smile or a kiss
Yet of fury it is abyss
Far more enchanting then Vernon autumn that stories of ethereal will reminisce
The older I get
brain damage
pain manages to destroy
a poet expresses
in twisted conceptions
don't you wanna peek inside
The eerier the night
the more I come to life
like a vampire lost in the street
a viscious bite
I pray until alright
I may be more lost than tomarrow
or I may remember myself now
I may have been a winner
but for all, in all I sorrow
For when I touch into that inner llight
I try and guide through by the candlesight
as darkness is pushing
its boundries in farther
take the oxygen, out in order
but somehow
the candle now
burns firm...
like the question
or listen to the legends
that lay tapered off from the world
it seems that seems
off course
in an unknown monk's hand
everything has a cycle
and all life has a plan
when the top of that order
has made me a man
Back bent,
Spine protruding from withered figure,
His face a creeping shadow,
Scattering, revealing pale ghost beneath,
Breathing eerier croaks from dark fathoms within,
Lips parched,
A bumpy mess of scales,
His eyes dug deep within the shrivels of his face,
Reflecting with joy his distant youth,
Quivering lost paper in wind,
As those lips part one final time,
No one listens to his great last words,
Expecting him to quietly slip away with grace,
Death his friend he must embrace.
A poem about doppelgangers,
I had to look the meaning up.
Before you can begin to drink
there must be something in the cup.
My Oxford dictionary
covered it with just one line.
“Apparition or double of living person,”
not much for a poem guideline.
So next I turned to the Internet.
Found an answer I woudn’t have guessed.
“Another person with the same name.”
I liked that answer the best.
For now I know of doppelgangers
who follow me all around.
One has the same doctor that I have
and in my records is found.
Another goes to the library,
takes out books she fails to return.
When I get hit with a whopping fine,
I usually do a slow burn.
Then there is the same name poet
who kept getting mixed up with me.
We each have to use an initial
when submitting our poetry.
Writing about the eerier doppelgangers
is something I don’t want to try,
for it’s said if you see your ghost double
it means you are going to die.
7/4/11
unseen in forests
creepy crawly things slither. . .
inhabiting night
miles from the black woods
bolder creatures (upright) flit. . .
whooping in the streets
woods seem eerier
towns' garish beasts seem wilder. . .
and strangeness prevails
For Linda Marie's Halloween Haiku Contest
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