Eerily Poems | Examples

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Déjà vu, a strange, fleeting sensation—moment eerily familiar,
Parallel realities bleed into one another, align, and then bewilder.

The fear of nothing changing

The rush of emotion stilled
The air once consumed by an undiluted energy
Now eerily quiet 
Something lingers in the air 
Justice? 
No something louder but hidden
A violence so silent 
It could go unnoticed by those who don't care to see
Those who choose wilful ignorance 

The streets once crowded by protest
Now sits empty 
Brought down from the high of purpose
Now left with an overwhelming feeling of hopelessness 

The stench of death plagues the streets
Where once voice and life used to meet
Now only emptiness you will greet
Only thing left is failed legacies and echoes of long gone feet

The people who assumed these spaces
Just like the streets now empty
The promises of a better future
Dead like the movement 
Despite having enough strength in their bodies to go on
Mourning takes their time of what's lost
Hoping to gain the strength to march again 
But as the world continues to hate instead of help
Slowly losing their joy, the best parts of themselves 

They are tired though not from the burning screams for justice
Nor the tiring marches
But through a slow realisation that the world they live in may never change

We Pass out Every Night

Diving deep in the pond of the sub-consciousness
I die every night, you die every night too
This is our way of rejuvenating the body
This may sound crazy, eerily or even spooky,
However, this is absolutely or definitely true
Our body makes a special trip to correct the mess
Which takes place from a certain time to the other
We die every night to pay a visit to another crater.

We die every night, if we're blessed, fortunate or lucky
We return to our natural living state, feeling rested
God in his divine and genial way created us that way
That's a given, we have no alternative; no other way
To change things. Sleep deep tonight, die slowly and lightly
Hoping that we'll wake-up the next hours alive and resuscitated.

Drowning in a slow sleep is a gift, die a little tonight
God will not keep us. This is wonderful; this is out of sight.

Copyright © August 26, 2016 Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved
Hébert Logerie is the author of several books of poetry.

The Stars Have Stopped Shining

All of a sudden
The stars have stopped shining
Blimming sadness in Heaven
Too many babies are maimed and hurt
Too many infants are starving and suffering
Too many women are crying and mourning
And too many men are being sought
For summary executions
Where countless elders of the sad nations
Have disappeared without a trace
The pain is excruciating. What a disgrace!

All of a sudden
The sky has become extremely dark
Bloody chaos in Heaven
The cemetery is in the park
The buildings are bombed and bulldozed
For heaven’s sake, too many soldiers are overdosed
Where ships, vessels, yachts, boats and canoes are sunk
Somewhere is buried a dead skunk
Where everything is comatose and decomposed
No one can honestly envision a bright future
Where nobody can dry the tears of Mother Nature.

The stars have stopped shining
The moon is visibly absent
The sun is on strike and fasting 
And the weather is eerily aberrant.

Copyright © June 2025 Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved
Hébert Logerie is the author of several books of poetry.

We Can Activate a Happy New Year

Into the fog I fell,
amidst the bone chilling cold,
caterwauled by silence -
eerily the end
of the year, dismal.

With the call of a forefinger,
I float through the mist,
silence switches
to a whisper,
rays appear through the haze.

Into the cradle I amble,
dizzy from 2024 strange happenings.
Lemons and apples fill the trees,
bright, juicy, bountiful, and
plenipotentiary fruit

of a Happy New Year.
Here’s where it gets weird:
we must take care
to love and serve
and the trees will prosper.

Love, joy, peace
patience, kindness, goodness,
gentleness, faithfulness, self-control* -
the kind of fruit that will produce
good results

for years to come.
The Whos in Whoville give praise.
The pennypinching Grinch** gives in.
Bells ring and voices raised.
Cheers, hopeful and kinetic.

*Fruit of the Spirit, bible reference
**Whos, Whoville, Grinch - Dr. Seuss book references

day twenty six

day twenty-six 

Today is the day after people are tired
And the toilets on the first floor of the building
Were blocked and had taken a heavy load
The silence is eerily; a man on the fifth floor
 lets out air from his
Interior followed by giggling
What do I know, can have been his wife eating
 too many prunes and sweet wine
The bin-men are on strike (are there bin-women) 
The garbage is piling up in the basement
The mice have a jolly time today, unafraid of obese cats 
kept by elderly women.
Tomorrow will be a busy day hospital visits 
One can say, back to normal

not a hunter

Not a Hunter

Every morning, the train that took him to work
through a landscape harassed by Man
he saw a deer watching the train as it did
every morning 
The deer's eyes reflected the morning sky
making the landscape eerily beautiful
He marked the spot, and on a Sunday, when
the train was not running, driving to the spot
to see if the animal was there,
it appears the deer also took Sunday off
He took free from work on a Monday to
see the deer, the weather was of slight 
rain, the ruined landscape appeared in black
and white, but the animal was there
He shot the deer through its heart, hoping
his nightmare would end

Broken Pier

Once it was strong and full of life
Now it's a mismash of signs and rails
Place of the working man and his wife
Abandoned wood and left over tales
Now its dead with a forgotten past
Deserted on the beach as the birds fly
They soar upwards wild and fast
Up and up into the sun drenched sky
The wood is rotten and the metal rust
Waves swim through legs that are dead
A decaying image of grime and dust
As it eerily hangs out over the sea bed
I see the people take their snaps
Wondering how it might have been
For a minute of two longer perhaps
When it was alive, when it was clean
The beach is deserted apart from a few
Wandering in a sweet summers sun
Shame they can't enjoy it too
The pier that once breathed out fun
Where's the money, where's the care
Why has it been left to go
People loved to walk along there
To see the cabaret or the puppet show

Holiday Humor Limericks

Holidays are coming; the first is near
Halloween is a night that many fear
But the bravest ones boast
"I'm not afraid of ghosts!"
Until eerily haunting cries they hear.

There's feasting on November's holiday
Giving thanks for our blessings, we pray
But I burned the turkey
So, we ate beef jerky
On a table set in splendid array

Christmas; the holiday season of mirth
Jen partied until the time she gave birth
There was too much good cheer
We drank three kegs of beer
On New Year's Day, not a cent were we worth

Haunted House

Startled, I woke up in a fright.
The silhouette in the mirror is there again tonight.
Peering closer, the form is ghastly;
Pinching myself, covering my head, and lastly

Counting to ten and peeking through my fingers,
It must be a ghost as his skeleton hands linger
On the latch of the bottom drawer.
His long bony fingers fling my clothes on the floor.

I squeezed my eyes shut and opened them again—what a nightmare!
His reflection bores into me as he decides what to wear.
The oval mirror is home to this spooky creep;
At his feet, my clothes are still in a heap.

Eerily, I watched as he pulled shirt after shirt over his skeleton head.
Shivers ran down my arms and I screamed “You are not real; you are dead!”
He turned around; his bony finger shook.
I gasped as he pointed and said, “How do I look?”

Family

From the day we’re born we’re in the club
Consuming yet eerily beautiful
A club that commands no fee
Where its expected for us to be dutiful
We appear the same in little ways
Yet are different in our own minds
A connection so strong and solid
With no escape one often finds
Cause this is the club called family
Of parents, sisters and brotherhood
All herded up like cows in a field
Bonded by bone and blood
Occasionally theres break in the chain
Where speaking becomes a chore
And while we avoid and keep our distance
Our love just burns forever more
No one really forgets each another
The heart just decides it’s hiding away
Until that moment along the road
Where it’s ready to come back and stay
This is because we’re family
Created from the same mould
Push and hurt anyone of us
And our fight will be big and bold
We all know where our bread is buttered
It’s the lessons we’ve learned together
From our first cuddle to our first row
We will always look after one another

holly day in May

A Holly Day in May

the building is eerily empty today, everybody
has gone to the beach, even those in wheelchairs
I sit on the verandah in the hope of tanning
my scalp looks so white in the bathroom mirror
I used to sit in the sun and get a deep tan
which gave me skin cancer
Do the Gaza people sit in the sun away from their
tents, now bombed, because Gaza has nice 
beaches and turquoise water.
The Israel monster regime keeps killing Palestinians 
daily, 60 here and 40 there 
It has been noticed, that more Jews are leaving 
Israel, then newcomers to this Paradise of evil
I went to the pharmacy yesterday and wanted to buy 
a self-tanning product, the person who served me
came from Congo, shamefully, I lost my nerves 
and bought aspirins.
My wife, born in Kinshasa, said I was a racist
Once, when she was a stewardess, she met 
the fabled Roger Moore, I say no more but has
a nice-looking daughter 
I read Joe Biden talking about ********, maybe 
he wished for one
 We all have sexual fantasies, a curse for old men

The Mercy Dog

I watched a dog sweep across the land where no man stands;
So delicate in his every step— 
He manoeuvred across it with a strange familiarity:
The mud to him was not a problem, 
Though it clung to his feet like it was trying to drag him deep down.
He lifted his nose into the air to sniff the scent of death,
And trekked over lumps and bumps to find where a cold man lay.
He was half-enveloped already—
The living, breathing mud having started to swallow him whole—
Even the dog was able to tell his fate:
His breathing was quiet and he laid so eerily still; like a ghost.
Anything done now was too little too late.
So the dog, empathetic in its very being, lay down at his side,
To comfort him as he said his final prayers.
The dog let the man stroke him, watching (with fixed intent)
The shaky rise and fall of his chest—waiting for death.
Soon the blood exiting his pale body began to slow, 
And the dog knew it was over. His job was done.
He had offered the one thing he could in his primitive being: mercy.
To a scared and lonely man, in the final moments
Of his short life.

rainbow alliance

Rainbow alliance 

On a barbed wire fence between Chile and Argentine 
hangs thousands of plastic bags, some of the bags from top shops
London, New York, Paris, and Bonn.
Here are Japanese, Swedish bags, Arabic bags, and occasionally
bags from North Korea.
The fence between the two countries is an international garbage
collector, it is also an eerily beautiful place like a sad rainbow
overshadowed by neon light.
There used to be skeletons here that also had broken bones
as dropped from planes, the corpses have 
been removed, but if
you are lucky you might find a skull or a thigh bone cleaned
by the wind, the plastic rattle drowns the call of the condor

Zen

"Zzzzzzz!" goes a bothersome bee up close, yet so
  Eerily s  t  i  l  l was the meditating Tibetan monk;
  Nothing seems to faze him in a trance-like state.

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