Gloaming gone, gloom begins;
gabbling ghouls gyrate on
gargoyles, gawping with their
grim glaucous eyes, scaring
gravid girls, gormless boys;
goatish hooves gigue upon
gibbets, grave corpses jig.
goblins are dwarf spirits,
grotesque in shape and size.
godly not, but ghastly.
gestures are crude and rude.
greatly mischievous, they
growl and shriek, loud or low.
gamboling sprites of lore.
Grease bubbles in the oven, our handprint
Rotes streak on dirty glass, flesh off bone
Movement for the Restoration of the Ten Commandments of God
Order of the Solar Temple
The Jonestown Massacre
Artificial intelligence and Algorithms
Politics and Military
Meanwhile: we want peaceful poetry, sensitive language, and readability
"I bet you do, members of society, I bet you do," said sarcastically
What do all of those incorporate into their ideology
Freedom to express
By taking your voice away if it doesn't bleed their ink
Green isn't a natural color for a human to leak onto concrete
Within the macabre tableaux, at the core, is a living thing
Town agemo and aitvaras rep ahimsa
Contranym their only sin for cryptomnesia
They parasitically exsanguinate hostages
To kenose psychalgia entoptic phenomena
Runs into scotoma in their Aceldama
Prosopagnosia blurs past agnosia
Aphenphosmphobic thanatophobia
Cadavre exquis perversion
Abomination namarupa failed zombie
Words are enough.
They don't some overdramatized definition of them,
Don't be a fool to explain it to me.
I'd rather die a lonely and cruel death, by my own hands.
Words —
They don't come easy, do they?
The blurry effect on my left iris left me partially blind.
It tears my other eye to see it in the mirror.
Words, they are spat out like fetid, rotting chunder,
Why do they taste so putrid and smell so obnoxious?
When I try to let them out, they escape through my eye,
Leaking and spewing festering dross.
Technicolor yawn mimics the man in the mirror and then
He would call in sick the next day.
As the pus decay in the drought and barren land of my eye,
I was recommended using Ciprofloxacin.
Words —
Words like "I need help" and "why does it hurt so bad?"
I wish I never knew how to speak.
Instead of the infection of my worm-eaten and vile eye,
I desiderate it be my mouth rather.
Words like these are what made me feel how I feel now,
Enervated and debilitated.
Eyes without a face
Eyes without a glow
Child without a lace
Child without a toe
Eyes without a face
Eyes without aplomb
Child without a case
Child without a mom
Eyes without a face
Eyes without a poem
Child without a place
Child without a home
If we can house our fears and desires on such solid ground, why can't we house the tears of homeless children in this so-called "Christian Nation?"
Once, Dr. Frankenstein eagerly said,
I take a fancy to that young man's head,
An intern, slack-jawed,
I looked as he sawed -
It's lucky that he was already dead.
longest time to leave behind this database
is the seconds between click-bait
rivers down the hillside
pour into the dam
dinner etiquette
forks in uni(s)on
they follow behind
haunting bathroom glass
Vampires
bottle the spin
hypnosis pours again,
dripping eagerly
intoxicating the kiss.
Tongues dance boldly,
rolling are women blind.
Is it maybe…enough?
Teeth tasting, touch sedating.
A gang of laser focused swashbucklers.
Sedating touch, tasting teeth.
Enough? Maybe it is.
Blind women are rolling,
boldly dance tongues.
Kiss the intoxicating,
eagerly dripping,
again pours hypnosis.
Spin the bottle,
vampires.
gone was the meek/downtrodden servant/girl
a woman stood in her place: cunning/ruthless
elegance concealed breasts more savage than any princess
ancillary fairy godmother's guidance
Cinderella manipulated/eliminated any rivals
path through fabled tales covered in viscera
meandering jars with lifeblood
she felt a surge:
pride/power/dangerous
each drop represented victory
no longer a mere dam(e)
steadfastly
eyes were bedroom shut conversation
earth had inhaled tenebrism
bending itself to her will
undead battalion advanced
gait erratically photo shopped
yet, propelled forward
unwavering fealty to their mistress of the manor
They made a horror flick
He was weak or he was sick
They chose him as the star
He can run, but won't get far
They created a wall compartment
Inside his small apartment
They installed cameras there
Reality show, unwanted, but they didn't care.
(bridge)
He felt ill, he began to ail
No idea of the hand pushing down the scale
Romance and work dove down the drain
They laughed and gloated at his pain.
(Chorus)
It’s a horror flick, but the plot is real,
They aren't like us in the way they feel.
He’s the star they chose, but the plot is sick,
Living and dying in their horror flick.
He heard them speak, felt nerve gas in his room
His apartment was a secret tomb.
He knew too much, but the cops would not believe
And he could not save others, for them we grieve.
So, learn the lesson be an owl:
Around us ghouls are on the prowl
They pass as normal, but empathy lacks
And in normal life, there are hidden attacks.
It could happen to you too
Bewildered by all the bad things that accrue
A life derailed, no suspicion why
When the only exit seems the choice to die.
The antique mechanism
of the old clock had stopped.
The winding should have been
enough -- and yet, though the
pendulum swung back in forth
in perfect rhythm, no comforting
clicks emanated, as was usual,
the reassuring pulse of a consistent
heartbeat, regulator of a healthy
household.
The big hand had paused, 2 minutes
of. I thought, was this an angel, come
to my aid, or a devil, seething more
terror, personifying the foul deed
about to fully unfold? She would be
here, at nine. No doubt, her obsession
with punctuality. 2 minutes till, the
fiend had bound me to a chair. Assembled
the deadly charge, painstakingly attached to the
clock. Gagged as well I had no way of warning her.
2 minutes till...no, 1:58, 1:57, the clock's
now deadly hand had begun to again
advance. I heard her key in the door.
One minute to detonation. The door squeaked
on neglected hinges. "Cut! All right, 10 minute
break" the directed informed us, after shooting
for 4 hours non-stop.
Axiom illusion
Liquefied minuet
Sphere in watercolors
Squirrel furry fetters
Jazz at max
Tree cutbacks
Hacksaw axe
Rat-ah-tacks
Morse code fax
Acorn tax
I awoke from a dream --
well, let me start again:
My thought was that I had
awakened. Yet, I rose quite
mistily -- with ghastly figures
hanging in the air, moving
to and fro, in possessed manner.
Swat at them, I could not. My
arms would not lift, my hands
seeming porcelain objects. Residue
stillness, long after the model
had expired, and the artist had eaten
his last moistened bread meal.
The volume of Poe, lie open
on the bedstead, where it had been
wearily placed, just before my
dozing. Strange, the last page read had
been altered...and the name highlighted
for death, was now my own. Could
this deranged volume and I have
mysteriously, mystically changed
realities? My name began
to burn, uplift from the page, the savage
apparitions swarming to tear hungrily at the
fleeing image. My soul drowning in drool.
Specific Types of Horror Poems
Definition | What is Horror in Poetry?
Poems Related to Horror
dismay, consternation, fright, apprehension, dread, disgust, terror, awe, panic, hatred, abhorrence, repugnance, hate, alarm, antipathy, abomination, trepidation, aversion, detestation, monstrosity, dislike, loathing, chiller,