Long Boogeyman Poems
Long Boogeyman Poems. Below are the most popular long Boogeyman by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Boogeyman poems by poem length and keyword.
It's almost Halloween, and parents
afraid to let children go out?
First it was drugs in candies, then razors,
then predators, it makes me want to shout!
You know what the boogeyman it is this year!
Why COVID, of course, how we love living in fear!
Even though the numbers have been clarified we
love the inaccurate ones, of course.
Fake News keeps posting inaccurate numbers, so
how much of living fully have we all lost?
Plenty, I say! Lost wages, lost time with friends
and family.
Blue "Pampers" on our faces?
Such a ridiculous, inhumane display.
Of course time to cash in, masks in polka dots,
leopard or lush pink.
No wonder people are not only on drugs, but
also, the heavier they drink.
What does a mouth or smile look like anyway?
Muffled words, no full out laughter, gives me
vertigo and brain-sway.
Churches locked tight, but a city, fine to burn?
Casinos, Costco wall to wall people, but of God,
or to sing in a chapel?
You are forbidden to respect, honor and to learn.
In the USA, the right to assemble peacefully is
hardly a joke.
But Portland has had over 100 days of rioting...
Are these folks on coke?
I don't know if the freedom I once knew, will ever
be allowed to be?
Just masks, social distancing till I die, and the sad
part is....I will never be free!
September 15, 2020
4pm PST
Bed time story
Night sky stood still inky dark and gloomy
There came a light that flickered zigzagging behind the clouds
a sudden resounding loud sound of cymbals
Heavy pouring rain commenced
In my pajamas with heavy eyelids it is time for bed
Mama sits by my side with her arms around me, I nuzzle
Bundle tightly under the covers keeping warm
A fairy tale she reads,
“The Story Of The Three Little Pigs”
“Once upon a time there was an old Sow with three little Pigs “ ….
While
Outside
Angry howling sounds
like the crashing ocean tide
breathing, growling wind knowing…
“Little Pig, little Pig, let me come in.”
I’ll h-u-f-f and I’ll p-u-f-f and blow your house down”
I struggle; I snuggle closer to mama;
"No, no, by the hair of my chinny chin chin.”
A chill runs through my body leaving a frightening illusion
Goose bumps and the hair on my arms and back of my neck bristles
“Then the Wolf came to the second Little Pig,”
“Little Pig, little Pig, let me come in.”
Wind wailing rustling into the night
Whipping tree branches
Tapping, scraping outside the window
Tears of rain run down… making leaves fall earthward
Leaving a blanket of wet leaves and twigs on the ground
“So the Wolf came to the third house that was made of bricks.”
“Little Pig, little Pig, let me come in.”
I’ll h-u-f-f and I’ll p-u-f-f and blow your house down”
He h-u-f-f-e-d and p-u-f-f-e-d and he h-u-f-f-e-d and p-u-f-f-e-d, but he could not blow the house of bricks down”
As the drama fades and a perfect sound of …
"The three little pigs lived happily ever after."
5/29/2016
THE STORY OF THE THREE LITTLE PIGS
Poetry Contest : Boogeyman
Sponsored by: Nayda Ivette Negron
No world class historic buildings
will you find here.
No historic Trevi Fountain.
No Arch de Triumph, no!
No famous bus lines either.
No major parades seen on TV.
No zany activists with signs nor
drums or harming others will you
see.
You can walk here without fear
day or night.
No knifings, shootings nor fist
fights.
No drive by shootings day and
night.
My sweet city, a gift outright
I learned in Chicago to beware
of my back.
I rarely have that thought, any
longer!
"A boogeyman might get you"
is what I was taught.
Now, I leave my door unlocked
these days.
Unafraid someone might kill
me as I once feared.
And drive without a care that a
car is following me.
You can leave packages on your
deck for days!
Or your mail in a cute rural mailbox.
All will remain perfectly O.K.
Your neighbors roll in empty
trash bins if you are not home.
So, I ask you~ is this a gift from
God or what?
On streets here, as you drive,
people wave to you?
Why...saints alive!
Lovely smiles, a daily surprise.
American flags in pride wave
here.
Pride in the USA is acceptable.
Patriotism is in full, unabashed
gear!
And in this city, poetry found me.
Plus one poet here reached right
Through the screen and into my
soul!
Removed it, so that I became able
to see,
The unbeknownst potential that
resides in me.
Poem inspiration credit to~
Matthew Anish
"Beautiful Day in New York City"
(Hey Matthew, thank you! PR)
September 25, 2019
Time bracketed between
December first nineteen fifty nine and
December first two thousand twenty three
represents sixty six orbitz
one prized Earthling
named Amélie Beth Harris-McGeehan
completed round the sun.
About half her life linkedin
with spousal enrichment,
(while hunkered down livingsocial
in Woodbury, New Jersey),
hence the hyphenated married name.
Though said endearing eldest sister
approximately thirteen plus months my senior,
ofttimes during mein kampf,
she displayed maternal (motherly) mien.
Back during mine boyhood
dark shadows along the edge of night
(emanating from outer limits
of the twilight zone)
spooked me to flinch
as did appearance
of the boogeyman induce affright
only exacerbated my delicate mental health
punctuated psyche of mine
with disequilibrium psycho-social blight
above named sibling a protector I cite
twilled me in the valley
of love and delight,
an emotional refuge rescued sought
deliverance from anguish
loving succor proffered
peace upon mine body, mind, and soul,
she did immediately expedite
warming cockles of me heart
analogous to affecting, creating,
forging, jumpstarting, offering, and ushering
ideal paradise island temperature
if measured by degrees balmy fahrenheit
pointing, revealing, shining,
and training a guiding-light
unafraid to defend diminutive
docile, inordinately meek brother,
when threatened courtesy bullies
that significantly towered over mine
below average stature height
a measly little skinny, yet zany
(when within comfort of home) lad
naively oblivious to our mother,
when her first born daughter dynamic,
especially smoldering contention
kindled figurative tinder, which squabble
escalated in intensity
sparking vehement feud to ignite
loosing volatile verbal exchange
triggering The Emergency Alert System
to issue warning
lest clear and present danger
(at 324 Level Road)
recorded in history books
licking, overshadowing, rivaling,
and undermining revolution
kickstarted and hashtagged as Jacobite.
Not all of the boogeymen live under your bed
Some can be worse than concoctions from your head
Not all of them are green, with sharp and jagged teeth
Some of them are orange, and hide their fangs underneath
They try to hide beneath their masquerading wispy mane
But the wind blows their cover, showing it's in vain
They try to trick us into drinking poison, and get into your head
I hope the ones that believed it, didn't end up dead...
They make you think they're on your side, but only ever lie
They can even seem kind of pleasant, until you sever ties
Then they come after you with all the force of a rocket
And if you try to shake their hand, they rip your arm out of the socket
Their bullying can be furious, sometimes even fiery
Writing nasty rumors about you in a very public diary
Making exaggerated motions, hoping to distract you
Luckily some have tiny hands, that would physically impact few
But their words can be damaging and can demand a crowd
Sometimes their biggest weapon, is that they're so very loud
If we collectively ignore them, maybe they'll get no more attention
The very least we can do, to keep up boogeyman prevention
An active adolescent auld adored
before bipolar behavior began,
articulating anger all abhorred,
became Beelzebub’s best boogeyman.
Called clergy congregated, confident,
discerning deep down, devilish divide;
collectively cajoled - concomitant
deemed demonic delivery denied.
Extinguishing exorcism’s effect,
(for fiendish foe, ferocious, fiercely fought)
escaping existentially erect,
found friars’ faith faint-hearted, fairly fraught.
Gregarious, ghost gracious greeting graunts;
hereupon, his holy harassers haunts.
————-
graunt - an archaic spelling of grant
alliteration using the letters of the rhyme pattern: abab cdcd efef gh - a sonnet's rhyme pattern would end in 'gg', but went with a 'gh' couplet, well, because...
silly, struggled with this one - reminds me a little of the Sons of Sceva mentioned in Chapter 19 of Acts...
There is no specific appearance attributed
to the horrifying Boogeyman, he may resemble
Windico or diabolic Krampus; these creatures
are spiteful and like to punish only the good kids.
In my childhood he came around and hunted
my longest nights and alone I started to tremble.
The frightening Boogieman was after the young boys,
he was as frightening as ghosts and gave goosy bumps;
he stalked nice kids who tickled their little chubby bear
at home when their mom was busy styling her frizzy hair.
He came around dusk and peaked in laughing to spot
beautiful children doing their homework by lamplight;
with lots of whims on his mind he got ready to act,
but he didn't know that the Bulldog felt no fright.
He pushed the unlocked door and barged in, then every kid
screamed and ran to the bathroom with a face of white wax;
his groan was a thunder, brave mother swung the long ax...
but the ferocious Bulldog attacked him without being afraid.
The Boogeyman looked too confident, but was overcome by bites
and profusely bled on the chicken floor, he was a defeated fiend;
the watchful Bulldog made sure that he didn't get up and opened eyes:
no mercy for such a monster, justice was done by the kids' best friend.
Let people be—the world shrinks
with internet access, genuine connection
is rare.
none of us is who we claim
we walk, talk, write
mostly in clichés with
breathtaking phrases we
para-plagiarize unknowingly.
most of what we do lacks purpose
the problem, as I see it: too much
focus on another's porridge
not enough care on the hungry
human bidding for connection.
maybe they started with an AI handshake
fixing grammar, or their confidence
how is your dog threatened?
what is this race? can you articulate
your itch, scratch some compassion
off your backside full of insincere rage
in the name of artistic integrity?
no shade, we've all been there,
hot takes aren't wrong
just incomplete, one-dimensional
slices angled to amuse bored strangers
chasing a boogeyman for an imaginary win
on the internet.
spoiler alert, losing the plot like this
makes it tough to spot the bad guy.
Frost wasn't the first to find
two roads where snow fell
long before a self-centered poet
stood cold.
tend your side of the forest
avoid contests with borrowed words
but if you enter a collaboration, I'll cheer
your trophy as loud as mine.
which means I'll likely not mention it
if you know me—I'm loathe
to leave comments,
not for lack of seeing the talent or
appreciating recognition,
but like my poetry, I fear
misunderstanding.
Wee Willy Winky creeps about the town
Into children’s bedrooms he’ll be peeking.
Sometimes if he finds an open window,
into that child’s room he will go sneaking.
He fancies himself a Sandman.
But nothing like the Sandman is he.
No peace does he bring the sleepless kid
as he creeps about in hours that are wee.
He sprinkles no sand into sleepy eyes,
but he slides like a ninja beneath a child's bed,
then mutters low sounds that he thinks are soothing,
but he frightens most children instead!
“Go to sleep; go to sleep,” he sometimes whispers.
Children who hear this are filled with fear.
Too terrified are they to leave their bed.
They think that the boogeyman must be near.
Wee Willy Winky, you do nobody good
as you creep all around in your nightgown.
Some of those you visit get PTSD.
You ought to be jailed and banished from town.
I am what drives anxiety's climb,
stalking darkness, I'm shrouded in shadow.
I was born in primordial slime,
and the more I'm fed, the more I grow,
morphing into terror over time.
I'm what makes you shiver in the dark:
that icy chill that runs up your spine.
I'm the teeth in the jaws of a shark,
and no aura is darker than mine:
a sullied shadow, empty and stark.
I'm the phantom that lurks in the night;
razing hairs on the back of your neck.
I paralyze with a crippling fright
that makes people pause and double-check;
instinctive feelings of fight or flight.
I'm a sound that can summon a tear
with a creak; heard walking up the stairs.
And panic joins me when I appear,
for I am the boogeyman who scares
people of all ages; I am fear.