Long Eerily Poems
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Halloween moon shines bright
Along the dark streets at night
Little kids dressed as ghosts and goblins
Light up dark walkways and paths
Owls and black cats eerily decorate
Windowsills under orange mini lights
Everyone is out searching for candy
Even the grown pranksters are out for a
Night of fun filled laughter and pranks
Moonlight also casts shadows
On forgotten cemetery gravestones
Only to awaken sleeping spirits, but
No evil ones will be lurking tonight
9/24/19
Contest: Halloween Moon Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Chantelle Anne Cooke
Up in the attic out of sight, a chest lay undiscovered, it contained the skeletal remains
of Lucy's one time lover,
Her life before had been so hard, her looks a little faded. In desperation Lucy made a
deadly deal with Satan,
It began upon a winters night, as she sat by the fire. The flames danced as she was
mesmerised, her aspirations soaring higher,
"I wish that I could find a way to keep eternal youth, what I would not give for such a
gift, and that's the honest truth."
As Lucy spoke her thoughts aloud, unaware of who would listen, that Devil heard Lucy by
the fire, delighted by her vision.
He rubbed his hands and called his demons, saying "Gather round and listen. Tonight Lucy
gets her hearts desire, a demonic granted prison."
Lucy tired by the fire and quickly fell asleep, unaware that to her home the underworld
did creep.
The house was eerily silent as the devil entered in. He stood before Lucy with eyes
ablaze, and a delicious tempting sin
"Awaken child and hear my words; a deal I come to make. In return for beauty, wealth and
fame, your soul I'd like to take."
Lucy opened up her eyes, this could not be what it seemed, until that which was the devil
smiled, saying "Here Lucy, take you're dreams."
Her need for vanity was her vice. Her obsession was her looks. What harm, she wondered,
could there be if this offer she now took?
"Satan why do you tempt me so? Do you consider me so weak that I would chose to sell my
soul for trinkets, jewels and beads?"
"My child," the devil then replied, "I see just what you seek. I already know what's in
your heart. Tonight I took a peep."
"Well maybe I could make a deal, but my soul is not for sale. Surely there is some
service I could provide, that my looks should never fail?"
Satan knew what Lucy meant. More, I'm sure, than she, "Agreed," he answered looking
pleased, "Now here's what the terms will be..."
Since advent of *****sapiens
objection overruled against immortality
all across millenniums humans
generated, amplified, and
idly reverberated (Billy me) rebel yell,
when finality 'twixt consciousness
eternal existence doth die as well
grievous news laudable hospice staff did tell
us (meaning yours truly plus
his deux darling siblings), I
in addition to older and younger sister,
thru passionate love making
intercourse did propel
seeds of life embarking
upon parent trap role
til sands of time did runneth out, and
for whom (him) the death knell
bell tolled, now funereal shroud covers dell.
Born April 9th, 1929 - Hebrew
ancestry papa never witnessed affection,
whereby his father - a liberal Jew
(mine paternal grandfather)
purportedly gave nary a blues clue
about welfare regarding youngest son
christened Boyce Brandon Harris,
who harbored quashed feelings
glommed like figurative ague
nsync with chowing down
into his esophageal flue
peristalsis allowing, enabling,
and providing gurgling goo
gull faintly sounding
to (my lard) Doctor Seuss
eerily similar to Horton hears a hoo
after milk (deciduous) teeth
gave way to papa's adult choppers
(by George), whereby
he could thoroughly chew
heavily saturated high caloric ethnic cuisine
(albeit American, Chinese,
and eats of ethnic Jew),
which high cholesterol comestibles
probably contributed to congestive heart failure,
now plaguing papa on his deathbed - loo
zing his tenuous grip on life,
where rigor mortis will find his body
chilled courtesy cold storage queue.
I feel sad today (September 29th, 2020)
and inconsolably weep,
cuz the man who helped beget me
after coroner pronounces
lovely bones lifeless heap
immediate fate most likely cremated
versus buried six feet deep
despite absence of his presence
cherished memories of his value,
yours truly will keep
plus recalling mine boyhood
chuck of full of bliss
particularly driving, fending, staving... off
bogeyman or any other menacing creep.
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
looking beyond discovery
within one universe
the dark side
faceless without moon
illusion shadows
taking you there
were a fire burns
heart burning dreams
nightmares of reality
a maze
of colours
begin fading
imprisoned eerily
invading black cells
opening hell's gate
eating the light
meaningless hurt
inflicted upon ache
the animal inside
begins to roar
deep churning emotions
mixing feelings
in a cauldron
slowly dying inside
to enter the land
of walking dead
love eats into pain
demonic torture
cold face
of truth
light within reason
slowly coming out
of the dark
clouds shedding tears
a crow caws
entering grey area
one bell strikes
tolling slowly
echoed in
the deep cave
a heart died
out of love
here lies
one broken heart
buried
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.
Tonight the spirits fly unleashed;
released from limbo soaring free.
Tonight the creaking graves unbind
incarcerated souls and they flutter,
like bats in the darkness, as tricks
of light - a treat, unfettered.
How many troubled souls are imprisoned in
the living? Unforgiving, haunting,
existing in the moment but trapped
by the past. Mouths agape, eerily staring,
and tormenting the senses like ghosts
everlasting. Forgotten by day,
but returning by night, out of sight,
but possessing the sweating, clammy, bed-bound
minds as they restlessly toss and turn, wracked
with the guilt of misdemeanour and sin.
It is the stuff of nightmares and
troubled dreaming,of pounding hearts
and laboured breathing; pacing feet,
in corridors of blame so unforgiving.
This is the terror of the living.
Buried beneath blood-shot baby doll eyes
where drowns dark truths dwelling empty despair,
finds five fraught faces from false idol lies
clinging cold-coffins caused by cruel affair;
Saddled by sorrow seen in mother’s stare,
washed while awaiting where water is filled
pouring in porcelain planned to be killed;
Languishing lost lacking warmth much less love,
ended in eerily foul episodes,
angrier now than Almighty above
mumbling murmurs in murderous modes;
Ripe for wrongs reversed through revengeful roads,
tantalized terrors too tempted to taste
blood brought by bathwater boiling in baste;
Chastised and chided, these children chilling
journey for justice with jealous intent,
mystically moving, maddened minds milling,
howling horrific while haunting content;
For sins suffered by souls salvation bent,
never they rest now, now nestled in night,
purposed, their plight, seeks parents punished right;
Aiming as arrows at any ones found,
dripping disgust at desolate devils,
grumble gigantic than gnash to the ground
lustfully lashing in lunatic levels;
As rancid bells heard, rusted rung rebels,
thoroughly thrashing throats within their reach,
fifty fingers, if figured, ten for each.
And why wouldn’t what withered weary do,
dragged desperate to death by der’lict brain,
taught terrible things when tongues tied untrue
incited mother inside turned insane?
Silence should swallow who speaks sour on slain,
judgments be gentle, gestate not Hell’s gates,
for these are the children of Andrea Yates.
9/16/2016
Submitted For: Scare Me Good Poetry Contest
It is unnatural to start a war or a fight
Ladies and gentlemen, I know that I am right
Violence solves nothing, on the contrary
Chaos or violence makes things bad and eerily.
Soldiers are people too: they are our brothers
Sisters, fathers, mothers, cousins, aunts, grandfathers
Grandmothers, relatives, friends and visitors
They need to be protected all the time and at all hours.
If you want to fight, go fight your own stupid wars
Humans must behave better than wild and mulish tigers
If you want war, go ahead to get killed like dumb boars.
Only idiots, bullies and zombies behave like vampires
Let the babies and toddlers enjoy absolute normal lives
The world needs peace, love, harmony and fresh flowers.
Copyright © March 2026, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved
Hébert Logerie is the author of several books of poetry.
On this dreadful, stormy night,
beneath a moon hung low,
the wind whispers through the pines,
sending chills down to your soul.
The leaves have all but withered,
the birds have long since flown.
The snakes begin to slither,
the spider’s web full grown.
As the night grows eerily still,
the only sound--a raven’s cry.
Then a shadow streaks the sky,
followed by a frightful shrill.
You want to run away,
but curiosity knows no bounds.
Yet the longer you delay…
you may end up underground.
You near the creepiest of houses,
your heart filled with dread and doubt.
But still you rap--rap, rap, rap!--
and Trick or Treat! you shout.
Happy Halloween!
Alesia Leach © 10/2014