Long Ghastly Poems
Long Ghastly Poems. Below are the most popular long Ghastly by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Ghastly poems by poem length and keyword.
Picket chitter chatter about posh pitter patter at Henley Regatta scoff for that matter at the natter which does flatter SW19 scene & don't give a jot about that lot at Ascot..the big ticket for the English toff summer is a visit to the home of cricket..
Old father time’s hold over his many wards
Mystery of the history hoards told marauds
Nooks & crannies mould books of records
Symphony scored sold on adored chords
Famed for the gold framed named boards
As teams and bold dreams cross swords
Peruse the queues that start before 8
Members remember the embers of fate
Quest for best seating you can’t be late
Bleating a fleeting greeting at Grace gate
Blazer with crest for their guest do wait
Dearly nearly yearly meeting with a mate
Linen suits competing cahoots see a spate
Die hard scorecard scribe should venerate
Suss a them & us tribe vibe does permeate
Josh subscribe to a golly gosh folly & fete
Farce awash with fuss cloche on nosh trait
VIP pass posh wally with off his trolley gait
Bollinger harbinger scoff do quaff a crate
Just ar*e twee look at me upper class date
Holler that working class squalor will irritate
Elite no blue collar street scholar reprobate
Bacon & eggs hues repeating Test portrait
Prices vastly soared stop ghastly hordes
Boxes chock a block with corporate frauds
No fan roared everyone…politely applauds
Panamas, trilbys or fedora do doff towards
Caveats for toff twa*s cravats Lords awards
Our fancy dress is outlawed caused discords
Sneer at beer from kegs cheer more Landlords
No dregs shaggy hair diadoras & baggy cords
Begs no diaspora from poorer smorgasbords
A ticket to the home of cricket though affords
The chance to roam and to reap rare rewards
Champers is poured toasting the scoreboards
Stored hampers explored boasting the accords
Hosting encores bar detours welcome to Lords
Poets and The World
6/28/2025
I got a cup of steaming,cinnamon coffee at dawn..
Knew it would be one-hundred,, outdoo and I hastily yawned!
Got my ipad to read Poetry Soup and read some poet- cads,
It seems some poets, just dedicated to being angry or sad!
The world is not going the way of their childish, selfish hopes
So their only joy is to drown all world leaders as dopes?
Morning condemnation is their breakfeast sensation.
And serve it to us.,on a hateful, putridpoetic presentation
Only…it is not poetry! Just empty souls,who pollute us with fear…
Who consider, their writing, vast vessels of to smear!
Why don’t you tell us of the ghastly sins on your hearts?
One is envy, one is a natiion you write about killing~ you are mean, not smart!
Why not gratefull be, love all fellow men, show us your human heart?
Jealousy is a Vice red,I feel like I am walking in it!
So you despise the rich, as if they were pure,rancid crud?
Tell us of what university you did attend, great or small!
Stop being so small, destroying wih your pen!
All who gave much to employ and a made a chance for us to get ahead!
You might think you are intellectually hot stuff?
Because you destroy countries and humans with
with your poisonous pen!
But God gave you no such command,,my friend.
To all the other poets with humility and who write with elegance and wonder, I thank you so much. You are examples to me of God’s Shining Touch.
Danke,
Pangie
THE COLD CLING OF SPRING
Pretty petals ferociously fall as Spring releases its fury.
Blooming cherry blossoms in disarray, decry a disaster.
Rosebuds refuse to unfurl like a flummoxed fist of stubbornness.
Like moray eels, the moss morphs into a menacing hue,
as blackened clouds crowd out the signs of light and life.
The wind in winey whisper, wallows and whips up, into meringue swells.
Pathological pines, with nesting nettles, fly through worried windows,
and ornery oaks uncork an unholy battle for the braveheart to lose.
Voracious ivy vines, unwind, wrap up a horrified house like a ghastly gift.
Teeny tiny eyes in buried basements hearken to the howl of the harried storm.
Sheltered shells of confusion, await the arrival of calm and catastrophe.
Flash of a fresh new day, finds friends hugging, holding hands, waxing wings
of action, surveying the skies, the smiling sun, the warmth
of Winter’s waning and Spring’s taming. Yet the cold clings
to the forest of ferns and forget-me-nots, fretting at mocking skies,
mottled in chaotic cataclysmic chokehold like weary wrestlers.
When will this season settle down? Dreary and drowning in snow and rain.
Disdain on bushy brows. Parasols on parade in perpetual mourning frown.
Still evergreen buds, buddy up to branches, and dot-to-dot blossoms
appear amidst a washed out willow slowly sipping sanguine revelry.
3/27/2018
Silent One’s Alliteration Contest
It was a night so dark, so damp; the fog swirled thick about the lamp,
a night not fit for man or beast, a night on which tender hearts ceased
to care about mankind's suffering, so nasty was the storm buffeting
the tiny humble New England town, its weathered cape cods all battened down.
When of a sudden a cry rang out, piercing the fog with a shriek and a shout:
Did it herald the dawn of a better day? --Or just proclaim, "Man's lost his way."
Shutters opened, blinds upward flew; Denizens craned their necks for a ring-
side view.
Where was the man who'd issued the cry? Was it a sign of life, or would they
all die?
Just then a riderless horse galloped down, streaking its way through the town,
tossing its mane right then left; of its mystery rider long sine bereft:
Whence the cry had come, no one could tell; when an unearthly voice, straight from Hell
split the night with a ghastly shriek; shutters slammed tight--no one dared
peek,
As the horse veered away, frightened itself, by the Devil's advance along with
his elfs,
Crescendoes of wailing blackened the night--of a poor humble town in a fight for its life.
Sun's flames burn through hazy, midday heat
Raising fierce winds -- dusty, choking ...
Fiery orb descending toward horizon's lair
~ Ghostly white moon rises, painted on low-ceilinged sky
Bare, brown patches spread, invading once-proud green mantles
Parched blades wither, yielding to ceaseless daily inroads
Of blighted blotches, rank weeds, strangling lush herbage
~ Signs of fading Summer's sad soliloquies
Flowers vanish, decapitated stick figures
Barren, beheaded stalks, twisting, turning
On their ghastly way, headless horsemen of the day
~ Sere petals grinning, decked out in obsolescence
Moist green leaves prematurely crinkle brown
Unmoored from twig or branch, breeze by
Face up, now capricious, flip over, nurse Earth's bosom
~ Signs of fading Summer's sad soliloquies
Crickets' symphonies screech endlessly
Fireflies lanterns flicker on-off, on-off, on-off
Abrupt descent of Humidity's airless curtain
~ Summer soliloquies' soundless denouement
My uncle's farm lay nestled in the central Wisconsin hills
A beautiful location sure to cure this city boy's ills
So imagine my delight when invited to stay a week
During summer vacation, this was certain to be unique!
As we approached the house appeared a lumbering St Bernard
Whose regal name was "Caesar" skilled in protecting the front yard
If Caesar didn't know you he'd send you running for your life
His master's safe word left me slathered in drool, sticky and white.
Near the back door the gray feral cat "Bluebell" kept me in awe
As I reached out to pet her she became a Langolier buzzsaw!
Shaken but not stirred, I entered the house without further fuss
In the kitchen barking like a dog was their pet pig named "Gus."
Gus was running around the kitchen chasing after beagle "Snoopy"
Snoopy (primary herd dog), Gus (Snoopy's primary groupie)
When Snoopy springs into action they just leave him on his own
They know Snoopy will not return until all of the cows come home.
The yummy supper was comprised of the finest, freshest food
Sitting there quite satisfied and not wanting to appear rude
Said "I need to use the bathroom, is there one on either floor?"
First came silence, then laughter, "You'll find it outside the back door!"
It was night, pitch-black dark, there was psycho Bluebell's ghastly howl
Plus hosts of other nocturnal beasties surely on the prowl
Turning on the flashlight I made a beeline for the latrine
The visual and odors did not make an inviting scene.
Just like other things in life, subsequent "breaks" were not as bad
The fun on the farm the rest of the week left me very glad
I received hands-on experience in churning fresh butter
I milked cows twice daily by manipulating their udders
I rode the wide hay wagon pulled by the bright green farm tractor
I dropped hay bales, my allergies were the limiting factor,
Ending up with severe hay fever after only two days
The city boy jokes I had to endure left me in a daze!
Fifty years later I fondly reminisce about that week
My week on the farm, of which I now hardly find time to speak
There's joy in working a farm seeing the beauty of the land,
And the satisfaction that comes from working with one's own hands!
accursed creepily haunting
Phantasmagoria wraiths
vandalize residents psyches
within their sleep induced state
Sublimation shunts
slumbering souls
unknowingly held hostage
successfully sacrificing
Semi-smothered silent species
snoring simians steadfastly succumb
subsequent sibilant sounds
woo woebegone wicked transmogrification
dilapidated divested bodies deposited
wizard waves wand
watching whirling wretched lovely bones
whipsawing (in toto) within abyss
whooshing whistling wheezing
whets warlocks appetite wakening
brutish nasty nightmare
sinister hulking spirits
steal assorted corporeal essence
monstrous mashing somnambulant
mephistophelian shadowy satanic satyrs
supremely swallow senior citizen bankers
deep within catacombs
of Highland Manor,
deadened defeated Delphic Oracle
relegates human husks,
viz spent embodiments
to the under world lay siege
sinisterly seeding, via sinister spirits
one pure evil particularly wicked
witch thy capering
sickening ghastly plot against
unsuspecting spouse snatched
parch trey gnarled warty claws.
Earth element of wind, elusive to exploring eyes,
a gaseous, gusty ghost, she gyrates- gallops gallantly.
She bashes, bends, and bobs the branches of each bush and tree,
and chases, circles, curls dry fallen leaves so agilely.
We hear her bellow, bawl, and bluster when she's feeling fierce;
soft sounds of swishing, stirring- sighing when serene and tame.
With solid, staunch, and strapping strength, she soon can shift a house
within a raucous, raging, raving, reckless, hurricane.
She cools, controls, composes in the sultry summer heat,
forms wild and wheeling waves with whitecaps on the widespread sea;
a force that's fearless, frantic, sometimes, feeble- frail, she flies,
impermanent, intangible, she soars invisibly.
This ghastly glimmer of great ghostly gumption rushes by,
a force that is not sculpture, shadow, silhouette, or shape.
We feel and hear her apt and awesome atmospheric breath-
until she plans her fast, flirtatious, feathery escape.
March 18, 2016
~1st Place~
Contest: 2019 Poetry Marathon Qualifier's Final Placement
Sponsor: Mark Toney
Judged: 04/20/2019
~1st Place~
Contest: 2019 Poetry Marathon Mile 22
Sponsor: Mark Toney
Judged: 03/08/2019
~1st Place~
Contest: Elements Part 2: Wind
Sponsor: Brian Davey
Judged: 3/29/2016
*Alliteration, Rhyme, written in Iambic Heptameter,
14 Syllables, 7 feet per line
Some fun with Shakespearean Sonnet
The sword locked tight and firm within the stone
awaits a heart with strong undaunted faith,
oft tempered hard by fire the dragon's blown;
not cowered down before a ghastly wraith.
Too often those without intrepid souls,
though with the strength of lions at their hest,
believe it only takes one mighty pull
to loose the brand now locked within this breast.
But power isn't born from strength without,
it is the light of truth within the pure
that need not raise a fist nor feign a shout
to earn a faith and love that shall endure.
With gentle silent solemn hand he grasps
and slowly frees Excalibur at last.
Although I hold a trace of fading reveries
How quick it drifts like sand wiping out the glow,
My heels roam a barren land through ominous hours
Raked by self- isolation mercilessly; where grief
Could never become an option in this soddy-ruddy place,
When night erases me from folds of reason
That once honored wise and knowing thoughts:
A roughened ground is now sucked up from the earth’s clay--
The kind that's hard to siphon root to leaves,
And I tremble alone on mounds of wired briar and nettle…
Until a white hawk chants its desert tune,' whit, woo,' flinging
Ghastly shadows across a moonless sky; that in
Breaths of near danger, this heart gradually awakens
To wrap me in some sacred presence within eve’s oasis …
An intercepted light nourishing my thirst for hope, for courage
As if heaven bestows that shimmer I find
Through my inner eyes…just one more time.
For Edward Ibeh: I Wander The Desert Alone Contest
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10/14/2018