Long Ghost story Poems
Long Ghost story Poems. Below are the most popular long Ghost story by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Ghost story poems by poem length and keyword.
She was possessed or so they imagined what else could it be
only two years old and already she could speak fluent Spanish
though she never heard the language in the household before;
She cried for her mother and when her mother arrived she said
" mommy what is your name " and then the lights in the room
shut down by themselves...
Then came the night when the window frosted in her bedroom
though it was summer and the temperatures were way above
the window frosted with ice and the roomed chilled to below Zero;
When the Priest attempted an exorcism prayer and genuflected,
she gave out a guttural laugh and yelled, " Padre Arrependito "
repent Father, repent, he ran out of the house like a bat out of hell....
A Ghost Story Poetry Contest
Sponsored by:
Angela Tune Jan 10, 2022
I want to die in your bed
With bittersweet memories,
And a drunken head.
Never want to be alone,
Not for a single moment.
I am scared, scared of the ghost -
That lonely soul in the white garment.
Funny, nowadays I'm feeling lonely too
Maybe that ghost is a mirage of mine,
BOO!
Now, why are you going away,
Leaving me, creating this wound?
Don't you know I can't run after you,
I'm an ancient tree -
A lonely sentinel, deeply soil-bound!
Okay then, let's accept it as my fate
Watching alone this never-ending night,
Dying alone, no resurrection -
This realisation and the sudden fright.
Spirits wander in and wander out
met usually with a painful shout
They give me chills but also wonder
are they real or tales from dark under?
This story is true, happened few years past.
We keep telling so memory lasts.
Four friends were at Joyce's house one day
when Niece Sue stopped by on her way.
Likes genealogy she says now;
found great-grandma with Ancestry's prow.
Her portrait is on my bookcase, Joyce notes.
We'll look before leaving, a friend votes.
She might have died in disgrace, Sue states:
abortion is what her obit relates.
Back in the year eighteen eighty-nine
quite common--birth control unrefined.
just then a loud crash in bookcase room--
sounds of glass breaking--impending doom!
All rushed in to find, faded and worn,
Grandma's portrait had been cut and torn.
No living creature was in that room
to push the portrait to final doom.
Her spirit may have disliked words said
she wants to leave that incident dead.
I believe spirits are here night and day,
rather not see them, if that's okay.
January 10, 2022
for Angela Tune's Ghost Story Contest
[Contains - for effect - deliberate miss-spelling
and bad grammar]
That old pirate cave was a tourist attraction
The guide was in period dress
In old pirate garb and a well practiced script
This tale he would tell to impress…
*
“Rob ‘The Rum’ was often glum
It’s how the grog would make him
And spiteful too, with things he’d do
And kids would go home shaking
He’d scare with ‘pirate antics’ boasts
And frighten them with tales of ghosts
Until one day they all fled, crying
But horses hooves left six there, dying
At threat of the noose they told him deny
the stories he’d told and that ghosts were a lie
At last he conceded, then lost and dejected
said, ‘There ain’t no ghosts, I stand here corrected.’
But justice it seems weren’t too fair in them days
So though he concurred he was hanged anyways
But maybe his God tried to save that old sot
For his neck never broke with the slip of the knot
And so with legs kickin like some headless chicken
He begged and he pleaded to be cutted down
And folk turned away but one heard him say
‘My ghost shall forever lay waste to this town.’
And even today there’s people what say
They’ve seen old Rob here in his cave
I do not deceive and you should believe
That you’re either you’re stupid or brave.”
*
Then outside the cave into which they were crammed
A loud banging sound as a car door slammed
Every head turned to see what went on
And the Pirate announced it was time he was gone
An angry, but tatty, faux pirate, appeared
In fancy dress clothes and a clearly fake beard
At first he said nothing, his face wore a sneer
And then he yelled, “How did you lot get in here?”
One visitor said, “Yer man let us in,
the one with ugly great scar on his chin.”
The faux pirate said “It’s a slack time of year
It’s the middle of winter… there’s only me here.”
He turned to the clatter of horses on cobbles
And fled when he had an attack of the wobbles
And a voice, just an echo announced to the party
“You do know there ain’t any ghosts…
Me hearty.”
9 January 2022
Contest: A Ghost Story
Sponsor: Angela Tune
Since she passed on I now live on my own
In a new town not just a new street
No more must I listen to that woman moan
But she’s haunting me through the loo seat
In view of her ‘training’ I lift up the seat
But then leave it up out of spite
And in this new house where I now have no spouse
It should stay like that though the night
But it gets me down and gives me a frown
Whenever I go for a pee
For when I go back in that loo seat is down
And it sure wasn’t put down by me
In darkness or light I will leave the seat raised
Yet next time I go take a leak
It’s down and I wish I could say I’m unfazed
But no floorboard ever did creak
I did ask the fella who lived here before
He gasped an incredulous groan
His first wife had lived by the adage
Of killing two birds with one stone
He too had once married a girl who seemed sweet
But then he could do nothing right
And if he should leave up the loo seat
She’d slam it down hard in the night
But buying his house was as odd as can be
You might think the chances are slim
My wife, bless her soul, who was married to me
Before that… was married to him
18 July 2022
Contest: One In Five 2
Theme: 5 - A Ghost Story
Sponsor: Joseph May
"Dark-heaving . . . boundless, endless, and sublime . . ."
Lord Byron 1788-1824
_____________________
I am the wordsmith, guide and editor of this narrative,
this epic chronicle and story of abysmal dream love;
my fingers are ink-stained and worn from writing,
this account of my journey is both tragic and dreadful;
it is a ghost story both poetic and darkly painful.
I awoke one night to find a gossamer shape watching,
it was vague, misty and hovered vapor-like;
the form soon became a phantasmal beautiful man,
ethereal and cloud-born, unworldly and spiritual;
he floated about my bed whispering my name endlessly.
His face was noble with a smile dazzling,
fathomless eyes made me feel so calm and wanted;
when he reached for me I felt glorious and filled with love,
his touch was sublime and he whispered I was his;
at that moment- I was whirling into darkness.
I gasped and realized his skin was corpse-like cold,
oh, was he the spirit of a dead man- an apparition;
a ghostly shadow come the take me to some deathly destination,
but when the specter spoke it was like a warm wave;
washing over my soul and I found my arms embracing him.
All night I lay in his celestial strong arms kissing his lips,
it felt both heavenly and decaying and I had to escape;
I had to leave this divine desire- and this beautiful man,
so with all my strength I pushed, pushed him away;
and his arms became threadlike reaching out for me, reaching.
I woke in the morning in my bed with sun shining brightly,
but my blankets and feet were grave stained with mud;
and I fell back weeping for this love boundless, and endless.
______________________________
May 14, 2019
Poetry/Narrative/I Am The Wordsmith, Guide and Editor
Copyright Protected, ID 19-1144-258-02
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
Written for the contest, Epic Ethereal Editor
sponsor, William Kekaula
Second Place
___________________________________
Submitted to FGI Blog Series 20 - Epic
Brian Strand
Podium Place 1
OUTSIDE THE CITY
Outside the city where the pomegranates grow,
I take a silent breath and walk a little slow,
The cottage I live in is not too far away,
All covered with ivy and an open doorway;
Outside the city where the icy waters flow,
There's a hidden garden where I often go,
Having ruby red apples and bottle green pears,
All ready to eat but there's no one who cares;
Outside the city where the unearthly folks show,
I take a tiny step and talk a little low,
The cottage I came for is right in front of me,
But there are others inside where I ought to be;
Outside the city where I had died long ago,
You can hear my laughter and laugh with me also,
I'm munching merrily on the apples and pears,
While inside my cottage others enjoy the scares.
28 April 2016
For Angela Tune's "A Ghost Story" contest
When Grandma died I inherited things,
jewelry, dishes, furniture and a doll;
I loved all 'cause I am a person who clings,
the best was her rocking chair and shawl.
It became clear that the chair had a ghost,
you guessed it, Grandma had come along;
but I did not mind and could see her almost,
and often I heard her singing an old song.
A friend who claims to see ghosts came to visit,
walking around she stood by the chair;
she was staring and I whispered can you see it,
and turned to me saying there is a pair.
A pair? Whatever do you mean dear friend,
well, it seems your Grandma brought her cat;
oh, do not be afraid as into your life they will blend,
so, I have a ghost with a cat- wearing a hat !
__________________________
January 13, 2022
Poetry/Rhyme/The Ghost in My House
Copyright Protected, ID 01-1421-165-13
All Rights Reserved, 2022, Constance La France
Written for the Standard contest, A Ghost Story
sponsor, Angela Tune, Judged 01/13/2022
Honorable Mention
I feel that eyes are watching me,
But hope I am alone;
‘Though in the fog I cannot see -
And then I hear a moan.
My hairs on end, I ask, ’Who’s there?’
And feel again the weighty stare…
My hairs on end
My hairs on end
I want to shout but do not dare.
I feel that eyes are watching me,
So scared I cannot move,
I need the light to help me flee,
And hope it will improve.
I pray for help to guide me through,
And do not know what else to do…
I pray for help
I pray for help
And cannot think, my mind like glue.
I feel that eyes are watching me,
The fog begins to clear;
Whatever will the watcher be?
I can’t describe my fear.
The creature nears - such evil eyes -
And no one there to hear my cries…
The creature nears
The creature nears
My end has come, I realise…
Jack Horne for Gail’s Stranded or Ghost Story contest
Using the Trijan Refrain, created by Jan Turner
She nodded to the fishman, 'a zombie is in here',
He headed to the door so it would be more clear.
It was the last of the zombies told to the ectoplasmic man,
He was tied to a chair so couldn't even stand.
The zombie spoke the name of Huntley,
Then his head exploded rather timely.
Off they drove to find this man in the monestary,
It was late and dark, and awfly scary.
The path to the chapel was filled with more zombies?!?
Their guns took them down with the breeze!
Robert Huntley, 'hahahahahaha', loudly laughed!
He had dug up the grave within the building's draft.
Possessed he was with a skeleton necklace,
Then tranqualized down by the B.P.R.D. wreckless.
Yegor Kurya was the one to possess,
But his day would end with his bones six-foot caressed!
Wednesday, January 12, 2022
A Ghost Story Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Angela Tune
Story poetized from 'Another Day At the Office', Mike Mignola