Long Horrified Poems
Long Horrified Poems. Below are the most popular long Horrified by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Horrified poems by poem length and keyword.
She did not mean to kill him
But she did
A never before unknown self
Had risen from the bowels of preservation
He had approached her with a claw hammer
And something snapped
Possibly because she had already had three hospital visits
Black eye, broken jaw, bruised tibia, broken collar bone,
All accidents.
Oh no he would never hurt her
You saved yourself, her relatives told her. Good for you.
You are evil, his relatives told her. You deserve all kinds of punishments.
She was horrified,
Not realizing she had
This self-preservation in her.
The first two years had been wonderful before the beatings began.
She grieved those two years the ten years she was in prison.
Betty McNee was a curiously well-rounded kid
She sparkled and shone with whatever she did
She took after her grandpop, Jimmy McNee
Scottish and smart, she was joyful with glee.
Your granddad was wonderful the boxers all said.
They were horrified to find out Jimmy was dead.
If you need anything, we’ll bring round some money.
They all thought Jimmy's granddaughter was a really sweet honey.
An invitation to Betty came in the mail one fine day.
It was from Nepal and Tibet, countries way far away.
I loved your grandpa, the invitation said. Please come to stay.
She put on her plaids and she went right away.
The letter writer was a Yeti, a really great guy.
He had thought a lot of her grandpa, up in the sky.
They formed a partnership and wrote raps together.
She stayed there through December, until the bad weather.
Why don’t you come back to the states with me?
She asked the Yeti, as sweet as could be.
He blushed with pink, at this crazy bold thought.
Deciding to stay, where he was welcome a lot.
But they continued to write, this Yeti and Lass.
They were lifelong friends, and they traveled first class.
When they visited each other, under shadow of night.
For weird twisted people might not have thought it was right.
Behold & beware…
green comet
sails through
cadaverous darkness
on its journey through
Sol’s neighborhood
Gaia’s parasites
blink at
the luminous
icy rock
(they are
pummeled by
shocking storms
& plagued with stormy
delusions)
It’s official:
humankind is
on the glowing rocks
(obviously a major malfunction)
dodging more shoes
dropping like conspiring flies
out of a corrosive sky
caught between interstellar cigars
& hard places
as the gods play dice
with entangled eons
Aargh & Yikes!
rumbles a horrified poet
seeking & evading
The Good, The Bad &
The Ultimate
in celestial entrails
within fields of nightmares
blindsided by
diseased deities
bearing apocalyptic gifts
blinded by
tormenting tardigrades
waiting for the last laugh
Indeed
it is exhausting
to escape event horizons
& evade Martian ironists
posing as poisoned
dust devils
howling coldly
growling boldy
Where No Pen has Gone Before
The dead roach with its upended crinkly legs
has been lying in the windowsill for at least four weeks.
I would get rid of it, except...
nothing has amused me for years half as much
as people's horrified reactions when they notice her.
This poor ugly black dead thing.
I have decided to have a tiny plaque made, and a little glass coffin.
I will put her into the coffin, and glue my "snow white" plaque on the side,
ever so sweetly.
I will caution the taxidermist to make sure the legs remain up, as it is the cutest thing.
I will then pay him to stuff and stand seven little dead flies or ants.
His choice.
I will put little hats and vests on them and label them too.
Grumpy will really look grumpy.
This will bring the dead roach to a whole new level.
It might even embarrass the custodian,
but as she clearly has not noticed this dead roach in four or five weeks,
perhaps not.
Are your books a treasured possession,
That you treat with great respect?
Always use a bookmark,
Keep them quite perfect.
Or are you the reader
Who turns the corner down?
Who's books are worn and comfortable,
Dog eared and beat around.
Do you scribble in the margins?
Or crack open the spine?
Leave a book splayed open,
Or do you consider this a crime?
Are books to you so sacred
That they always look pristine,
Once you've finished reading
They still look new and clean.
I always use a bookmark,
Of this I must confess.
My Granny would be horrified
If I did anything less.
But as for keeping them unblemished,
This I can't declare,
Some of them are well travelled
And showing signs of wear.
They have been on beaches,
Stuffed inside suitcase's,
Got sand and water damage
And even suncream traces.
Some have been pre-loved before,
Been handed down to me
And whether they were treated well,
This I couldn't guarantee.
I know that books are precious,
I try not to destroy.
I want to share them with you,
Let everyone enjoy.
3rd March 2017
What is she making? Someone asks, wondering aloud.
She is a pretty girl, friendly, but not overly loud.
It looks like something red, someone replies. Maybe berries?
There is a little bit of tittering from the tea leaf faeries.
She is making eyeball tea, they begin to sing in rhyme.
It is lemon like, so fruity, we drink it all the time!
The elves are horrified, for they are a tiny bit prissy.
Come have some I say to my best friend and my sissy.
Eyeball tea! You are kidding! My sister says. Right?
Come and taste it, I tell her. It is simply out of sight.
Once you have it you will not want to drink anything else ever.
I see the elves and gnomes sitting back. One gives a shiver.
Looking in the mirror,
I see a woman who,
Mocks and humiliates me.
She looks back with a horrified face,
As having to endure living the,
Many years that has been,
Tested by the lines tolerated,
By experience and pain,
As time has passed.
Technology and history of a land,
Betrayed by the many ancestors,
Of our founding forefathers,
Long ago dead from this new country.
A world they would no longer,
Would know if alive.
This country they built.
They honored.
They fought for.
Yet these same new citizens,
Which can only be viewed as,
Traitors now fight against USA.
I look in the mirror as this face,
Shows tears falling like our country.
My hand touches the face of the,
Woman as I feel her tears,
Then I realize this woman is me and,
I Cry for this country that is lost and,
May never be saved.
There is an old hag that guards the way, she’s a witch, I think.
This was told to me by a child with large eyes and cheeks so pink
I wanted to climb up those stairs to the haunted mansion anyway.
So, I ignored her warnings at the end of this Halloween day.
The black cat I met at the bottom gave me an insane stare.
I felt he could bite my arm off and would not even care.
What is your name? I asked, thinking to make conversation.
He snarled and clawed me on my foot without hesitation.
I shrieked and screamed and wailed and ran from the steps.
He was on me like a thrown bit of dynamite said my cousin Peps.
I was so horrified, that I was not sure what had happened in truth.
You were screaming like a banshee baby said my cousin Ruth.
I am avidly binge watching building shows at a marathon pace.
Somehow feeling it is keeping me in touch with the whole human race.
The prices are outrageous, out of my league or comfort zone.
I am horrified at the lot prices, astronomically expensive alone.
Some of these rich of the wealthy pay more for the glazing than whole houses I have owned.
They seem to start with unique ideas that sound completely new.
However, by the time they are finished they are all the same hue.
Why I have spent countless hours watching this building show,
Is anyone’s guess, but I think I secretly know.
It keeps me from mundane, housework that always feels undone.
It keeps me from mopping and cleaning, that are simply no fun.
It saves me from doing boring tasks here and there,
It keeps me from wasting time on stuff for which I simply don’t care.
So if the phone rings, or someone is at the door, and I do not answer, during my binge.
Know that I’m enjoying a new surroundings, and guilt I do not feel even a twinge.
Warlocks, witches and wizards appear,
as they do this time every year,
exposing craggy faces, screeching sounds,
and sowing blood magic as fear abounds.
Guarding my head with pillowed quilt
hoping my craven face won’t melt!
But I cry out panicked! Horrified!
They pass me by on their frightful ride.
White-hot power rends me paralyzed
and by despair and anguish traumatized.
Terror races through my iced blood
reverberating a tortuous thud.
Ghouls and zombies teeming around
burgeoning in and out around town.
I pray to survive till sun arises
and confront no more horrid surprises.
Halloween is suitably scary.
I am vigilant, and wary.
Once-a-year is enough for me.
I savor being eerie- and freaky-free!!