Long Scare Poems
Long Scare Poems. Below are the most popular long Scare by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Scare poems by poem length and keyword.
I wish
To demolish my sorrow…
I wish
To forget the despair and gleefully grow…
To forgive and seek the challenges of tomorrow…
My downfalls and my failures…
I wish
To disappear
I wish
I had no fear…
For God’s near…
I wish
I could be a cheetah in the grassland
I wish
To store all of my energy for an evening run…I’d never give up in the process
I wish
My whole spirit could simply sponge in God’s nature and make great progress
And I truly wish
I could stick to my daily plans of building a sturdier relationship with God
I wish
I had the merriness in my life especially during hardships…
My countless wishes
Brings me down to my weakest point…
My countless wishes
Overthrows me…but it helps me in the long run…
I wish I could forgive
My daily regrets and breakdowns
I wish I could forget
My despondency – embracing my frowns
I wish
To live a life without error
Without a care
I wish
To be flawless when I make my everyday decisions
And scare away
The darkness that tries to make me give up
I wish
I had more time to overcome…
These waves of emotions
My countless wishes
Brings me down to my disheartened state…
My countless wishes
Are like walls from every direction closing in on me…
But it’s a convenient tool in the future…
I wish
I could be live in someone else’s shoes…
But what good would it do?
Would it lead me to the narrow pathway?
Would it inspire me to push all of my doubts away?
Would it push away the blues?
Could He give me any clues?
Form:
The Grim Reaper calls; I invite him in with a smile
Halloween night, everyone’s wearing creepy costumes
Eerie figures are dancing round my bubbling cauldron
Guessing who is wearing each costume is difficult
Realistic blood drips down the fangs of one vampire!
I'm so impressed all my friends have made such an effort
Mummies, witches, ghosts and zombies are having such fun
Right on the stroke of midnight there’s a spine-chilling scream
Everyone bursts out laughing ... then we find a body
All eyes turn and see the Grim Reaper’s bloody scythe
Petrified party guests slink back into the shadows
Everyone removes their masks, all except one figure
Realisation dawns… The Grim Reaper was real!
Halloween Scare Contest
Sponsored by Russell Sivey
13 lines, 13 syllables per line - 169 in total checked with how many syllables
10-27-17
“Why do you write?” he said.
“You sit like a spectator to life.
You watch, while I dive into the places that scare you.”
Chewing on my pencil, I look up—
shadows cast across my face from him.
“Why do I write?” I ask.
“Let me show you.”
I grab his hand and gently pull him in
to a land where possibilities are endless,
where life doesn’t end—it transforms.
It lives in lyric and song.
My poetry nourishes me.
Like your confessional bread—
my Eucharist of hope,
my witness to all that is
and all that will ever be.
You see me sitting still,
but you don’t see the weight I carry—
the masks I wore, the hands I held,
the silence I swallowed to keep others whole.
I have lived so many lives
in rooms full of people who never saw me.
Now I sit alone, not because I’m hiding—
but because I’m finally choosing me.
I exist in many worlds,
as different people—
my ancestors, my descendants,
the little ones tumbling through.
They look for kindness.
Books and words made a haven for me—
protection from the storm
you couldn’t see.
I am connecting with something bigger.
Not out there in the noise—
but right here, in the quiet hum of creation.
And when my body fades,
my voice will remain.
These pages hold my breath,
these songs cradle my soul.
I will live in the lines—
in the ink, in the echoes,
proof that I was here.
That I loved. That I survived.
He takes my hand,
and steps into the pages with me.
Picking imprints from everywhere,
Let all the woods your footprint bear,
Take off, nag at no rutted tract,
What if some rickety ways stare.
Throw to winds every needless care,
Let no head wind unduly dare,
Let the worse worsen, worst to get,
Let all the woods your footprint bear.
Mind not eastward you go or west,
If north, let not south ever jest,
Let no alien thought you attract,
Let all the woods your footprint bear.
Root out doubts as you’d thorny weeds,
Walk, brave only to their hearts heeds,
Let eastern nor west wind distract,
Let all the woods your footprint bear.
Letting no stumbling blocks scare,
Sparing none any endeavour,
Pricks of no space-time interject,
Let all the woods your footprint bear.
_________________________
Quatrain |14.11.2024|traveller
Writers of the dark
Sisters they are three
Tales of darkened horror
To scare the light from thee
Vampires of the night
Haunting the living souls
To lure them from their light
As there intention slowly unfolds
Gray mist begins to rise
Around their eerie crypts
Three maidens from the night
White laced, fleshes ripped
Vampiring ghouls
In scarlet greed
Napes and neck
Frenzied feed
Fuelled of blood
As the dawn matures
Their nightly feast
From their hypnotic lures
The sun rises
On the living morn
As the vampiric three
Retire to death norm
Stay in at night
Lock your doors
The Sisters three
The De La Keurs
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/fantasy2.php
Broad boulevard laced with selfish desires, vain dreams
Paved with good intentions; spliced with frivolous seams
Shining beacon in the distance with opportunity gleams
Burnished with luster; with every delight streams
Availing light glowing bright; dimming all peripheral beams
A narrow path from the main artery doth pare
Sharply angling away from the gilded thoroughfare
No sign posts or guides do its obscure location declare
Its small, unappealing entrance no adventurers snare
Its rocky surface strewn with obstacles; the carefree traveler to
scare
Wise soul doth the harder path stroll
Gracefully shouldering the heavy load as they troll
Patiently bearing the reproach that trite gawkers dole
Pressing forward with a higher calling toward the goal
Sacrificing material wealth; helping the poor pay their toll
Sheltering the weak; the lonely outcasts do console
The Frog Who Didn’t Want a Kiss (The Frog Prince)
A frog by the well sat and sighed,
Princess, I know what you’re implied,
But kissing’s a fuss,
And I’d rather discuss...
Why ponds make such terrible rides.
So I’ll turn back to frog and be free,
You keep your prince, he’s better than me!
The Three Little Pigs Who Hired a Planner (The Three Little Pigs)
The pigs sat down with blueprints and tea,
Said, Straw’s cheap, but the wind’s not for me.
Brick takes more time,
But it’ll weather that grime....
And we’ll charge the wolf rent to agree.
The Big Bad Wolf Who Opened a Bakery (Little Red Riding Hood)
The wolf was tired of the chase and the scare,
Of huffing and puffing through thin country air.
He hung up a sign,
Fresh buns, bread, and yummy thyme?
Come in, leave the grandma in there...
Now kids bring cookies to thank him for lunch,
And Grandma says, Best sourdough I’ve ever munched.
The Gingerbread House That Charged Rent (Hansel and Gretel)
The witch in the candy house sighed at the door,
Two kids showed up, and now I’m just all poor.
If you eat all my walls,
You should help with the calls...
Pay rent or you’re sleeping on floor!!
Now Hansel does dishes, and Gretel does brooms,
And the house runs a B&B in candy lined rooms.
It is not the case that Jesus ever physically rose from the dead,
Only that he was spoken of as alive afterwards by his followers,
Because his offer of medical treatment to the poor stood, the fed,
As it was obvious that it was moral to validate such behaviours.
John had seen a beggar with a bloody leg and attended quickly,
But he was spat on by rich by-passers who would loose status;
They would have to sacrifice the prestige of their visit specifically,
That doctor’s visit just for them as part of life in the wealthy stratus.
Because he had been Jesus’s best friend he looked up and replied,
“Jesus is risen,” and that communicated his stalwartness and resilience,
That Jesus’ principle was not going to go away as just one man’s tide,
But that his friends and the apostles were set on continuing his brilliance.
And Andrew who’d been a fisherman before he’d befriended Jesus,
Knew all the kids of most of the other fishermen, and some were sick,
And because Jesus had taught him medical practises as there was a fuss,
Andrew made their children better in one and posited Jesus would stick.
But their neighbours chided him and scoffed, obviating them as poor,
Not entitled to a doctor’s time, and not entitled to free health care,
So Andrew emphasised that these people were his friends, the lure,
And that he was no scare but that he would himself by ignorance scare.
The intelligensia of the time, or the prophets, had predicted Jesus resurrection,
Not his actual one, but just as a euphemism for Jesus’ power after his death;
When people said “I believe in Jesus!” or claimed that he was risen in dedication:
They asserted it by their acts and so could claim the resurrection in a breath.
Grandpa got a twenty-one gun salute.
I shivered, knowing how much he hated guns
After Viet Nam
The last time he picked one up was in a jungle.
Fifty years ago.
They are playing taps now.
Sad dirge sound.
Grandpa liked Johnny Cash and Elvis
Both would have been better at his funeral
I glare at the soldiers playing taps.
Why is this so sad? Grandpa liked happiness.
Felt a hand on my shoulder.
My grandpa’s hand.
No one else ever did this to me.
I knew that he knew what I was thinking.
We were close.
He had taught me to take apart cars
And how to be a man.
Funerals no longer sad to me.
A Great Dane and a Sausage dog were tied outside a bar
The Sausage dog was frisky and his instincts said, ‘Aha!’
And then they sniffed each other’s butt ’cause that’s how doggies greet
The Sausage dog said, ‘Hi there girl, do you think I’m sweet?’
They chatted and decided that they’d do what doggies do
The Great Dane chuckled. ’Hey up shorty, I’m too tall for you.’
But Sausage had it figured and he climbed up on a chair
He boasted, ‘Take a breath because you’re in for quite a scare.’
And as he started thrusting, as had been his master plan
Two stones were thrown up - from the street - by a passing van
They hit the Great Dane on the head, one smooth but one was rougher
She groaned aloud and Sausage said, ‘Suffer baby, suffer!’