Long Scaring Poems
Long Scaring Poems. Below are the most popular long Scaring by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Scaring poems by poem length and keyword.
Through the window I looked one day
At a poor lassie in troubled display
She stood high on a chair
In such a terrified stare
Shouting "Oh! please, please go away"
I needed to view this even more
Running round I looked in the door
So afraid in her house
Of a little door-mouse
Sweat was running from her pores
So being the gentleman that I am
To get this damsel out of this jam
I said "Hey! furry dude
Please don't be so rude
For your scaring this poor little madam"
So I gently picked up the door-mouse
And kindly removed from her house
Her tears turned to joy
Throwing her arms round this boy
Not long after, she became my spouse
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/humour-4.php
Love is an Emotion
A feeling that one has built on life
Love can destroy and confuse the weak
Though love is kind Strong and forgiving
Love can bring revenge and deceitfulness when wounded
Love is like a bad addiction gone wild
Love can change the way we live our lives
It only knows what we teach it
How we treat love is sometimes selfish
Love is happy, make us laugh, make us smile
Love can hurt, make us mad, make us cry
Love can also be blind
Love is wonderful beyond all means
Love should not be taken for granted
Nor shall love be used against each other to cause emotional scaring
Love is not to be confused with all that is negative for then it is not
love
For love can make us do crazy things
It is a feeling with great emotion
It is what brings all feeling to the surface from its core
To love is beautiful even after the hurt goes away
Love calls for sacrifice when needed
Bring us closer or push us away
Love can also make us leave or make us stay
Tear us down and build us up
To live our lives and not give up
Love Is My Addiction Gone Wild
Love Is My Addiction Gone Wild
Oh no! Creepy Clown
back and forth on feet.
Coming close to scare you off;
careful not to meet.
Oh no! Creepy Clown
Have you come in peace?
Just outside my window blinds.
Fear my heart will cease.
Oh no! Creepy Clown
Off to phone the cops.
Dialing 911 right now.
Hope this scaring stops.
Oh no! Creepy Clown
Cops to come in force.
Several of their guns drawn out
Frightened men, of course.
Oh no! Creepy Clown
shots being fired abrupt.
Officers all in self defence.
Some would say corrupt.
Oh no! Creepy Clown
lying in the street.
Calmer with my knowing you're there
safe below a sheet.
Oh no! Creepy Clown
I love the words you speak
For they reinforce the ideal in which hands speak.
A warmth that can't be heard, only felt.
A bonfire released in a cylinder.
The crackling of dopamine like wood.
Branches that provide warmth in times you aren't around.
The times dawn can be found in the palm of our hands.
The waking of primal urge where words do no justice.
It is there I find you.
Each crackle, every ash of residue where we've rested.
For you are the fire lit in body.
The cylinder that keeps me warm.
No matter how far away you are I melt in thought.
Urging to move closer.
Alas you welcome it.
Open flames that lash out without regard where it touches.
Our love is one of eternal scaring.
The wind lifting each flame higher.
The preference of action over word.
The concrete stained, scared.
Our warmth attracts the attention of the sky.
In brief hesitation we overheat.
Knowing only to collapse.
This is what it feels to kiss every word that slips through your lips.
In eternal heat.
A ring that burns in depth.
A sign that we were forever here.
I am drained.
The sap and moisture comes to a boil.
I am forever spoiled.
Forever yours.
Alas I welcome it.
The residue of what we've become.
A bridge of me, given to you.
Stacked and piled high.
A match thrown in need.
Without fear we provide each other in eternal warmth.
The sky borrows our heat.
This cylinder that can no longer contain this fire.
Distributed as red orange.
The look exchanged eye to eye.
The beginning and end of all we'd ever know.
The smoke covers as clouds.
I am reminded every time I look up
How I look forward to October the thirty-first each year!
Though the autumn be chilly and the weather a bit drear,
I have the pleasure of meeting strange little imps by the score,
As they visit, lisping "twick or tweat" at my front door!
The door bell rings constantly it seems as I leap to me feet,
Wondering about the wierd characters that I shall meet!
Will it be a devil or an angel or a frightful ghost?
Whoever it might be, I must be a generous host!
Hordes of fairies, cowboys and Indians grace my stoop,
Along with sheriffs, desperados and soldiers by the troop!
Ferocious pirates, scary skeletons and dreadful witches,
Leer and grin at me, nearly scaring me out of my britches!
Standing regally is a king and queen, each wearing a crown,
Along with their court jester, a gaudily bedecked clown!
There's a sweet little princess decked out in ribbons and lace,
Smiling demurely with cute dimples on her pretty face!
A little secret with which those little monsters I'll never share,
But I'll clue you in on my own little Halloween trick if I dare -
I dole out bubblegum, candy corn and stuff I don't care for much,
But keep the Snickers bars, Babe Ruths, Hershey Kisses and such!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
My wailing has turned to keening
I cannot stop; I am despondent.
Fully reversed in my feelings.
My confidence has disappeared.
I cannot do this! I scream
Only it is shrieking.
My house is silent, except for my screams of despair.
No one to reassure me; to lift me up.
It is the time I should be reaching out to friends.
My depression will allow none of that.
My black curtains are closed, locking out the sun
A ray of hope or optimism cannot reach me here.
The phone has been ringing for three days.
So I put it on airplane mode,
Reveling in my rage,
Fanning the flames of despondency
Until I am scaring myself
The dog tries to cuddle, but I turn her away.
Living my hurt in the deepest well I can find.
I pass you several times a week
down at the Cheapside junction
your name defines the job you do
but you perform no function.
No drainage from the upper roofs
no demons are you scaring,
the passers-by stream past
with ninety-nine percent not caring.
The occasional ghost walk party pause
to check you out, inspecting
the mossy run down shell of the old building
you're protecting.
Some folk may say that you're a waste
of all the time you've been there
but I've been inside and you outshine
the architecture in there.
An outcast among gargoyles, by the doorway,
out of place
maybe because the Mason gave you such a charming face.
Spectator to the march of time, ignored
though you may be,
console yourself as you gaze down-
you have a friend in me.
I wake up and stare at the clock; my heartbeat is ridiculous.
Am I having a heart attack or is there really someone here?
Noting the time, I cringe. Midnight on All Hallows Eve.
Anything can happen, and I am helpless to stop it.
The air is ominous, shadows creep closer and peer at me.
I flip my eyes tightly shut, hoping to be left alone this time.
There is no escape, my hair is touched and my forehead.
I refuse to look; my heartbeat is a rapid drumbeat now.
They are back, my internal voice observes; I try to shush her.
She will not be quieted. A finger teases up my spine; scaring me.
I will not open my eyes; I cannot open my eyes.
Terrified, I open my eyes and note the clock watching me.
The red glow of her eyes seeks truth.
The twisted lips of glory has became rude
And the hair is the place where I sail
But sank after a while.
The beauty of her is scaring me,
The beauty of her is sparing me.
The colour of her skin is the same as mine.
She's a human so, she's good and fine.
Her watching the butterflies fly so beautifully.
Me seeing her smile as she watches the butterflies fly so beautifully.
Her being impatient and trying to chase them.
Me sitting thinking about how I saw the child inside of her getting curious.
As she moved slowly towards the flowers
It suddenly began to shower.
Her being gentle and protecting the butterflies.
Me being a man trying to protect my wife.
(Sound of opening an umbrella in the rain that suddenly turned faster)
Pumpkins are made
For pies
And pies are made
For jack-o-lanterns
To
Please little girls
Who ride swings high over the city on
Cold
Mornings when others
Have found the schoolhouse
Under the ghetto waiting to transform the little leftovers
Into Wallstreetbogeymen scaring the country into
Unwanted
Growth claiming ‘More Pumpkins Are Better.’
The swing's chains are cold in late October
The seat can be wet
She
In her own glory does
Not
Notice the silence. Dreaming of
Dancing at the Met exposing truth to the music of Mendelssohn.
We linger
On the damp cool October morn
She peruses the skyline looking for the
Spot she might run to
As the swing finds a higher plane.