Long Shivered Poems
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THE HAUNTED HOUSE
While on a tour across the Scottish highland moor
one summer noon I stopped by a Victorian house.
Curious, I entered through the half-closed door,
a dark room filled with antiques I could browse.
In the eerie air before I could call out loud, “anybody in”
the creaking wooden door closed sharply behind me.
In the alarmed mind I pressed the panic button within,
for with all the doors closed the way out I couldn’t see.
I shivered with the creepy feeling of being trapped,
saw a shadowy figure appear in the murky hallway,
as if striding in air into the sinister room he stepped.
Saw his scalded fiery face before he turned it away.
Scared I wailed, “I’m sorry I entered”, as he came near,
“please help, open the door for me, out I should go”.
He looked at me, a single word I didn’t hear him utter.
He walked silently to the door in a floating stride slow.
How he opened so softly the heavy door I couldn’t see,
I rushed out in a breath to the open in flood of sunlight.
Before I could turn back quickly the door closed on me,
I couldn’t say “thank you”, the man was out of sight.
In nearby village I queried about the man and the house,
I’m told if anyone lived in the haunted house they’d know.
In the outhouse fire that took them a long time to dowse
the lone caretaker was burnt to death some two years ago.
August 22, 2018
Contest : The Haunted House
Spnsored by : Dear Heart
The crystal ball snow pierced
the biting autumn wind;
parting the dancing, curled, brown leaves,
as they leapt across the lurid landscape.
Jack-o-lanterns and ruby red mums shivered.
Scarecrows on their crossed pickets,
leaned precariously against bales
of salt marsh hay, wafting in the gale.
Remnants of the verdant summer’s
autumnal greenery,
beat the black clouds, blotting the weak,
white light of noon.
Shards of light pricked the haze
adding a dreamlike effect
day….night….
The world awaited Samhain’s Eve.
Snow fell frantically from the firmament
fighting to coat the last of the
pink cone flowers.
And the world was full of the scent of cider and cinnamon.
There was a lack of cricket's chirping sounds,
no shadows in chilled darkness that surrounds.
So pale the moon, night jasmine had not bloomed
Heavy, the air to breathe, but not perfumed
No howling wolves. Their kill was consumed.
All was still on the surface of the sea
as a foreboding fright washed over me
Such silence portends something was awry
Stars were losing their sparkle in the sky
I shivered with fear while wondering, why?
On crested waves I raced, with unfurled sails,
emotions gave way to mournful cries and wails.
How I yearned for wings so I could take flight
I was cloaked in loneliness through the night.
Unbridled tears fell in the pale moonlight.
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.
Once, side by side, they walked the moonlit beach
in silence- each alone and incomplete
in disjoined worlds- linked only by the reach
of tiny, lapping waves upon their feet.
As silver beams of moonlight iced the ground
and blotted out the heat of sandy gold,
their warmth of humanness was hidden- bound
beneath blind souls that shivered in the cold.
Yet, on the sand, their shadows danced along-
a silhouetted couple synchronized
in motion- forms united clear and strong
against the blankness which the moon devised.
Dark shadow puppets sparked romantic light-
gave living souls new vision in their night.
December 18, 2014
Shadow Puppets
~8th Place~
Premiere Contest: Silhouette
Sponsor: Craig Cornish
Judged: 09/16/2017
Shadow Puppets
~7th Place~
Premiere Contest: Mid-June
Sponsor: Brian Strand
Judged: 06/15/2017
i saw her cower
beneath the wail
of his voice
a trail of black smudges
framed her face
from the outlines
of her long brown hair
as it swayed on the breeze
she shivered
in the warmth
of this day
as did i
along with her
i didn't know her name
but i walked in her shoes
along that desolate path
that left her hanging
her head in shame
i smiled as she glanced
then hugged her
like an old friend
saying it's so nice
to see you again
he walked away
momentarily
but we both knew
he'd be back
to collect her tears
in the rage of his storm
we drove along the emptiness
of country miles
while she collected
just her thoughts
she couldn't look back
never had a chance to pack
i dropped her at the depot
with fifty bucks and a ticket
back home
i can never forget her
or the depths of pain
yet i never knew her name
My fantasies are lost;
Into the wild I could not chase.
Closing my eyes, I desired for your touch.
I felt your fingers running through my hair.
I shivered to your soft lips touching my skin.
I longed for your kisses.
Drawing me closer and closer,
A vision of flaming red sheets in the air -
I followed your scent.
In your black, rolled up, half buttoned shirt and jeans,
You light the burning fire in me.
And into your blue eyes, I fully submit.
You pulled and pushed me; walls against my back.
Sending chills once more, your face touched my cheek;
I heard your silent whispers of want.
You grabbed my hair and our hearts raced.
Without a beat skipped, I drowned.
To your vigorous, passionate kiss; I responded.
To your soft, powerful touch; I melted.
To your breaths, I surrendered.
The dark night persisted
It wanted to stay
It stubbornly insisted and noone could get in its way
It had prevailed
The moon was veiled
Looking like it shivered at the edges
It was a night in which the only master was sadness
Amidst this stood a fortress
It ws undeniably a hut
But to the one inside
In presence of scorpions and mud
It looked like the dungeons of palaces
The hut was supposed prettily situated at the bay of the vast sea
Where the sun never waited
A shadow is always seen pacing
Much like the Walk of someone waiting
She fills the isolation
Spending the night in vast contemplation
But sometimes there is a memory
Snaking itself
To the front once in a day
A sensation of a small hand slipping
In the concealed lightness of the day
Her face etched with sorrows unknown
Never mundane enough
But an eternity slips in the labyrinth
Something congruent to the verses
Usurping every pain
Without any known gain
She is the glory of night
She paces to the sound of the sea
Ignoring every sight
In hopes
That she will feel the hand again
And perhaps this time it may be able to make it ashore
Mythical Thinking
In the beginning there had been the word…
She had spoken wisely and made believe
had been a poet all her life creating fiction
scripted parables about a primordial bang
Now she encountered writer’s silent block
yet pondered about her bestseller in waiting
quite ready to reap the harvest and sensed
she had to deal with considerable competition
She rested in the ocean’s tide among pebbles
‘Can I produce a stone so big that I cannot
lift it myself?’ she answered in the affirmative
got stoned on hash brownies and magic potion
A rainbow presided over a giant shibboleth
‘This is a defining moment in history unfolding
I have created Socrates Darwin and Descartes
let the party begin and philosophy challenge’
‘They will believe to have created Me in their image’
Wishful rationale delusion psychopathology or faith
the jury is out there but ‘I appointed the judges
at the High Court of arbitration in the Garden of Eden’
She sensed there was nothing more to achieve
sat in her deck chair awaited Titanic battles
‘A bit more cannabis won’t hurt I am God after all’
but had been warned about relapsing dependence
When she was about to thread Camels and dope
through the eye of the needle injected some more
into self-proclaimed heroine of glory and fame she
shivered and fainted for the rest of day number seven
An Incomplete Love Story
Once I chanced to meet my Mr. Perfect.
while on study leave in Aunt’s place,
but had never talked to him direct,
even both standing face to face.
Our silent world was great magnificent.
From far balcony I watched him passing by.
Mere exchange of glances was sufficient.
Too strong a beautiful bond was bound to tie.
We owned mismatching status symbols.
He had not courage to defy status-quo.
Seeds of love were sown in both souls.
Roots of passion pierced into hearts of duo.
Two tender leaves shivered with emotive urge.
Two desires danced delight in wobbling dilemma
thrashing on separate shores on swelling surge,
sundering surrendering minds chained in social stigma.
In the last eve of my leave completion
Both of us happened to be in a solitary park.
I was waiting with full expectation
He hurried to approach close to me in the dark.
I looked straight to his eyes even without blink;
I felt he had overpowered his hesitance.
Eternal time took pause, we lost worldly link.
He didn’t speak. Our love sank in destined silence.
07/18/18
'An Incomplete Love Story' Contest by Faraz Ajmal
Third Place
' STRAND CHOICE 12' Contest by Brian Strand