Long Shrieks Poems
Long Shrieks Poems. Below are the most popular long Shrieks by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Shrieks poems by poem length and keyword.
One cold night, deep in thought, and curled in fright,
From folklore tales aimed to scare;
My rigid poise froze to a screeching noise
Outside, a voice not like I've heard before, to leave I would not dare
“It’s probably just an owl or creature of the night out there"
I muttered to myself, then pretended not to care
Oh, I recall quite vividly this icy Winter’s night
With grainy sight, the sandman came to lead me to his land
The weariness I fought but eventually he caught
Pulling me quite taut to somewhere far less bland
Where I became the leader of a marvellous brass band
And down that path sandman tightly gripped me by my hand
Trumpeters and trombone players played musically in layers
Exciting each and everyone, spreading joy to all around
But my dreams were playing tricks, my mind was in a mix
The bass tuba sounded sick, not playing tuneful sounds
Instead a grating shrill, then the whining of a hound
The lightning and the rain came too, my dream then ran aground
Alone I grew more frightened and the intensity just heightened
The shrieks and shrills grew louder with an occasional thunder clap
Taking sanctuary under bed sheets, preying for melodic sound beats
Suffering this painful feat, my soul took a massive slap
Oh how I longed for it to stop and to return me to my nap
The bleakness of that night, my mind caught in a trap
Morning later broke, the ground outside was soaked
The noise had faded but there was still a haunting in my ears
A crunch, a grind, a squeak a whine
The cause I vowed to find, and to take away my fears
From the upstairs window I saw a farmer crouched in tears
And a windmill's broken sails; the mystery closure neared
Across the muddy field, I approached the man kneeled
Sobbing over what appeared to be a dead Alsatian
He'd found it just lying there, the hound, his best friend
Downed by a falling windmill piece, killing gods creation
"A slow death" the farmer said "he must have cried out for attention"
"And my mill cranks broken causing noises of a nauseating sensation"
trickling streams enlist fingers stroke
translating silent stares script air bubbles
soul skirmishes dying and breath twitches
her amort jabs shatter blind eyes
soft breaths linger aphonic sighs
surfboarding alongside rocky creeks
you wish to decry me with metaphors
whispered secrets shared solely betwixt us
words untied weighed by fireflies glow
bemoaning to aurify amid fiery solar flares
hoping for air in a pathless stream
let me shed words from balm of dry lips
you said that you might catch them
I've seen the way a glass dances, though
slips through your fingers and shatters
I hear a forlorn violin pluck its strings
catacombs lurk in a hollow cage
when it beleaguers, it wails and shrieks
an uncaged spirit walks with a dog
left, just a beshrew echo in a silent world
Kate and Bram, so in love or so she thought, but he was after Kate’s rich cousin. Laura, was just as greedy for Bram’s striking good looks. Does lightning strike twice for Bram? Will he find happiness with his fiance’s kin? Kate was prettier, confident, sweet. He moves the candle over the treasure and concocts a vicious plot. Laura was guilty of one thing - she coveted what was not hers. Bram’s sin was greater.
WAXING OF CANDLELIGHT
Longing of candlelight - the shadows slim.
A flicker steps downstairs; She’s trembling down.
Kate’s tapered low-light tears, without a hymn.
Green spirit in her phosphorescent gown.*
She remembers Bram’s face, his smile. The bleed
of blush no longer stings - a swan-like snow
running from head to toe; done is the deed.
The late night storm will search - its fury grow.
The strike of lightning hate will court her beau.
He tripped a switch - she fell headlong for him.
The candle burns - the fire’s leaping stairs. Sow
And reap - the pyre-steeple of life and limb.
The separation - vinegar and oil.
Reunited, Kate shrieks - Bram’s on slow boil.
7/30/2021
A BRIAN STRAND SONNET
HMS used
*Green - 1) color 2) new
Lyrical post, written to the tune of Don McClean's 'Vincent.' (aka 'Starry, Starry Night)
Horrid, Horrid night
Trick or Treating filled with dread
Fending off the living dead
Chased by monsters out to steal my soul
Shadows on the street
A haunting ghost that has no feet
I hear the sound of my heartbeat
Someplace to hide was the task at hand
Now I understand
What you want to do to me
That's why I'm struggling for my sanity
Please don't eat me! I have to flee!
He cannot hear because he has no ears
That multiplies my fears
Horrid, Horrid night
Vampire bats and flying witches
Frankenstein's bloody stitches
Zombies, ghouls and spells cast with voodoo
Oh, what should I do?
Surrounded by all these freaks
Black cats screech and goblin shrieks
This creepy holiday should be banned
Now I understand
what they want to do to me
That's why I'm struggling for my sanity
"Go away! You're all so beastly!"
But they would not listen. Still on the prowl
I hear a werewolf howl.
Full moon is in eclipse
I cry with trembling lips
It seems no hope is left in sight
On this horrid, horrid night
I ran for my life, as cowards always do
Escape was what I had in mind
Halloween isn't meant for me
On a witch's broom I flew
Horrid, horrid night
When wicked ones have convened
Evil demons and the fiend
Whose diabolic eyes I can't forget
It was a night filled with regret
cast in the fiery depths of hell
Had I been bewitched by a spell
and left to die in the devil's pit below
Now I think I know
What they tried to say to me
And why I struggled for my sanity
Why they finally set me free
Clock chimes at midnight, were striking on the hour
Expelled was their power
On tip-toe she whirls,
slowly at first ,
as she calls to the spirit within.
Toes tapping tentatively
awaken the spirit within.
Teasing ,taunting, tempting,
she draws eyes to stare
into the spirit realm as
the rythm increases to frantic beat.
Rising on delicate toes,
and dainty ankles ,
she calls to the spirit within,
pleading, pulsating ,
her body gyrating
to the plaintive beat of drums.
Arms extended she pleads with the skies.
Pirouetting into silent
communion with twin spirits,
she freezes a split second as
the tempo increases.
The dancing form shudders,
shrieks, exploding into a frantic rythm ,
reeling ,wheeling, and kneading the earth
with twitching soles.
Awake at last the spirit spins out of control ,
fires blaze, sparks join
the echo of drum -beats
heading out to the ancestral world .
Around her a blur
vivd images fade,
the view dims,
trees bow before the dancer
who knows only what she sees.....
what she feels and breathes.
that within her a vibrant....valiant .....
warrior spirit lives.
Ears pricked at car door closing in the street,
and focussed on the footsteps through the gate
she stepped into the hall, unsteady feet
they bounded forward, welcome couldn't wait.
Two forty pounds of fur, and sixteen legs,
four eager snouts and tongues shot through the air
her hands held up fruitlessly as she begged,
they brought her down, smothered her face and hair.
A canine/human ball rolled on the floor
propelled by laughter, barks and sudden shrieks
of love and longing, bottled up before
the time has come to leave, and no-one speaks.
Chorus of barking, followed by the whines
the front door closing for the final time.
R.i.P Angela Miles, passed away today but was allowed home
to see her Huskies last week for a couple of hours.
I'm drowning..
In an ocean of sorrow..
Waves of sadness..
Surrounded by pain..
High tides and currents of the ocean expose ..
Suffocation ...
Cannot breathe..
Drowning..
Trapped in an ocean of sorrow..
Helplessness thrives in darkness..
Withering away ..
Escaping the madness that is thrust upon me..
I'm drowning..
In my own stew..
A brewing stew of remorse..
High tides and regretful interludes..
Echoes of my cries
Shrieks of the wind howls loudly..
As the wind cries my name..
Tidal waves of my cries shall shed a light on me..
A powerful light that will eliminate darkness..
May it shine on me..
As I take a breath once again..
My miraculous breath of life..
Where love and light resides..
Suspended high up the tower,
I hang out of sight.
My shiny golden brass core is hollow,
but I have a big mouth with a bell as a tongue.
Sometimes pigeons visit, resting on my arch,
but fly away leaving their droppings behind.
Don't pity me for my loneliness and silence,
as this serenity never lasts.
When the cloaked man arrives and pulls at my rope
he breaks the peace with deafening sounds.
Each tug hammers against my cup shaped sides,
belching vibrating echoes across the lands.
In an enchanting melody that brings joy to most,
but distress to some -
who only hear me as shrills and shrieks.
I love my ding dongs,
be it to tell the time,
or for funerals, weddings or as a call to prayer -
I'm content in ringing all day long!
High in the balcony
Where skulkers tend to wait
I glimpsed your passing light
And did not hesitate
...to thoroughly investigate
..............all of my...........fears
Up, up I climbed
Every obstacle I crushed
Blind...then, left behind
The closer I drew near
In the distance I could hear
....shrieks
.............of deafening.......silence
No, no...that doesn't make sense
I began running, again and again
Until I got to the top
And in an instant
Felt this blazing hot...drop
....on me
Around me, it covered
It clung, enveloped every cell
No way out of this
Inferno of self-made hell
....I screamed, I yelled
..............but to no avail
I had to stay
Til I was just...moldable clay
....eventually
.................I stopped
A question arose
"Who are you?"
The answer came
As the door unlocked
"I am TRUTH
I will not be mocked"
I walked out, into her
She has been my light, along the way
After lengthy battles with deceit
Her blanket of fire holds me, while I lay
.....fears to rest.
Written by Trudy Schrader on 07/31/2021
like a hinge of an old door
rusty and lacking of midnight oil
I am left speechless
unable to decipher the writing on the wall
it wails accuses belittles
mocks groans teases and admonishes
from cracks unable to hold its grout
where a couple of stones
have become loose
it is not an easy patch up work
bricks crumble under
a pick axe blunt and far too short
to keep longing at bay
but I wonder whether
there is a secret treasure
a message
pot of gold
old newspaper
an old marble lost
hidden behind my partition
with the world myself
and the past present delusion
that everything must be okay
a church bell distracts from agony
the cemetery must be a cold place
some graves are overgrown by moss
others too immaculate
not to scream out in numb pain
I can’t stop sad music playing in my head
too many voices opinions and judgement
a discomforting concert of sorrow
and a gramophone record hurt
by a needle unable to move forward
the clock strikes again and once more
endless reverberations of throbbing exertion
vibrations of torment and misunderstandings
and yet I can do this and my last thought
before overdue slumber
is that there is energy in the Universe
and sometimes it passes through me
that is when the silent scream
becomes a loud whisper
and shrieks become music
24th November 2022
contest pick a title volume 33
sponsor Edvard Ibeh