Long Spine chilling Poems
Long Spine chilling Poems. Below are the most popular long Spine chilling by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Spine chilling poems by poem length and keyword.
‘ Monsters, Among Us … ’
Scatter The Creeping Vapor-Stench, Away
Expose The Wake of Eerie, Fog and Shadows
And Nightshade and Fiends, and Vile-Beasts That Bay
Begone, to Taboo, Grounds, Unhallowed …
… for there Are Monsters, Among Us …
Yea, Also An Ancient Curse
We Don’t have To Make This Up …
… to Make It Any Worse …
Yea, There Are Blood Suckers, Self-Styled, Vampires ( Vlad, The Impaler )
Who’ll Drink Your Blood by Starless, Night
Creatures, Who’ll Make You Suffer Their Desires
and Ghouls, Who’ll Dine On Your Flesh, in Daylight ( Jeffrey Dahmer )
Yea, There Are Creatures of The Dark
Who’ll Catch You, If You Do Not Know … ( Rapists )
They Want To Get Inside Of Your Heart
And Make You Do Acts, Foul, Fraught with Woes
Yea, There Are Monsters, Among Us …
Merciless, Malevolent, Maniacal Monstrosities … ( Hitler )
They Do, Indeed, Want To Own Your Soul, Because ( Jim Jones )
They Want To Make You Commit, Their Atrocities ! … ( Charles Manson )
And If You Walk Around Unwary
Doesn’t Matter, If Its Not, Stroke Of Midnight
… Anytime, Is Their Time, To Do Scary
Spine-Chilling Screams of Your Unending, Pitch-Black Fright …
Rituals To Silver and Golden Idols ( Slaving For Riches)
Making A Virgin Sacrifice - ( Child Molestation )
Hexes and Voodoo Dolls
and All Such Abominations To The Christ …
… Now, by a Long Shot, I’m Not Pious
(‘Cause I Too, Like A Good Thrill !)
Just, Don’t Make The Mistake-Serious
By Thinking Wickedness, Isn’t Real !
And Humans, Please Be Aware
Evil Incarnate, Isn’t Just A Movie Theme …
It’s More Than Just A Joking Scare
… There ‘ Is’ A Wicked Scheme
(and there ‘Is’ A Wicked Being)
So, If You Find, You’re Chased or Caught
By Some Monster In A Living-Nightmare
Remember, No Potion, Amulet, Nor Incantation Taught
Brings Almighty Help, Better Than Holy Prayer
Yea, There Are Monsters, Among Us …
Yea … Also, An Ancient Curse
(and We Couldn’t Even Invent The Stuff
to Make It Any Worse ! ) …
Survival of an ultra long week,
finally you see some light at the end;
Humor a little bit tongue in cheek?
Right now could be truly a godsend;
Up late in pyjamas watching cartoons,
always more than a little obscure;
Snacks like sweet meatballs, macaroons,
banana peppers, maybe soup du jour;
Brandishing a spatula around,
it quickly morphs into silverware;
Plates of the Midnight Gourmet abound,
all part of this gluttonous affair;
Box of crackers shaped like a bugle
filled with a huge dollop of spray cheese
lead to behavior less than frugal;
Stop adding the extra mayonnaise!
ALL of the leftovers in the fridge!
Ice cream with a caramel drizzle?!
What’s the reason for an all out binge?
I hope you have some Pepto Bismol;
It is such a spine chilling vision
to watch how quick you can devour
that new culinary creation
and keep going another hour;
There’s no off switch nor any limit,
the speed resembles the Autobahn;
You almost seem to be proud of it
as you open a second bonbon;
The clock keeps moving with a tick tock
as a potato grows on the couch;
Without a morsel left in the crock
sleepy shoulders are starting to slouch;
Quickly approaching a food coma
there’s no way to stop a rushing train;
Sugar overdose hitting plasma,
probably should learn to maintain;
It could wake you up in the morning
and keep you all day in the bathroom;
Up chucking with all that sweat pouring
you’ll feel like you belong in a tomb;
A face now soured a sickly green
seems to be turning a ghostly pale;
Leaving nothing left of the serene
that was there at the start of this tale;
Stuck in bed the rest of the weekend,
which wasn’t where you wanted to be;
Do not let this become a new trend,
to fall off the wagon easily;
It’s great to be fond of the kitchen,
but don’t become overzealous;
The gorge that started with a smidgen?
In hindsight less than hilarious.
While on a geological traverse
in the ancient Aravalli hills of Rajasthan,
I happened to stop by a palatial house,
that glistened under the summer sun.
I got curious to find the big building
in the midst of desolate countryside.
So, I knocked on the huge door to find out
who lived there, but nobody came outside.
I gently pushed the heavy door,
it opened with a creepy sound creaking.
I ventured to silently enter to find myself
in a room, as dark as the moonless night falling
In the eerie stillness that engulfed me,
before I could call out, “anybody in”,
the heavy door behind me
suddenly closed, sharply bangin’.
With the skipped heart beats I pressed
the panic button in the alarmed mind.
With all the doors closed, the way out
in the opaque darkness, I couldn’t find.
As the fearsome feeling of being trapped
flowed with the stream of cold sweat scary,
I saw a faint figure appear from nowhere
in the hazy hallway ominously misty.
He entered the spine-chilling room,
as if floating in the murky air all the way,
his somewhat deformed scarred face
I saw before from me he turned it away.
As he came near I wailed petrified,
“I entered, for no one around I could see,
I’m sorry, I should go out, please help,
open the door for me”.
The icy eyes stared at me frozen,
but not a single word he uttered.
Toward the door he glided in a slow motion,
his hands like a bird’s wings fluttered.
How then he opened so softly
the huge door I didn’t know,
I rushed outside in a heartbeat
to freedom in the flood of the sunglow .
I got my lost breath back,
looked back to say “thank you”,
but the door was closed,
the man was out of my view.
On my query in the village, I was told
about the man who took away my breath,
an accidental fire burnt the outhouse,
the caretaker was scorched to death.
Hello, I want to tell you my story and I don’t know how it starts.
So I plead with you to please open your minds but most importantly to open your hearts.
I forget my words, I tic, I stutter my sentences don’t come out.
Hysteria builds up inside I want to break things I want to scream and shout.
I know I’m enigmatic this I will agree.
But please don’t embarrass yourself not for one moment and think you’re better than me.
I will never apologize on how I think or even how I feel.
Because many of you need to learn the ediology and the
mindset of the mentally ill.
“I hear she’s bipolar” as they rythmatically shake their ugly heads.
Then one whispers to the other “have you seen her lately I bet she’s off her meds.”
When the moon disappears I am left with anguished thoughts and tension filled with unease.
I then skillfully and methodically look for my muse I raise my hand and a tear filled voice I say “may I ask you a question please?
31 is my lucky number as I stand in the food line today.
Bet never in my wildness nightmares though I would ever live this way.
My pillow is my companion as it buffers my screams of dispair.
This life that has been bestowed apon me I feel is beyond repair.
I find it quit embarrassing that I only have 3 friends named me, myself and I.
I’m sure that number will remain the same when I close my eyes and die.
I have layed on the floors of mentally ill hosptials and had my knees buckled at the county jail.
You see I have slipped into the darkness of the abyss falling into spine chilling hell.
I have re-read my loqorrhea and had a chuckle or two.
I do not know what will become of me so I will say farewell,audios, and thankfully and respectfully I bid you all adieu.
Finally, my little girl is sound asleep
after multiple bedtime stories, I plea that she will not make a peep.
Hugging her favourite teddy bear ever so close
the blissful sight is as precious and delicate as a blossoming rose.
The soft murmurs of her magical breath console me.
At last, I can rest upon my alluring bed where I long to be.
Pleasurably my heavy head allows itself to fall,
every muscle in my body relaxes and my eyes begin to flutter as I stare at the wall.
All are contently safe and sound fast asleep,
unfortunately, this blissful peace shall not keep.
A spine chilling creek sends a booming echo throughout the hall,
my eyes flicker open while my mind wakes itself up to protect my all.
The distasteful racket continues to speed up my heartbeat,
distressed I grab a flashlight refusing painful utter defeat.
The flashlight sends a ray of a saviour into the pitch black hallway,
my sleep deprived eyes focus on the bright figure in dismay.
The sweet little angel before me moves forward using unimaginable stealth,
still softly snoring and babbling sweet nothings to herself.
I stare in amazement as she manoeuvres about the house with ease,
with loving open arms reached out in case she falls to my displease.
With little direction, my little star is directed back to her bed
where she shall have the dearest dreams play out in her head.
For the rest of the night, I lay awake longing to hear her creek,
constantly tiptoeing into her room to get a reassuring peek.
The sun eventually rises along with a bright smiling face,
she asks me how she slept and I pull her in for a tight embrace.
July 26, 2018
Sleepwalking Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: John Hamilton
5th Place
Did you notice how I stopped writing for weeks?
I've stopped getting in the train and let my thoughts collide.
I've stopped getting in the train *with my friends* and let my thoughts collide.
I've stopped *inviting people* and let my thoughts collide.
I've stopped getting in the train and *sit next to people*, letting my thoughts collide.
I've stopped getting in the train *and free seats for elderly* because my thoughts won't stop collide.
I've stopped, getting in the train.
I've stopped.
I have.
I, me.
I spilled *because I wanted to spill.
Then I laughed along with it.
Then I spilled, *because I felt akward not to spill*.
After that tears started running down my face.
I felt the need to spill.
Where will the train bring me?
I left in a rush.
"Pia", I hear his voice echoeing across the Walls.
Was it meant to reach me?
Just my ears or my heart?
As I closed my eyes my mind said that he called out my name because he just wanted to do so.
As I opened my eyes and was accedently about to stuck between the door of the train, I knew, that I lost my necklace on ground and he just wants to hand it out to me.
That's the only time he could've seen me.
With door marks on my shoulders and what was running down my spine chilling by time, I took a breath for coming too late, *for letting my thoughts collide*
I have not brought any things with me.
No water bottle or my favorite backpack.
I'll always think something is wrong with me liking pink bags,
I'll always think something is wrong with eating or drinking.
Something will always have been done to myself.
But I want to learn how to live with it.
I did not need to see him.
He came holding a trumpet, dressed in white, with a glowing face that illuminated my shadow of doubts.
His smile was a catalyst of butterflies in my stomach, an awe feeling that left me in the cocoon of his charm.
He was soft-spoken, words with a resounding consonance, each word an arsenal that took my guard down.
His lips, made of French kisses, driving a frenzy of spine-chilling sensations, my longing grew by the tick.
His hands, soft with a gentle touch, planted goosebumps of affection, unleashing emotions that drove me wild.
His well-endowed body oozed masculinity, a combination of "Zeus" and "Hercules," an eighth wonder in my world.
His existence was a prophecy of the one who would blow the trumpet, signaling the end of my traumatic love experiences.
In its yonder days, it wasn't just a story of love; it was "love" in its living form. Love was in the air, and I loved the "aroma."
The chemistry was "covalent bond" strong; the feelings were mutual, and the commitment was lifelong.
How fast does a chameleon change its colours? Well, he was faster.
Call it being gullible, naïve, or crazy, or maybe call it love.
I smiled through the red flags; is red not a colour of love?
Perhaps my optimism led me to the slaughter. I helped laying the bricks of deceit, while he built mansions in the sky.
How did the savior, "a man of the Cross" in a believer's eye, turn to be the cross I could not bear?
In the blink of an eye, the "Songs of Solomon" came to be the "Songs of Sorrow-Mourn."
What happened to all the honey bees
That used to swarm all around and abound
And would cover the fruit and holly trees
Now, you rarely see them buzzing around?
Where have the huge flocks of blackbirds gone
That I recall who would blacken the sky
And bruise your ears with the shrill of their song
In the spring and fall as they flew by?
What happened to all those water frogs
That I recall whose deep rhythmic bellows
Would echo back down through the hollow bogs
All summer until the leaves turned yellow?
What happened to the little horned toads
That I would catch for a pet as a boy
That crawled all over the fields and dirt roads
And made a neat little pet to enjoy?
Why doesn't the wolf still split the night
And chill my heart with his long lonesome cry
As he howls away at the full moon's light
Adoring the illuminated sky?
Where are all the calls of the bob white
And the lonely calls of the whippoorwill
That used to pine away all through the night
And could be heard in almost every field?
Where are the spine chilling panther screams
That mimicked some poor damsel in peril
And would often conjure up awful dreams
Of gruesome creatures wicked and feral?
Are they on a premature path into yore
Has adequate time been duly assigned
For us to say, "There are no more...."
Or could it be, I've just outlived my time?
Timothy I. Brumley
I am a soldier of fortune
A warrior of my land
A savage to my enemies
A chameleon
changing faces to fit My environment
Undetectable danger
I show no mercy
She looks innocent but is ruthless
in the heart.
A beautiful sparkling lure
With devastating effects.
A poisonous viper that lies undetected until the moment
Presence itself then she strikes
Fast and violently
I can not help but to see her form
The passion and pride she carries
Her menacing elegance intrigues me.
She is like a preying mantis
Devouring all that try.
Maybe it's just the job or possibly
Real life.
In the backyard of the African plains.
I approach with caution and guards up.
She is KGB but a killer by design
I'm the executioner govt affiliated
I wear the sign.
I wander over and try to attract
Her attention from the mission
I was Just wishing she would listen.
Our eyes catch
She smiles a spine chilling smirk.
"Like if she wanted to she could have me for lunch"
I walk over to her
She throws a punch
I blocked and grabbed
But not too much
She pulled out a blade
And gave me a wink
"I like my woman wild what do you think"
Well my name is Connie most call me
Tink
"I like my man strong 0% weak"
Because only a real man can take this kind of heat.
We clashed in a poetic battle for
Love.
At the end I had won
A life mate.
Form:
ILLUSION OF THE HALF NAKED TIGER
The fiery furious big cat unchained:
"I can't change even if I change I'm unchanged",
Striped with fur even if I forsook my identity,
Saffron-faced riding in it's majesty,
Yawning like a famished ferocious beast,
Mighty roars announces the time to feast.
What remedy can twist the sinews of your heart?
Survival hunting in the wild shapes your acts,
Your eyes burn bright as the fiery furnace,
Not all dare challenge your governance,
Not all dare your terrible terrors clasp
Staunch bravery bellowed by every heartbeat you grasp.
When the skies water the earth with tears,
Throwing down spears of rain, you strike fears,
Staring with your two golden daggers,
Disguise yourself in crowded grasslands
to hide your fearsome war-paint of stripes.
Your claws swipe off and skip a manicure;
Not all of your terrible tear can a man cure.
Illusion, trickery, sneaky spine-chilling,
Dark-hidden wild of the legendary feline,
ever deceiving, beckoning, causing preys fleeing;
These 're labels of your skin; beautiful & terrifying.
But a Tiger is in every man who "roars" when excited,
famished or emotion engulfed and agitated.
You can only hide or dry your skin and outlooks,
Don't be tricked, the same beast inside still lurks.
Vick Manuel Poetry {VMP}
Copyright© 11th January, 2021.