Long Spine chilling Poems
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One dark night takes me on a ride to an isolated hill where I inhale unpleasantness ..
Wide gleamy monstrous gate opens as the mighty wind blows,
creepy ferns crawl all over the floor.
Eerie garden awaits the lost lover's presence;
There stands a haunted home with a grubby porch at the entrance.
The magnanimous door welcomes me unwaveringly;
To the right there's slaughter hall polished with blood stains.
On the wall, hung portrait of a lady wearing a long red gown with a silver hat and a golden rosette stapled;
Beside protruded, a yearning window decorated by cob webs;
To the left led staircase ,as I step on railing, it crackles like hatching eggs; Carefully I manage to reach the first floor and confronted a quiet room occupied by constant whispers & spine-chilling whimpers...I slowly move inside and envision nothing strange,but I feel something moist dripping on my cheeks from the roof above.
When I look up, the entire strong ceiling collapses,
disembodied spirit arises,floating on air,observes the decaying house from a distance.
14-7-2020
~Deepa. V~
First place in the contest:-)
Note: Decaying house Poetry Contest.
Sponsored by A Dear Heart(Constance)
Invariable measures find me concluded with torment.
Crystallized reflections peripherally surpass imaginations advent.
Crackling blisters intern vivid arbitration, as if to teach spine-chilling lessons.
Collapse goes hostage lungs, held up and recorded in air gasping sessions.
Constant ringing beneath definitions light concealed bag piped eye shadows haunting address.
All occurs timed perfectly for surprise panic attacks; choking on nothingness.
White vaporous visuals infiltrate what sight left remains.
Useless kicking and screaming ended then when normalcy fathomed midst windowed pains.
Feelings numb agony crippled sightless time; acoustic sound walls burrow.
Vines manifest scandalous intent, my surrounded record beckons such growth still; you expect me to feel sorrow.
12/09/16
Spine chilling velocity
Willing feverish ferocity
Pollution spilling atrocity
Pushes our buttons
Top billing forging
Fiendish drilling pomposity
Gluttons gorging in the isles of muttons
Coining the term “purloining”
Plunder even here down under
Cast asunder..can hear the thunder
In the proud land of
The long white cloud
Scold from the fold to heal
But won’t listen..do a deal
Gaudy gems appeal..glisten
History sold for pieces of gold
Cower to phoney crony power
Dour Parasites roll the dice
Show pony baloney hour
Off their heads...now divining
Mining our whining sea beds..
Palaver of scour..devour and sour
Splice our shining slice of paradise
Vice rather than stories of glories told
Voraciously gobbling veracity
Audaciously hobbling precocity
Generosity wobbling even in the home
Of lengthy Cumulus Curiosity…
Not being funny
In this Land of Milk & Honey
Won’t kowtow to the cash cow
Getting out of hand
Because the answer forever
Whatever will never ever
Be just money!
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.
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."
Indeed, a strange wedding cake!
This is real strange, I must say.
You must absolutely hear this, I pray.
Almond marzipan, on stands masked with black chocolate;
Candy laces and ribbons made its beautiful garbs.
I ponder; why in God’s name, eat all these carbs!
Seriously, are these black Fondant roses I see here?
Quite an evolution from our traditional bride’s pie!
Well…what does this imply?
Dreading a wedding life with dark future
or does it symbolize breaking off with past lovers;
Invited surely to take the party's leftovers!
As the knife cut through innocent white,
dark jelly oozes out and trickles down the levels,
staining the spotless damask into perfect designs of devils!
Red marmalade takes its turn to flow down into rivulets.
The bride and the bridegroom poke a finger, each
to share it and I hear a spine chilling screech…
All I see is their demoniac grin as I make it to the exit!
22/02/17
Contest 'Relishing cake' by Julia Ward
8th prize out of 10 - Glory
Judged 7/03/17
Watch out! watch out! there's a vampire about
He is hungry for blood there is no doubt.
The lights are low, the shadows are moving
He has found you, it is you he has chosen.
He taunts, he teases, does as he pleases
Sends spine chilling breezes that never ceases.
The urges inside him controls what he is doing
He's cold, calculated and emotionally unmoving.
Hearing the sound of fluttering wings
Your fear expels a blood curdling scream.
Boom! boom! boom! heart rate skyrockets high
Your asking yourself "Am I about to die?"
Moving in closer he whispers your name
Tormenting you with his sadistic game.
When suddenly he appears there in full view
Your body runs cold as he moves closer to you.
His hypnotic eyes, his voice sultry and calm
Your soon captivated by his mesmerising charm.
Your neck now exposed; what he wants is laid bare
Piercing your neck he feeds from your submitted despair.
No fight is given as your life drains away
Blood spattered sprays now on display.
His eyes vibrant red from the cells he has stolen
His belly now full from the jugular that's broken.
Your a heap on the floor but not quiet yet dead
The poison grows inside you and rapidly spreads
The changes are swift, your reflection has gone
Now hungry for blood another vampire is born.
04.10.23
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.
Hobgoblin in the gutter under canopy of midnight,
magic brew of muti without rein.
Shadow figure torchon, darting half-light dare.
Spine chilling droplets wobble slowly down drains,
rusty copper mouthwash at the edge of jagged chutes.
Eerie urban soundscapes frame,
a sneeze or smothered cough.
Drone of vagrant motors probe, the flyby ink-black abyss.
Youthful laughter echoes over back streets,
as nearby lamp posts cast their bloodshot rays.
Night owls chinwag over Onion Bhaji,
raucous babble buried in a saffron whiff.
Strains of ragtime jazz and sleek arpeggios,
shrine or vinyl monument ahoy.
Hobo’s lonely whistle on an empty pier.
Urban jungle cast-off ghostly lurch,/
Burakumin patsy in high dudgeon.
Spooky timelines relish every moment of suspense,
swallowing the hush with ghoulish glee.
Quasimodo bell ring vaults a broomstick,
setter of alarm and wanton panic.
City wall clock twiddles on its hourly thumb,
scene plotter’s endless play denouement,
wee small hour dialogue without a script,
waiting for the dawn to take it’s baton.
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