Long Spook Poems
Long Spook Poems. Below are the most popular long Spook by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Spook poems by poem length and keyword.
the cat took to sleeping in the kitchen
where there are less windows
the wind hammered at the front and back doors
it circled the walls
then raced off
to spook my shadow
a sparrow
flew up under the eve of the roof
it clung to it kinda sideways-on
the way parakeets do
the wire netting of the screen door
bulged in and out
as I held onto the latch
the eyes in the birds head bulged also
its plumage did a crazy dance
its neck got crooked and stiff
the howling wind took the bird
out onto the road where it fluttered
later I watched TV
a movie about some demented weather
was on
I switched channels
she has that lovely dark face
she has those lovely long legs
she has that charming nice smile
she's that sweet lovely lady
She's reading spooks stories
She's into them spooky tales
She's engrossed in the weirdo
She's got me real spooked
She's giving me that warm smile
She's trying and deliberately stalling
She's really enthralling in charm n moves
She's got them smooth hunters moves
She has already guessed mine motives
She already knows what moves i will play
She's gonna feel it when i make the move
she's that marks-woman and am the target
She's engrossed in her spook stories as i make my move
She flinches not as yours steals them forbidden pleasures
She so delightfully looks ahead with a longing for that promise
She's got me hooked good reeled in and i am her today's fair game
Imagine if there was a parallel universe
Somewhere out there in space
Other humans exactly like us
Living in the same time same place
This might spook a whole lot of people
Not me, I think it'd be great
To meet my alter ego in person
To ask questions of my parallel mate
Find out if he's sad when I'm down
Or happy, when I'm over the moon
Or what he thinks of the world's conflicts
Does he nap in the afternoons
There's a million questions I'd have for him
Like what's all this madness about
Does he have a cure for the ills of the world
Is our time on this planet running out
There must be other forms of life out there
They'd probably look strange to humans
Maybe they're still at a primitive stage
But we're all still part of the plan
Cowboy riding herd on the prairie,
A man of tough and rugged degree,
Most private and independent soul,
One of a kind from a unique mold.
Drifting along on his faithful steed,
As cloven hooves drum the barren ground,
Success is never guaranteed,
When beat is heard by foes all around.
The weather weighs heavy on his mind,
Fears the northerly wind’s mournful whine,
And fast rolling of the tumbleweed,
Might spook the edgy herd to stampede.
Days in the saddle takes heavy toll,
Singing ballads to boost his morale,
He’s determined to keep control,
‘Til herd is safe in the old corral.
The virgin under the pristine sheet,
patrols the creaking, cut, timber of time,
through the blooming roses and the sleet.
The grandiose grandfather chimes.
She used to shine her eyes near the shallows.
The young lass can only shriek her woes.
Her eyes, bright as the moon, on the gallows.
For now she bids welcome under bedding clothes.
Her arms writhe like the wind on the cliffs.
Her feet, hidden beneath the grave cold sheet.
No eye holes needed. It creeps out the stiffs.
She performs a trick when they beg for treats.
The light-as-a-cloud lass, floats just above the grass.
When the ghosts, goblins and vampires notice
they tremble, they turn pale under their first class
masks. The naysayers are given notice!
If they think, or call her a spook, or a guy, she tears
the snow white sheet off, and makes a spectacle
of her hollow cheeks, tangled hair, truant jaw. Fears,
beyond terror, make the living bully sensible.
The pale virgin roams, as long as there's day and night,
as long as seasons come and go, though she longs for sleep.
She moves by her own will - no wrong or right.
The lass longs for quiet, under soil, six feet deep.
Bing informative
the SCHWA sound
become the topic of the day
Dipithong, Dipithong
ooh, ooh wee!
Schwa:schwa!
the Schwa sound
the schwa sound is destroying me.
T notch filters.
Try to spook the others
they used unsafe tactics
that caused people
to boo and jeer.
The Schaw sound
shall maketh him
smarter
then he will never be in need
of these types of Chanagans.
Speakest Lammbeeria the Whorish Harlot of Dikkinism
Larghissimo!!!!!
that he shall streess in labor and shall be
poorest in Dipipothong. His streesses shall cause him the error
such oppurtunies shall allow others to have me as I am a whore.
Than pregant I shall say to him.
You'didist and now you must largemente with money. If this is real and I have no secrets. Denounce me that we have prominated on the shores of the Creeks and the ponds have feed us with fishes.
Drought the earthen shell fish-pow'da-pow-da, pow--dah !!!!!
grind the snouts to pow-dah!!!
Spoke the whorish harlot!!!!
The continuing Saga of Zack Waverly
The Shoot Out At The KOA Corral
Six more days of dust and heat
along this lonely trail,
Although I thought
'Til I caught sight
of a horse, quite sick, and frail
There was no saddle on his back
no bridle and no reins
and as I rode a little closer
I could see he was in pain
I left my horse, canteen in hand
approached him very slow
Careful not to spook him off
I kept my voice quite low
and poured some water
in my palm and cradled every drop
and how he lapped the water up
I'ld thought he'd never stop
It took some time, to build some trust
Understanding his position
Tired, sick and all along
And in, such poor condition
I wondered who the owner was
who would treat a live like this
and so I looked and found the brand
which really made me pis*ed
It's been some years since I had seen
a brand that looked that way
but there it was, I knew because
I'd worked for KOA
He was a violent slasher in a movie,
there was no way for him to spook;
The murder weapon rather bougie;
A psychopath doesn’t frighten easy,
when a fear would rise he’d rebuke;
He was a violent slasher in a movie;
Devoted slave of what is high society
wielding a steel dagger that he took;
The murder weapon rather bougie;
The wifi connection was so spotty;
Unable to handle a common fluke,
he was a violent slasher in a movie;
Stealthy with the aid of technology
without it it’s hard to be a crook;
The murder weapon rather bougie;
All of this made his frail nerves crazy,
no phone no power he would puke:
He was a violent slasher in a movie,
the murder weapon rather bougie.
For twenty years,
Tears in-between,
Rain and rust
And gray-beard dust.
A flooded flagon,
Empty-dry. Laid aside.
A spook to his wolf,
savior to the squirrels.
A languid man snores
While robins lay eggs
In his briery beard.
Blue and yellow eyes
Startle awake.
Oh what trouble
To sleep all night!
The Kaatskills mock,
In torment
Of bygone years,
This stinking man and
his tangled long beard.
Dame Van Winkle’s
Not dead from grief,
But from restless lips
Of donnybrook.
Like all ages, past to future,
Politics ticks and tocks.
Rip hangs upon the pendulum,
Not knowing which side he’s on.
His daughter’s his savior.
His namesake’s his doppelgänger.
The old man rises from the hills,
Baffled and half-moon shy.
Kim Rodrigues © 2017
This might amuse those who know the story of Rip Van Winkle by Washington Irving.
The notion of performance
Isn't the trait of nature
The notion of performance
Doesn't belong to nature
What differs machine and science
We will find out with no razor
The notion of performance
Isn't the trait of nature
Logic and sense reforming
We do understand the danger
The sharp edge with minimal factors
Encompass does not complexities
Black or the white your judgement
Versus makes truth your unethical
What for do I need your zeroes
What for do I need the ones
Computer and I play Osiris
Repair your imbecile stance
Is their job MY computer
Shall we to cook the cook
Removing associations
Will we be using spook
Bark my friend with tail at cars
They don't care about us
Veterinary cloud choose you
Or adopt the pet
Drink water from the bottle
I will produce the set
Milk fat