Long Spooked Poems
Long Spooked Poems. Below are the most popular long Spooked by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Spooked poems by poem length and keyword.
A properly equipped cowpoke is bound to impress the boss.
He'll need a mount of course and a silver-studded saddle fer his hoss.
He'll need some chaps to protect his jeans frum them pesky burrs,
And his outfit wouldn't be complete without a fancy pair of spurs!
A wide-brimmed Stetson is needed fer shelter frum the searin' sun.
It's also dandy fer feedin' oats to his hoss when their work is done.
He'll need a pair of Tony Lama boots with high heels and pointy toes,
And a bandana to keep the dust and bugs from a-pluggin' up his nose!
When on night patrol and the restless herd is spooked by lightnin' bright,
A harmonica is a handy gadget to soothe the herd frum takin' flight.
A coiled riata he'll need to corral them stampedin' wild cows.
He'll wear a pair of 44s to shoot rattlesnakes (if'n the boss allows)!
He'll need a couple of blankets fer sleepin' 'neath the canopy of stars,
And bags of Bull Durham fer roll-yer-owns and maybe a few cigars.
He'll need a heap of patience when gallopin' through the chaparral,
Roundin' up them frenzied dogies fer brandin' in the old corral!
He'll be a-chasin' cattle and a-fixin' fences thro' rain, sleet and snow.
He wonders sometimes why he cowboys - it sure ain't fer the dough!
He'll need lots of fortitude to abide "Cooky's" taters, bacon and beans,
But he'll keep at it 'til he's old and gray, 'cause cowboyin' is in his genes!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(© All Rights Reserved)
Placed No. 10 in Giddy up! Little Dogies! Contest May 2010
"Can you feel the soul of an abandoned house; can you hear the whispering?"
Quote by - Constance La France
Why did these bedeviled bats
fly right into the windows?
An abandoned house
standing forlorn
amid a desolate landscape
with its window panes shattered
relating a story of one foreboding night
when these bats splattered their blood
on the shards of glass
strewn all over the blighted floor.
These nocturnal creatures, skilled
at navigating a labyrinth of caves,
what drove them to their gruesome fate?
Alas, if only these broken windows
or the bloody shards of glass can tell the tale.
Maybe, as the tale is being told,
It's the tragic tale of star-crossed
lovers who were pursued, persecuted
and thrown into an oubliette
never to see the light of day.
Why does love exact such a dreadful wage?
Was it their lost souls that
spooked the birds to their death?
Ha, if only these grimy walls can breathe in
even a dismal whisper of the past.
~05/29/23
~Contest: Writing Challenge
~Sponsor: Constance La France.
"Another 150 Illinoisans have lost their lives in the last 24 hours
May each of their memories be for a blessing
2,240 residents have tested positive for the virus
Another 365 new hospitalizations were recorded
730 people are on ventilators...
"These are real people, who have and had real lives
So, the virus is out there. It is among us
Stay inside your homes. Please!
Only go out for essential trips...
"Make sure to wash your hands thoroughly
for at least 30 seconds, with soap
whenever you touch exposed skin or a foreign object
Multiple hand-washing is the message here...
"And wearing a mask at all times out-of-doors
is key in mitigating the virus
I just can't stress that enough
Don't forget social distancing either
Stay at least six feet away from the person
with whom you are interacting...
"I'm the last person in the world who wants these restrictions
I'd like to open up the state as much as you would
Yet the the statistics don't lie. And though
we're flattening the curve
the virus is still out there
It is among us..."
I could give the daily speech by heart myself
Thank you, Governor Pritzker, for spooking me
and so many other law-abiding Illinoisans who have
been foolish enough to buy into your extended lockdown
For which you had no legal authority, whatsoever --
Bully!
And which, by the way, didn't apply to your family
Your wife and kids hopped on a plane and flew to Florida
to your tawny vacation home ---
Stay at home, my foot! ---
Hypocrite!
I hate going outside with my mask and gloves
I hate going shopping or to the pharmacy
I hate going for a walk in the park
It's all on you, Mr. Pritzker
May you reap
What you've sown...
And after the next election
May your memory be for a blessing
Dear United, tell me why
You will not let my peacock fly.
I’m really quite a worry wart
And Dexter gives me such support.
He also can do double duty
Gracing others with his beauty
When, because he is a male,
He spreads his most amazing tail.
It isn’t true, as some have said,
That if he’s spooked, his feathers shed
Or that he might get in the way
Of drinks you’re serving on a tray.
Now peacocks really are unique
And if we could hear Dexter speak
I’m sure that he would plead his case
And your concerns he’d thus erase.
However, if you don’t concede
To give me what I surely need,
My other pet can fit in coach –
It’s Fred, my hissing cockaroach!*
*a little poetic license on the spelling
She has a tumbledown deck, a creaky rocker.
Dandelion seeds carry memories
from one neglected garden patch to another.
She’s not old, but her wine has mulled,
the sun has scoured her face into a tracery
of twilit paths.
There were children once. They play
now upon her mind as fairies would
each one lightly sprinkled with a moonshine
made in a tin shelter deep in the rickety scrub
of backwoods memories.
The law took them, and the grinding years
brewed more lonely coffee, while cans
filled with cigarette butts.
No-good lovers still practice
their shoddy dance steps in her housecoat pockets
while lost children braid her greying hair.
Few things were fair in her life,
few choice well made, most withered,
yet in the soft evenings, she still waters
unkempt floral corners
where hope hangs on, she still pulls together
enough threads of herself
to brave the shadows
that creep into the spooked cubbyholes
of her ramshackle nights.
We were four tough teens and one day at school we were dared
To spend a night in Hangman's Woods to prove we weren't scared,
We'd set up camp for the night then heard loud wailing and a moan
Sheer blind terror overcame us when we realised we weren't alone,
We ran as fast as our legs could carry us and we didn't look back
And made it to the woods entrance and there stood by an old shack,
Were our three so called school friends who'd set us up for the dare
They were laughing and pointing at us and all we could do was glare.
Written on the 25th October 2020
8 lines Of Spooky Rhyme Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Tania Kitchin.
By Parizo Van Thulare
You have spooked my eyes
you shocked my nerves
Wrestling my semi colons
Showing no mercy to these protons
Why is this creature obsessed with night ?
Why is he creeping minds ?
You give a rise to this negative thoughts
You steal time and feed the shadows
You send colorful reapers to stare us on the windows
Only those that have fear will cover themselves with pillows
Maybe you are scared of the light
Why you come sneaking ?
Later this time you start showing up
Why don't you come during the day ?
So that everyone will get a chance to see their enemy
I will hunt you down some day
I will chase you away
I will make you pay
I'm prepared to walk in the vain
Sweet Dreams will be the only ones to Rain
Their one lone cow has broken down the fence;
we see her trundling down the dusty lane.
Milo's mind remembers 'bout the milking.
Dad's face, a fiery-red, storms from the shed
where feisty kittens spat and sparred o'er cream.
Milo's feet meander back to the scene
as words of fire enflame dad's bulging neck.
"You'll wear the shoes that spooked the cow!" he roars.
So Milo moseys off to dad's bidding.
The cream a'squish-squish-squishes from the seams
of shoes like steam escaping old train wrecks.
Milo mumbles, "Guess I'd best be moving
along that dusty road to bring back Cow,"
with no concern for who will mend the fence.
written March 13, 2018
Scads of decades ago...
Metaphorical mama's yoyo
came undone, unleashing woe
doggone wizard of oz sought in toto
afore final picture show
would play staging pro
sic cuter determining
irrevocable fate oh no!
Approximately this time of year
(circa mid December) as
Christmas holiday doth near,
yours truly donning his unrecognizable
incognito custom tailored corporeal wear
well worn, timeworn, and careworn
birthday suit - most
frightening Halloween scare
transient boyhood lad
spooked with fear
courtesy grizzled old man,
who toothless doth glare
at much younger self
sporting scraggly gray hair
searches happy go lucky,
innocently naive, fancy free
and footloose spare
slip sliding away shy kid 'ere
timid, solitary, reservedly...
imperfect triangulated square
peg in round hole
quizzically, soundlessly... mere
roaring, reflecting, and ruminating
riddled with despair
methinks him foreigner, stranger, harbinger...
unavoidable, hellacious, catastrophic...
pitfalls he ain't aware
impossible mission to bolster near
deadly encounters with
maniacal mailer daemons
stealing his harmony, jollity, spontaneity...
knocking him out stone cold no prayer,
nor wing can revive, he will appear,
whence straddling prepubescence
agonizingly scared shuffling, skulking
sputtering... collapsing upon
his scrawny derriere
bony posterior subjected
necessary iron injections
courtesy Harriet Harris (mother)
licensed practical nurse buttressing
emaciated frame hiding her tear
filled eyes, while sole son
wishes grim reaper cursed harridan
freely clutching him onto elysian fields,
where abound spirits
of grateful dead everywhere.
Hank lounged on his porch watchin' the sun slowly sinkin' in the west.
He'd cowboyed for nigh on sixty years and figgered he'd done his best.
Hank and his faithful hoss Old Dan was now enjoyin' their leisure years,
And he had time to recall his ranchin' days while tossin' back some beers!
He was so bow-legged from ridin' saddle he looked like a pair of pliers!
His hands was stained and gnarled from roll-yer-owns and mendin' wires.
He'd hung up his spurs, chaps and well-worn saddle without regret,
But he wore his scruffy boots, leather vest, jeans and sombrero yet.
He shuddered recalling stormy nights that spooked the wild-eyed steers,
Causin' hell-raisin' stampedes that endangered him and his peers.
He remembered more peaceful times ridin' herd with cattle happily grazin',
And a time or two chasin' cussed' rustlers with his .44 guns a-blazin'!
He swore he'd never eat another bean, tater or bacon in his life,
Since that's all Cooky knowed how to fix, a subject of constant strife!
He recalled how he stammered when meetin' ladies in many a saloon,
Which left him pawin' the floor with his pointy boots, feelin' like a goon!
Hank remembered cattle drives and in Abilene drawin' his meager pay,
Spendin' it on rot-gut whiskey and schemin' wimmin, blowin' it all away.
Hank peered into the distance and gazed at a lone pine tree in the vale,
Thinkin', "I want to be planted there when I've reached the end of the trail!"
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired