Long Suspenseful Poems
Long Suspenseful Poems. Below are the most popular long Suspenseful by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Suspenseful poems by poem length and keyword.
A thought, a nightmare, a dream; and what does it all mean?
Perhaps its meaning hides inside the clouds and reveals itself with the outpouring of rain that often comes with a flooding deluge of pain.
Anyway, last night, I had a dream. I cannot recall most of my dreams, and a few of them I can never forget. This dream was about friends of mind whose names I shall alter and call them Grant and Justine.
In the dream, they created a secret recipe and made a tasty carbonated beverage. I'm no food expert, but they sought me out for a taste test; and I found it to be a most refreshing drink with a very soothing quality.
Their drink had the ability to immediately capture one with suspense upon contact with the tongue. And it had a smoothness that, in a flash, released a taste so pleasing and subtle. I highly commended them on their new product and bade them the speed of God.
And again I ask, what does it all mean? I cannot be for certain, but it occurred to me that we often face situations that are rather suspenseful and hold a ton of questions with so few answers. I sense that if we remain poised, calm, and prayerful, the outcome will give birth to or release a taste from heaven with the touch of Almighty God.
09042017PS 2nd Contest, Dreams, Nayda Negron; Contest #330, Brian Strand
"recently scenes of early life have stolen into my mind, like breezes blown ..." Quote by _Samuel Taylor Coleridge (from his writings)
There’s a magical cemetery north of here they say,
It’s a pleasant place to visit during the day.
Be sure the gate is unlocked if you plan to stay,
some just go for a thrill!
Visiting the dead is not the only reason to go.
A paranormal natural illusion awaits, a creep show.
A strange, haunting experience is all we know.
We need to listen, be still.
Pitch black at night, a warning if you easily scare.
Running out on a grave gets you points, it’s a dare,
I heard it in school, they do it bare but it’s rare,
and against our will.
On a lonely stretch of road, objects, gravity defies.
When you get to the spot, your vehicle flies.
And all must be quiet to hear the spirits cries,
or see feathers of a quill.
Santeria is noted when feathers have been gifted.
In space, the car, with all of us in it, will be lifted.
This is a story ‘bout the Halloween night we drifted,
through Gravity Hill.
An old Chevy Impala is what we teens packed into.
Fright stories were told along the way, some true!
Hair stood on arms, Bloody Mary, was one of the few.
It gave us such a chill.
One girl shouted; I looked in the rear-view mirror!
I saw her ghost! And so, it couldn’t be any clearer,
We were close, suspenseful of what grew nearer.
Then sounds of a French trille.
Natural illusion’s tricking everyone, in a mystery spot,
With no view of the horizon line, and near a dark lot,
The driver put the gear in neutral like he was taught,
as if by magic, began rolling uphill.
A slight downhill slope appears to be going up slope.
Then somebody asked, did anyone hear that? Nope.
A cayote ran across the road, had hoofs like an antelope,
with a wide grin and grill.
A layout of the land produces an optical illusion,
What you see is what you get, my conclusion,
Let ghosts lie, for it is us who are the intrusion.
Memories non-fiction, no frill!
GRaViTy HiLL
Written: April 7th, 2025 for contest Sponsored by: Crystol Woods
********************
When the river ascends, a vow holds true
beyond the dawn, rarest jewel
Resting hearts discover solace in dual
the suspenseful glimmer of love’s hue
Treasure life, abscond the fool
spoke the king to his queen with pompous glee
An eclipse unexplored, together we foresee
In shadow shiver, life delicate rule
The sharp edge of remorse is keen
commitments made beneath a sunlit, raw day
Birds turned with their wings to the bay
spirits are lifting where ambitions glean
Joy colors the sky in spring, so organic and few
gentle breezes carried dreams of fresh dust
Endless happiness, a hint on canvas will rust
an oasis was discovered as shadows withdrew
Poeticism Way Off Base
I Wrote Below and may have been OVERLOOKED; BEARS READING AND UNDERSTANDING
The deletion of one's post will then have a direct impact on one's totality of posts being reduced by that action, in equal numbers,
where the relevancy will be the act of adding a post to one's totality of their posts being increased by that action, in equal number.
The consequences of those plus or minus acts should directly impact one's posts encountering a stipulation.
Albeit, the modus operandi forestalls, at which point the deletion of two posts almost immediate to each other, and in pursuit, similarly its totality reduced, with the recommended window for numbered of privileged posts--
--Should have ascertained relief of two deletions upon its immediacy, an act for an act, and be accorded the window of opportunity times two within the same time frame:
~~ Explanations needless warranty of a suspenseful guesstimate.
Copyright © Hilo Poet | Year Posted 2024
Love is indeed a strange realm....
from the perspective of the inexperienced-
terrorizing, hypnotizing and suspenseful-
in the thought that the Love many speak of,
that many claim to live by...
can be cloaked with all that seems good for the soul,
yet saturated deeply for many days in something most fowl....
Sometimes, the valley to the truth of Love is clear...
other times,
it is merely a matter of one foot after another....
and the rest, it seems,
remains in that mysterious step beyond ......
into mists we either master or abandon...
-----
Some musings
September 13, 2014
Your words—a light to my embroidered sorrow,
Your heart—pumping in me hope for tomorrow
Your strength—an ever-shining, unassuming moon,
Reflecting a sun that shall rise very soon
In daydream despair I will always remember,
From suspenseful January, to darkened December
That pain etched deeply in my shattered soul,
As love slipped so quietly through that double door
I have waited long for a chance to express,
How much I cherish your showering grace
Never once have I not thought of you,
And the love you show that blooms our truth
You are there as fellow lovers embrace,
You cradle me in words I forever trace
Never once assuming the worse,
Healing what thrives in this bleeding verse
Glistening out for all to see, the sun gleams in on high
Though weakened, your mere subsistence pulls me to the sky
Your heart—a growing exuberance I never can ignore
Your words—a guide of gold beyond that double door
January 4, 2015
the mystery of the girl and monsters
in the fog, lost, precarious knocking,
lighthouses, antique dresses,
the back and forth of my imagination.
at sea - the deep, dark movement
of unseen waves, unremembered
dendrites firing at each suspenseful turn.
the real storm, unrelenting all-night-feast
of thunder cracks and lightning bolts -
has Frankenstein’s monster come alive?
the scary knock at the door - don’t answer it!
we laugh so hard, how imaginings and story
support our fear. likewise, the top of the hill -
are you kidding it’s dark? one must
not venture where one might spy a host
of trouble; but the girl you’d follow
in the drizzly mist, to the fashionable past -
inviting, suspiciously exciting, an escape.
with monsters, well…watch out for the tale -
a little-red-riding-hood-precautionary blow.
7/2/2022
Miss Jessica Finch, the avian sleuth
Was scratching out novels and sipping vermouth.
She lived a charmed life when she was quite young;
Her first book, “The Voyeur: Peeking Duck Hung”.
“Peacocked and Loaded,” no rivals, unequalled.
“All Bluster, No Muster, “ a fan-favored sequel.
“Migratory Murmurations of a Wandering Heart”
And “Starling, My Darling,” her cross-over art.
“Covey of darkness: the Unpheasant Truth”
Shines light in glass houses, unkempt and uncouth.
The one she’s best known for, that everyone one knows
That suspenseful thriller, “A Murder of Crows.”
But the one she loves best, that still gives her pause,
The brilliant court drama, “Probable Caws.”
————-
for the A Flock of Birds Poetry Contest
sponsored by Julia Ward
written on 09/24/22
A fade factor that is imperceptible in its licence.
“Did we set in train something that day we met?
The law is an ass.
The lawn is an ass and maybe ASS we are reminiscing like?”
Nigella wistfully with a gratuitous grin this time.
This day was a nab and seize for a second pause for solid recount.
Oh what a different mystical era it was in Nigel and Nigella’s formative age.
The simplicity of this area, though a shelter, fed off the pervasive advent of black and white television, electricity pylons, and familiar tone presenter radio.
How Nigel and nigella whilst living in birdnest style buildings didn't succumb entirely to a drab rut though they found themselves cramped.
A store of light tinge whimsy memories linger against a backdrop to a burgh whose population were in a state of flux with an element in a sneaky outward creep to an “Elsewhere Nirvana.”
At least for the time being though suspenseful.
The town itself was sandwiched by a concentric vista of numbingly lush pastures with gates for a suite of animals, donkeys, among the more popular pet of choice despite being on the receiving end of comedians and their rustic sleights and barbs.
An idyllic garden ringfenced this condensed area which once had an ample size but a quiet trickle exodus that might be a chimera.
Clinging rhythms from musical styles
ignites my desire.
Can you dim the red lights? I crave a
sense of cashmere danger,
It smells of peace and warmth, pleasure and vibrations, placing me in a butterfly zone.
Yet I hesitate to express my feelings on paper. Never want to get caught.
Luxury! Dining amidst wild jewelry, shoes,
and faint black dresses while I stand before
a mirror, a glance game of goddesses.
It soothes my thoughts. My nasty smile.
I seek those side dishes with echoing flavours. Rolling my eyes as they slide down my throat.
The only liquid I’ll trade for water is you.
What else quenches my inner fire?
Just like savouring steaks! I'll munch and
get my lips stained.
That’s the amount of juice you bring to
my surface.
Nothing brings more calm than those suspenseful Korean visuals we watch together, reflecting our desires.
The chokes of laughter that freezes my brain.
My brown eyes, deep and thoughtful,
gaze into your soul,
Embracing each moment.
Yesterday was Jasmine,
today is lavender,
Honey, could you send
marigolds tomorrow?
Their scent brings me closer
to nature’s gentle mercies.
At last! The hugs from behind,
the cuddles, I dream about it.
Call me spoiled, only by you
but I’ll always crave those too, HoneyBae.