Last eve, alone, sometime between the moon and dawn;
that space between the real and what is just a dream,
a chilling breath of wind flew past the curtains drawn
shadows slid towards my bed; I tried, failed to scream.
A dark-masked hooded face closed in and pressed to mine;
from raven lips, I felt a hissing foul-stench breath
with words to dread; "tonight, you'll be my Columbine."
Then stroked my tear-stained cheek with fingers, cold as death.
I watched in fear; I could not, dare not, close my eyes;
cartwheels, somersaults, upon my body, bed;
grotesque antics by this beast in devil's own disguise.
Down, down to fiery Hades, I was being led.
Dry rawboned hands were pulling forceful at my feet;
And as he pulled, I slid, the monster once more spoke;
"Come with me, dear; there's someone that you need to meet."
What would suit my dream, that I sleep, or I awoke?
12-16 Lines of a Scary Halloween Rhyme Poetry Contest; placed 2nd
Sponsored by: Tania Kitchin
Date wrote: 24th October 2022
Rhymes: wikirhymer dot com
A gauche gaucho,
a galoot,
rawboned and grizzly,
rode into
a snoring border town.
"Google me," he said,
as he hitched his mare to
a wild hair.
The cranky cowhand
had gambled on
an internet cantina being open
but the only horse in town
had been gridlocked for hours.
Later they found him
slumped over
a frozen quesadilla.
"Poor Bastard." They cooed.
"Poor lonely gaucho
with his empty man-bag
and no mail.
Just a gadget for company,
an uncharged old ‘Blackberry’.
O the god-damn humanity."
I heard…
he was higher than the starry sky he painted
a genius’ stroke with a sable red brush
dipped in white opium dust
of pain hidden from the mirror’s occupant
agony twisted darker than the starry canvas
concealed behind glistening constellations of doubt
to live or die
the artist painted Vincent’s Sky
I know…
the piercing pain of abandoned nights
allegations echoing the deeds of a sinner
bearing track marks on rawboned arms
chained to opium’s ether
blinding sodium vapor stars
broken asphalt lulling my dreams
to live or die
straining to enter
Vincent’s Sky
A gauche gaucho,
a galoot,
rawboned and grizzly,
rode into
a snoring border town.
"Google me," he said,
as he hitched his mare to
a wild hair.
The cranky cowhand
had gambled on
an internet cantina being open
but the only horse in town
had been gridlocked for hours.
Later they found him
slumped over
a frozen quesadilla.
"Poor Bugger." They cooed.
"Poor lonely gaucho
with his empty man-bag
and no mail.
Just a gadget for company,
an uncharged blackberry.
The god-damn humanity."