The Real Monsters
We are afraid of fire breathing dragons and scaly lizards.
Things that go bump in the night. Shadow creatures
who live under our beds and in our closets. Yeti
and Big Foot. Pale ghosts and poltergeists.
Chupacabra’s and vampires. Blood red
demons with pitchforks and horns.
Imaginary monsters that
can do us no real harm.
Why do we fear
them.
What we should be afraid of are people who chose evil.
MS13 and coyotes that traffic in human misery.
Corporate media giants that censor speech. Corrupt
politicians who sell us out to foreign countries.
School boards that label parents terrorists.
Dictators that oppress. Political correctness.
Murders, abusers, gossips, embezzelers.
Wars, hatred and genocide.
We should fear these. For
they are the
real
monsters.
welcome to my universe
welcome to my universe
my world
my inner cosmos
the world according to cosmos
it is a dark and fantastical land
filled with dark dangerous delusions
mad monsters
dark imaginings
things that go bump in the night
wild things that come out at night
haunting my dreams
and my nightmares
it is a world for madmen only
dare to enter
the price of admission
your mind
care to join me
in this dark carnival ride
straight to the bottom
of my personal hell
if not
well I understand
my world is not
for everyone
but if you do come
along for the ride
I guarantee it
You will emerge
On the other side
A different person
Having seen things
That are best unseen
Experiencing life
At its most elemental
And in the end
Becoming me
Red and black lights ping off the glass,
Inviting her up to the door,
Into a world noone taught her in school,
To a world where she wants so much more,
More life, more lessons, more tools of the trade,
A parade of flavors of sauce,
Wobbly gadgets made to distract,
That she’d only ever seen on a horse,
And rabbit ears and rings and powerful things,
Things that go bump in the night,
This world of wonder covered the walls,
Vibrating plugs all covered in stripes,
Then back through the door with brown bag in hand,
And some sort of big fat cigar,
She walked in a line, as straight as a die,
Hiding a smile she walked straight to her car.
SATAN
They call him the king of the dark,
He stands tall and oh so proud,
Laughing while hovering over his tormented crowd,
He's an evil captain of an evil ark.
Do you believe in hell?
And things that go bump in the night?
The burning of flesh and devoid of light,
It's the bottomless pit with an evil smell.
Satan is not the answer,
Nor is he the question,
He steals souls without reservation,
He's the original necromancer.
©2015
Samual Ronthorpe -- *Sam I Am*
It all started one Halloween..no one knew what it would mean...could it ? was it? just a
dream ? Follow the " Legend of Fred " series and you'll see what I mean...
Everyone’s asking where is Fred..?
Has anyone looked under their bed ?
I’ve heard tell he disappeared on this night filled with fright..
Many said he was taken by the things that go bump in the night…
But things of this nature don’t happen around here that much….
Has anyone out there seen a little red headed clown ?
He has a red nose and a smile turned upside down…
The chocolate and sweets from his trick or treat…
Still lays scattered all over the street…
I know he wouldn’t have gone on his own..
Cause he came from a very happy home…
Some say they’ve seen him, running down the street..
Yelling at the top of his lungs….
Hey everybody it’s time for “ trick or treat “…
So on that night when you go out...looking for some fun..
Remember the little red clown named Fred..
And all the things this poem has said…..
In tempestuous black the creatures glow
with eerie neon bright.
They whisper through the murky depths
and claim the frightful night.
Zombies and the other undead
gaze fiercely into the dark.
With willful aim and shattering thoughts
they leave their evil mark.
Then mistress hags upon their brooms
go floating tree to tree.
Perhaps they'll cackle up a spell
to cast on you and me.
Ghouls of every wicked kind
come hither to commune.
Fiery devils and pallid ghosts
go dancing on the moon.
So lock your doors and windows too;
keep silent in the gloaming.
This is the time when goblins play
and wicked things go roaming.
written October 14th for contest "Everything Halloween"
THINGS THAT GO BUMP IN THE NIGHT
Often times things go bump in the night
We shake and tremble, filled with fright
Tiptoeing softly in search of the sound
Nerves on edge making our heart pound
Suddenly in the parlor, what did I hear
It sounded much like the scraping of a chair
Peering intently where the shadows lurk
Wondering if someone's watching me with a smirk
The parlor is empty of goblin or ghost
Then the thing that I dread most
A sound from the kitchen like pots and pans
Being banged together by unseen hands
I creep across the living room floor
Gently, I open the kitchen door
Nothing scary greets me there
The anxiety now is more than I can bare
I break out in a cold clammy sweat
Afraid to keep looking – but yet
I want to find out the source of the sound
Worried beyond measure at what may be found
I'm wielding a chair in self defense
Still filled with fear and great suspense
I flip on the lights to find out that....
I'd been scared stiff by my neighbor's cat
22 September 2013
for the Everything Halloween contest
Things that live in webbed corners of our mind,
that lurk under our beds or in the closet we soon find,
love the dark of gloom, the delicious smell of fright,
fertile dreams edge into heart-thumping terrors of the night.
A simple closet changes into the portal between fantasy and real,
shadows manifest out of every goosebump and beads of sweat we feel,
logic switches off and imagination wakes and monsters rule our brain,
and suddenly we are transported back to our childhood once again.
Gone are the thoughts of inlaws, taxes and the many burdens we bear,
We now are riding dragons and vanquishing monsters of land and air,
Warriors of strength and valour, failure is not known in this realm,
For King, Kith and Kin, with sword raised, we cannot be overwhelmed.
As a child, we were hero, warrior and victor to damsels in distress,
we cared nothing for wealth, fame and the way we looked and dressed,
So come on Boogey-Man, Dracula and things that go bump in the night,
with our imaginations free and clear we will conquer you with our might!
©Jane Richer
11/10/2006
What wondrous things Imagination brings,
If we have but the gumption to look;
Glorious kings or poisonous rings,
Pulled straight out of a book;
Horses that fly or foxes that spy,
Things that go bump in the night;
Learn to defy those things they deny,
Because suppression just isn’t right;
Feel with your nose or smell with your toes,
Our minds can conquer it all;
Dream of a rose that grows and grows,
Or perhaps that stays very small;
There is no end, neither foe or friend,
And it’s all trapped inside our brains;
Just because it’s penned doesn’t mean it’s pretend,
Nor does it mean your insane;
Dreams get trapped and then they adapt,
Until they become a creation,
Like a continent mapped or present unwrapped,
When we use our Imagination!
I just can't escape my fate
I guess I was born to write
I've joined the realm of rattling chains...( applies oil to chains )
And things that go bump in the night...( bump! )
A different dimension is now my home
And I can even walk through walls...( see? )
I'm cursed to write these funny poems
While walking and haunting your halls... ( trips over chair )
Now, I don't wear a sheet on my head... ( place ghostly moaning sound here )
That's simply not who I am... ( rattles chains! )
I'm something like an apparition
For I'm no longer a man
I dare you to read my poems
As I beckon from the grave... ( boo )
I'll poison you with my funny lines
Til you brains I shall enslave... ( coughs )
I've now become the Ghost Writer
The one you knew has vanished...( Where'd I go? )
So I'll haunt you with my ghostly verse
Til one day I'm finally banished...( The End )
Things go bump in the night,
I wake with a sudden fright.
I'm fast asleep in my bed,
when there's a noise in my head.
Sitting up with a bound,
ears straining to hear the sound.
What is it, I think,
boy, I need a drink.
Is it the cat,
or maybe it's a rat.
There's not a sound to be heard,
what's that, it's the cry of a bird.
Go back to sleep you fool,
it's only the house starting to cool .
Tango .
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