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Best Poems Written by Jacob Bellville

Below are the all-time best Jacob Bellville poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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The Boogieman

I creep in at night,
     When all lights are out.
While you peacefully sleep,
     When no-one’s about.
No stars in the sky,
     No fresh baked bread.

Only you,
     Me,
     And my breath on your neck.

Hush now child, go to sleep,
     For tonight you will dream,
     And I will creep.
Through cracks in your walls,
     Or holes in your floors.
It matters not, I have trained on scores.

I cut my teeth,
     On bedposts,
     And springs.
I sharpened my claws,
     On cradles,
     And dreams.
I perfected this dance,
     Each child,
     Each fright.
I hope to dance with you, child……..
     TONIGHT!!!!

Details | Jacob Bellville Poem

Pretty Things

She skips.
Sunlight combing her hair,
Bright lines through braids.
With sweet song notes dancing on lips.

She trips.
Verdant beds cushion her fall.
Tickling her with soft petals and stems,
As song turns to laughter.
The notes quickly flip.

She places her flowery clip,
In her hair. blue bloom lightening the air.
The smell of dark honey,
Leads her away from thoughts of the whip.

She giggles, pouncing towards another lily,
The two filled the grove, a merry pair.
“Hello”. She cups the lilies’ bulb,
With hands like leather,
Gentle as a feather.

She whispers through scarred lips.
“Just thought you should know how pretty you are”.


10/13/13

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Puzzled Pieces

It was a dazzling day.
In the park where we gathered.
I watched the sprinkler spray.
Whilst Oleander got lathered.

A pierce of minty laughter.
Came from my mother.
The day, now full swelter.
Brought mephitic curses, from father.

My mother,
A piece, of distinct edges, shapes, and color.
My Father’s piece,
Gossamer... A ghost in the Parlor.

My aunt buzzes ‘round,
Looking to peck.
Her greatest skill,
Tearing wealth from flesh.

She is an ugly thing,
Constantly tithing kin.
Her tabs busted,
Only darkness within.

My uncle walks water,
Crying divine inspired droll.
Then he sees foreign breasts,
And his eyes start to roll.

He is piously loathsome,
A delusional winner.
His piece, contrasting color,
A chronic Casanova of a sinner.

My grandmother sits,
By a row of briar’s.
From here smelling sweet,
Closer and the peril gets dire.

She is a dandy,
Addicting to be around.
But when her corner piece shows,
It can cut to the ground.

My grandfather rests,
In the middle, on a bench.
The tether that keeps,
We are bolts, He is wrench.

His piece.....
To us much renowned.
His piece is the core,
It holds me around.

There it is, my family puzzle.
And on the fringes I sit.
See, I’m an edge piece,
That doesn’t quite fit.
With my teeth on a muzzle.

03/04/13

Details | Jacob Bellville Poem

Enslaved In Love

The monitor beeps,
      With each caged breath,
      And labored heartbeat.

Snow piles in drifts, cars crawl with fear,
      December outside,
      December in here.

Candle wax drips, telling a tale of time,
      If only it were faster,
      Too end this torturous bind.

Bound and broken for far too long,
      Family tithing for misery,
      Hoping for better days, maybe even a song.

Delusions of hope for some selfish needs,
      To reconcile future false void,
      That should be filled with a man's life deeds.

His gaolers break down and frequently have cried,
      Keeping body preserved,
      While essence has long died.

Holding on to mortal coil, waiting for the dawn.
      With spirit eternally withdrawn,
      The total man long gone.

A younger turnkey came asking "What can I do?"
      "Quit crying, go away,
      Let me have my due."

Sunken eyes devoid of light, curdled skin, and feeble bone.
      "You are holding on to nothing."
      The man has long since flown.
      "Everyone dies alone."


-Comments are appreciated.

Details | Jacob Bellville Poem

A Killer Addiction

The hooks went deeper,
A phantasmal itch.
Guiding him steeper,
More soul scars needing stitched.

Needle a quiver,
Injecting a mark.
Gambit so clever,
The results were stark.

Collapsing in a pile,
Upon a dirt floor.
Nightshades bile,
Straight to the core.

A beautiful view,
With violent convulsions.
Tearing his sinew,
All to feed his compulsion.

In this small dirty shack,
His mind a euphoric mess.
Retribution at his back,
Twisted emotions, taken roost in his chest.

He cupped his face with,
Scarred hands of leather.
Salt tears drip,
With revulsion and pleasure.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I never..."


For the: What Do You Make of This? Contest.
-The first image of the eye with a skull inside the pupil.
(03/11/13)
-Comments/Criticism appreciated

Details | Jacob Bellville Poem

Lost In Loss

The fog hung thick about him.
So thick he could shove it aside.
It clung to him,
As young love clings to an even younger kiss.
An enduring memory, that in deed was all to brief.
It wrapped him in a sense deprived embrace.
Foreign arms in his all too familiar and fragile world.
Shaking the perilous cliff,
That his courage balanced upon.

He was suddenly assaulted,
By the smell of burnt pine and hemlock,
The sound of burnt and hacking screams,
The sound of a monster roaring... Consuming.
It's frame lit up the world around it,
And in the process forever darkening his.

He approached the long dead skeleton.
That once was his home,
The purpose he once had,
And the void that had replaced it.

The grey film soon broke.
The sun stretched down to bathe him in the clarity he had once known.
Reaching to help him.
But, the light was always reaching.
Trying to break through, dampened isolation.
The fog, perpetually inside him.
Dampening the fires that once brought meaning,
Embracing him... taking from him.
As it once took from him.

The fire of life that had once given him purpose and meaning,
Now just a smolder, continually dampened by the fog
Taken roost in his soul.
The fire of his life, his fate that had looked so bright,
Devoured by the worldly conflagration made
Of heat, 
And wood, 
And screams.
Now just a charred skeleton of what once had been.

He called to his daughter,
With the pain of cagastric ruin,
"Come on, time to go."
Now just a smolder of what once had been.


-Comments are appreciated.

Details | Jacob Bellville Poem

Squatches In My Mind

I know that you now reside,
In the tundra of my mind.

I know your eyes can see,
The decadent dangers inside of me.

It shoots ice straight through your spine.
Knowing what the foliage of my mind,
Can do to make you squatches whine.

You let out a hideous wail.
As your face begins to pale.
Your cerebral cave of jagged shale,
Slowly crumbles, starts to fail.

Your fear grows quickly by the hour.
As sinister daffodils take your power.
Of your recent kill, the meat turns sour.
As you realize this place, by far is fouler.

Your arms and legs turn to lead.
Your stomach flutters growing dread,
Your realizing the dangers in my head.
That my imagination has now fed.

Your lost in overwhelming splendor.
At the sight of my terrifying Render.
With her body supple and slender,
She burns you, through her eyes of ember.

You crumple to the floor, while crying.
As she floats forward, carried on undying.
She glances up, over shoulder sighing.
At the sight of sterling stars aligning.

Render:		“Hello hunter welcome to His wood.”

                         On wobbly squatch stilts you stood.

Squatch:	        “Who is His? If you would.”

Render:	        “His, is the creator of this wood,
		         And in here all evil and good.”

So you stand their patiently listening.
To the figment of my inner whispering.
To the startling revelation of your fears.
You are one of many monsters in here.
	


Entered in the Dreams Contest (Based upon a dream)
Comments/Criticism appreciated
03/19/13

Details | Jacob Bellville Poem

Murder Castle 1893

Let me take you back,
To a time trapped in amber.
When the World’s Fair weary,
Surely did clamber.

For a place to rest,
They came upon Mudgett’s.
Such inexpensive board,
Who could begrudge it?

Such a quaint little place,
To lay their labored heads.
Unless murderous intent,
Accompanied, purchased beds.

He would walk the floors,
Of his murderous castle.
As he practiced his trade,
The serial cessation of vassals.

When guests reached their room,
They were locked in from outside.
On silent unscented wings,
His pestilence did glide.

Filling the room,
And sets of lungs besides.
Hundreds may have wept,
And eventually died.

Finally word got around,
About a hotel of blackened dread.
Furnished with crimson carpet,
And walls speckled red.


Based on Herman Mudgett's murder castle during the 1893 World's Fair.
For the Sinister poetry competition.
03/25/13

Details | Jacob Bellville Poem

Guilt Gone Prologue

A man I knew once,
A man I knew as friend.

Within his indenture he turned on us,
Fed up, we no longer could contend.

A man who asked so much from us,
Our support, so little we lend.

We weren’t there when he called on us,
We weren’t there to help him mend.

Left with guilt as vile as puss,
For we were negligent and dilatory in his sickened end.



04/20/13

Details | Jacob Bellville Poem

Duped

Surreal beauty fit to fly.
Pearly teeth, oozing lies.

Dark mane casts ethereal frame.
Deep blue views of sinister flames.

Transient bodice, eager flight.
Others upon, she bestows the sight.

Lying beauty unadorned.
Dark addiction, newly horned.

Gentle hand, cloying chest.
Upon hole, within loss rest.

Flaying flesh from bone.
A dying wish of an inherent crone.

Hole, which inner heart was bore.
Afore gaucherie did so gore.
Lying inert and naked on the floor.


-Any comments are appreciated.