posted
One thing the world doesn't have enough of, (IMO), is Spooky Poetry. We have some real greats, like The Raven and Little Orphan Annie, but all in all they seem so few.
So! Put on your writing caps, think of spooks and witches and goblins and Things-that-go-bump-in-the-night, and give Hatrack your best.
Here's mine:
***** Dark Things
No one remembers a winter ago When Tommy McAllister, lost in the snow Discovered the ramshackle shack in the wood Where Dark Things are hidden (and none of them good).
Poor Tommy remembers, at least I suspect, Though he won’t say nothin’ -- well nothin’ direct --But now he won’t play with us when it gets dark No capture-the-flag or camp-out-in-the-park.
And that just begs teasing from Larry and Dave, But I know their secret: they’re not all that brave ‘Cause we found the shack ourselves early last week, And when I said, “Let go inside for a peek.”
They made up excuses and told me to wait. “There’s only one flashlight.” “It’s getting so late.” They hemmed and they hawed and at last they turned back And I went alone to the ramshackle shack
At first it looked empty, just cobwebs and dust And floorboards held down less by nails than by rust But something was moving down under the floor. I heard it go scritchety-scratch toward the door
Then out of each shadow a Dark Thing appeared. Each one of them worse than the worst thing I feared. A voice said “A new one. Let’s nibble his skin. Let’s suck out his joy ‘till he’s haggard and thin!”
The rest I remember but can’t put in words The images peck at my brain like dark birds And now, just like Tommy, I hide in the light Where Dark Things can’t find me, or pinch me, or bite.
*****
Happy Halloween Hatrack! (Yeah, I know it's a day early.)
Posts: 6394 | Registered: Dec 1999
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Bedbugs Bite One night, little Petey, he got frightened and he said, "Daddy, O please Daddy, there are monsters 'neath my bed!" Daddy slapped him silly for a-making such a fuss, so Mommy said, "Poor Petey, dear, the monsters are us."
Posts: 37449 | Registered: May 1999
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posted
I wrote this probably 11-12 years ago, back when I had time to write poetry. The meter (what there is of it) is cribbed liberally from Poe.
The Gallows
The Vale of Wight was cold that night and shrouded in steel grey fog. The wind blew leaves from skeletal trees and ripped through reeds in the bog, the reeds wailed a dirge in the bog.
I walked alone down paths of stone deep into the haunted wood, Where in a glade by demons made a gruesome gallows stood, a rotting gallows stood.
Its planks were old and dank and cold its rope was twisted and frayed, And 'neath its beam, by moonlight seen, a lifeless body swayed a strangely familiar form swayed.
Its head was bent as if reverent its skin was pale as bone. As I drew near I saw it leer and faced a face all my own, the corpse's face was my own.
I bowed my head in awe and dread, above me my silent self loomed. 't Was then that I knew the terrible truth the fate to which I was doomed, my soul was painfully doomed.
I strode to the noose and made it loose, the body fell down and was gone. Forsaking hope, I tightened the rope, my face grew pale and wan, as a ghost's, my face grew wan.
The Vale of Wight was cold that night and shrouded in steel grey fog. The wind blew leaves from skeletal trees and ripped through reeds in the bog, the reeds wailed a dirge in the bog.
Posts: 2926 | Registered: Sep 2005
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I think spooky poems lend themselves well to to a meter that would seem sing-songy if the words weren't so dark. Lends a sense of urgency and tension, IMO.
Posts: 6394 | Registered: Dec 1999
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posted
OK, so not the most compelling thread on the 'rack today. Well, think about it overnight and post your poems tomorrow. Posts: 6394 | Registered: Dec 1999
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posted
I've got one, I will post it tonight when I have more time. Great idea, Karl.
We could read them out loud too, and post a link to them....I think I found some free web space for it, and if not I am sure Icky wouldn't mind giving us some space. He offered some for the Reading Out Loud Club last time around, but I got too busy with the move and all...
Posts: 15082 | Registered: Jul 2001
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A Whisper in the Wind A Shadow in the Light A person Silently Screaming all thoughout the Night
A Deadly Dream of Dancing with a Devil stuck on your heel the Reaper sailing through the sky and you, stuck under his keel
You toss and you turn deep into the night as the sun sets far too early and you Dream the Dreams of Fright
You Dream in a cold sweat then suddenly Awake and find to your dismay those Dreams were better than your fate
Posts: 15082 | Registered: Jul 2001
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posted
Thanks Kwea. I think the reading out loud idea is cool. It's often a revelation to me when someone else reads my poetry and I find out the rhythm and meter don't scan in their head like it does in mine.
Posts: 6394 | Registered: Dec 1999
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Face death enmasked with growing deep smile Eyes painted colors that are quite unreal Skin pale like an old corpses tile Nose that is naught but simply surreal
Clothes all a riot, chaos fake bright Laughter is forced, trickster is strong He stands way to close, he hugs just to tight His feet are to big, his voice is just wrong.
He defies sanity with his petty magic His history long, based on myth and old rites He's so far toward mirth that he runs into tragic And drags you along, just to see pratfall sights
Disguised as a joy and a giver of mirth The screaming balloon animals he kills with a pop You try to deny, but laugh for all your worth Oh when, dear God when can we get in to stop.
Posts: 11895 | Registered: Apr 2002
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posted
John heard the whispering wimpers of fear From those in the valley below A grotesque monster they gossiped was near Taking the lives of their loved ones so dear And casting a fog of woe And casting a fog of woe
He found their delusions an over-hyped scare A reason to put out the pain Turning, he basked in the glow of his lair Put on his coat, and sleeked back his hair And drowned in the sound of rain And drowned in the sound of rain
John worked as he did the nighttime before Deciphering Henry's old code A vile of this and that he would pour Getting so close, to the 'lixir of lore He'd pay the price that was owed He'd pay the price that was owed
A fool, a folley, he figured it out Milk first, now that was the key He knew he was right, no shred of doubt He stood at the top of the stairs to shout "My what a very good tea. Now pardon, I've got to pee."
You know, had I finished this earlier, I would have done more, and probably ended on a spookier note.
Posts: 9754 | Registered: Jul 2002
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posted
I used to write some pretty spooky poetry back in high school. I unfortunately can not get it from work.
When I was a teenager and had that depression that comes with it I usually channeled it into somber poetry and sometimes even angry toned stanzas.
Ditto for my piano playing. I can play some mean villain music, tragic melodies, and its very hard for me to figure out the mechanics behind a happy song. Incidentally I wrote my first truely happy song only this past year. Hows 5 years of working at it for slow?
Didn't see this thread until today so I will have to decline posting spooky poetry this year in favor of next year. Sorry
edit: Oh snap post number 2000, time for another landmark soon.
Posts: 14316 | Registered: Jul 2005
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posted
I have a song that I wrote that's a "response" to an English murder ballad-- the premise was, "What happens when the guy leaves for America because he killed the girl? Does he then change his ways?"
(The answer was no, he kills again. I'll have to see if I can find it.)
Posts: 21182 | Registered: Sep 2004
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posted
Funny, I don't remember my previous years entry.
Try this.
There are monsters we love, and monsters we hate Monsters who dine early and those who hunt late But the monsters we face, for this quad-annual date Is the Campaign Cannibals Coven-o-Candidate.
Posts: 11895 | Registered: Apr 2002
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