A POEM WRITTEN FOR ME! by KENNY MCPHEE — “SPOOKY SUSANNE”

 

I’m surprised and honored to have a poem written for me by fellow poet, Kenny McPhee.  Most of my poetry is on the spooky side. I began writing poetry as a way to showcase my book. Soon I found I love to write poems. I’ve added nature and inspiration to my repertoire, but I’m basically a creepy poet.

 

SPOOKY SUSANNE

You enjoy a walk on the dark side, susanne
if you take a train, it will be the ghost train
if you have a dream, it will make you scream
you like to shiver and feel the menace
of demons, ghouls and shady fellers
you’re into stephen king and james herbert
I bet you have a rat for a pet
and paranormal tendencies

Nobody true, they say, but once in a while
a poet can make the spine tingle
with the rightness of his or her words. 


May you enjoy the holy terror, my dear,
forever more!  

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DARK HUMOR

 

 

How can this be real?

I don’t know what I feel.

He’s a demon to me,

who won’t set me free.

THE DEAD GAME

PUPPET

puppet

areyou-stillawake
Puppet Master 2 (1991)

I wake from a deep sleep.

I look across the room.

To a shelf high up.

A puppet sits there.

Its head pops up.

The head spins around.

It can’t be real.

A wooden puppet can’t be alive.

Then it speaks.

In a deep voice.

“Time to play,” it says.

I run to the door.

No!

It’s standing before me.

Taller than me.

Arms reaching for me.

A gleam in its black eyes.

It can’t be.

But it is.

It’s alive.

GUESS WHO?

Guess who?

It’s me, honey.
I’ve had a hard day at work.
It has made me grumpy.
I feel changed.
Different.
Do my hands feel furry?
They look furry to me.
All of a sudden I’m hungry.
Hungry for you, my darling.
Come, dance with me.
The night holds mystery for us.
Come with me…

ALIENATED

diablito666:
“ Mars Attacks! (1996) ”
Some days I feel alienated
from the people around me.
They talk and walk like me,
but their words are strange.
Resembling thoughts of a different tongue,
the humor of a separate species.
Loving everything...

 

diablito666:

Mars Attacks! (1996)

 

Some days I feel alienated

from the people around me.

They talk and walk like me,

but their words are strange.

Resembling thoughts of a different tongue,

the humor of a separate species.

Loving everything Kardashian.

Clothes made from the same cloth,

clones made from the lowest elements.

What happened to individuality?

What happened to modesty and charm?

It’s lost to our race.

Lost in the wake of selfies.

 

SHY CEMETERY

A cemetery so shy
the dead and gone pass it by.
The graves hide in shame
from its silly name.
No mausoleums to grace it,
or fine tombstones to enhance it.
Please stay away from here.
The dead don’t want you near.

 (Source: tanrhombus)

 

 

A cemetery so shy

the dead and gone pass it by.

The graves hide in shame

from its silly name.

No mausoleums to grace it,

or fine tombstones to enhance it.

Please stay away from here.

The dead don’t want you near.

 

 

A LITTLE MURDER

The mind can be a strange place.
It can think up dark stories.
With monsters and demons.
A little murder and mayhem.
Skulls and bones for decoration.
Maybe your cup of tea is blood.
Your coffee carries some poison.
Let your mind roam the...

 

 

The mind can be a strange place.

It can think up dark stories.

With monsters and demons.

A little murder and mayhem.

Skulls and bones for decoration.

Maybe your cup of tea is blood.

Your coffee carries some poison.

Let your mind roam the darkness.

And maybe beyond.

 

 

STRANGE

Why is there a big cat in my bedroom?

Am I awake or still sleeping?

It’s watching me.

Waiting for something.

Go away!

Oh no!

Now my clock has come to life.

Its eyes are ticking back and forth.

Is it my cat or my clock?

Stranger and stranger.

Cats.

There are cats everywhere.

Staring at me.

Help!

Do you feel a little strange?

Your eyes are blurry.

Kindly step away from the computer.

THE GATES

 

 

THE GATES

The gates encircle the property,

Their sharp edges pointing to the sky.

They deter all visitors,

Keeping the evil inside.

The house holds many secrets,

Some strange and unbelievable.

Windows are eyes to the soul

And mirrors to the unknown.

End House has invited us,

Extending a fancy invitation.

Do we dare follow our curiosity,

Or listen to our pounding hearts?

We are here for the night.

Time will only tell.

Whether we make it to morning

In this unholy hell.

THE DEAD GAME