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.
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SPOOKY SUSANNE You enjoy a walk on the dark side, susanne Nobody true, they say, but once in a while
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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
Source:twopigment
The day is dying.
My heart is lying.
Do I care
if you’re here?
You can step inside.
I’ve nothing to hide.
The shades are shut
inside my hut.
I hide at day.
Nighttimes I play.
Come & step inside.
I’ve nothing to hide.
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?
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.
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.
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.
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 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
