Poetry competition CLOSED 17th April 2015 3:45pm
WINNER
Poetryman
Poetryman
RUNNERS-UP:
dustyjjewels
and SabrinaK
Ghost Story
Poetry Contest Description
Something weird that happened to you or someone you know
Write about something weird that happened to you or someone you know. How did it effect you? Or them?
1: Not more than 800 words
2: New work
3: No collaborations
4: Title your work
Inviting everyone to participate
.
1: Not more than 800 words
2: New work
3: No collaborations
4: Title your work
Inviting everyone to participate
.
Shadow boy
Shadow boy...
Drummer boy...
Bang that drum you have in your hands.
Paint all my green trees black.
To let the dark moth take flight.
Little shadow boy come here, why are you hiding from me?
As you hold up the number 5.
5 spreading across the walls like a cursed number.
A bleeding number haunting my dreams, like a recurring nightmare.
Little drummer boy, banging your drum every night for I can awake in fright.
Dying trees, and broken moths.
I found that this where you dwell.
With your red eyes, and pointed fangs.
Little shadow boy! How I miss you...
Showing your number 5.
For you were only 5, when I found you by that grand oak tree.
My dear drummer boy, for you were hanging by your neck.
With moths painted black circling.
The flies dining off thy flesh.
And a tree coated in blood.
The blood dripping down from cutting.
Oh drummer boy! How you haunt me every night.
Pounding, sounding your spirit alarms.
Your the demon of my eternal guilt.
For Not Saving You In Time...
I love you.. My spirit boy.
Shadow boy...
Drummer boy...
Bang that drum you have in your hands.
Paint all my green trees black.
To let the dark moth take flight.
Little shadow boy come here, why are you hiding from me?
As you hold up the number 5.
5 spreading across the walls like a cursed number.
A bleeding number haunting my dreams, like a recurring nightmare.
Little drummer boy, banging your drum every night for I can awake in fright.
Dying trees, and broken moths.
I found that this where you dwell.
With your red eyes, and pointed fangs.
Little shadow boy! How I miss you...
Showing your number 5.
For you were only 5, when I found you by that grand oak tree.
My dear drummer boy, for you were hanging by your neck.
With moths painted black circling.
The flies dining off thy flesh.
And a tree coated in blood.
The blood dripping down from cutting.
Oh drummer boy! How you haunt me every night.
Pounding, sounding your spirit alarms.
Your the demon of my eternal guilt.
For Not Saving You In Time...
I love you.. My spirit boy.
For what we are about to receive, may we all be truly thankful...
The corners of the room are dark for a reason.
Of for a second we saw the faces leading over us at night we would never sleep.
The masks of the dead are the most mosterouse of all.
They can no longer hide Behind mortal flesh, the bitter emotions we hide daily exposed.
They they don't smile as they can't forse one.
They cry as they can blink away the tears.
Their story written on their face and their motives.
They are the darkness, simple light the cure of the sight.
The dark corners their safe haven/hiding place.
Though they lean over us at night, we will never see them for we close our eyes to sleep...
The corners of the room are dark for a reason.
Of for a second we saw the faces leading over us at night we would never sleep.
The masks of the dead are the most mosterouse of all.
They can no longer hide Behind mortal flesh, the bitter emotions we hide daily exposed.
They they don't smile as they can't forse one.
They cry as they can blink away the tears.
Their story written on their face and their motives.
They are the darkness, simple light the cure of the sight.
The dark corners their safe haven/hiding place.
Though they lean over us at night, we will never see them for we close our eyes to sleep...
For what we are about to receive, may we all be truly thankful...
The corners of the room are dark for a reason.
If for a second we saw the faces leering over us at night we would never sleep.
The masks of the dead are the most monsterous of all.
They can no longer hide behind mortal flesh, the bitter emotions we hide daily exposed.
They don't smile as they can't force one.
They cry as they can't blink away the tears.
Their story written on their face with their motives.
They are the darkness, simple light the cure of the sight.
The dark corners their safe haven/hiding place.
Though they lean over us at night, we will never see them for we close our eyes to sleep... Safe in our dreams with no knowledge of this.
[I Had to correct my Typos, the rules.don't say I can't?]
The corners of the room are dark for a reason.
If for a second we saw the faces leering over us at night we would never sleep.
The masks of the dead are the most monsterous of all.
They can no longer hide behind mortal flesh, the bitter emotions we hide daily exposed.
They don't smile as they can't force one.
They cry as they can't blink away the tears.
Their story written on their face with their motives.
They are the darkness, simple light the cure of the sight.
The dark corners their safe haven/hiding place.
Though they lean over us at night, we will never see them for we close our eyes to sleep... Safe in our dreams with no knowledge of this.
[I Had to correct my Typos, the rules.don't say I can't?]
(If this is too long, don't worry about judging it for the comp, I just wanted to share this very strange but true story.)
"Suicide Silence"
(this really happened)
I walked down Fox Street one warm afternoon from my house to go to my friends house, just five houses away, but never got there that day. Three houses down, as I passed the candy girls house another girl was standing on the porch and she asked me if I wanted some candy. Well I was about 10 years old and what 10 year old boy doesn't want candy? And besides, this is the house where the candy girl lives and she would always invite me in for a few pieces of candy when she saw me walking by. So of course I went in as she held the door open for me. I heard the door creek and close behind me. Now one thing you should know about the candy girl is that she was actually an older woman, probably in her 60's, but I wasn't really sure, I had known her my whole life and she was always very nice to me. I just always called her the candy girl because she had always handed out cany to the neighborhood kids. But for some reason, she didn't seem to be there. So I walked over to the table and grabbed a few pieces of candy, as was usual, from her candy dish.
Just as I was about to turn to leave, I heard footsteps coming from the kitchen. It was the candy girl and her husband who came to see who was making noise in the living room. When she saw me she scolded me for just walking in without knocking or asking for some candy instead of just taking it. So I told her the girl invited me in and said I could have some. She asked, "what girl?" in a harsh tone of voice. I turned to point and say "that girl", but she wasn't there. The room was empty so I ran over to the door and looked outside but there was no one around and not enough time had passed for her to get away. So I just said, she's gone but she was just here right at the door.
Then the candy girl looked at me with a look I had never seen before. Her eyes were like fire and she began screaming at me to get out of the house and never come back again. I was so scared I ran back to my house and hid behind the couch in the living room till my dad came home from work.
I never told anyone about that until many years later when my brother asked me if I had ever seen a ghost and I said maybe, but I wasn't sure. I told him what had happened at the candy girls house that day when I was about 10. He was like, oh my god, you're kidding me. He said he saw the girl too. He told me it was the girl that used to stay there with her Aunt, who was the candy girl. But the teenage girl was dead. She had killed herself with a shotgun blast in her shoulder. Several years later my brother was talking to one of her relatives who said that it was an accident because she bought the shotgun as a gift for her brother. Not an unusual thing in Gloversville, NY as most people from there are hunters. Apparently she was getting it ready to give it to him as a gift when it went off.
In the hospital she kept saying it was an accident and was begging them to save her. But they couldn't stop the bleeding and she died. My mother was a nurse there and saw them bring her in just as she was getting ready to leave for the night. She never told any of us about that at the time.
Was it her ghost on the porch that opened the door for me that day? I never touched the door except to leave, so unless the door opened by itself, who else could it have been?
JJ
"Suicide Silence"
(this really happened)
I walked down Fox Street one warm afternoon from my house to go to my friends house, just five houses away, but never got there that day. Three houses down, as I passed the candy girls house another girl was standing on the porch and she asked me if I wanted some candy. Well I was about 10 years old and what 10 year old boy doesn't want candy? And besides, this is the house where the candy girl lives and she would always invite me in for a few pieces of candy when she saw me walking by. So of course I went in as she held the door open for me. I heard the door creek and close behind me. Now one thing you should know about the candy girl is that she was actually an older woman, probably in her 60's, but I wasn't really sure, I had known her my whole life and she was always very nice to me. I just always called her the candy girl because she had always handed out cany to the neighborhood kids. But for some reason, she didn't seem to be there. So I walked over to the table and grabbed a few pieces of candy, as was usual, from her candy dish.
Just as I was about to turn to leave, I heard footsteps coming from the kitchen. It was the candy girl and her husband who came to see who was making noise in the living room. When she saw me she scolded me for just walking in without knocking or asking for some candy instead of just taking it. So I told her the girl invited me in and said I could have some. She asked, "what girl?" in a harsh tone of voice. I turned to point and say "that girl", but she wasn't there. The room was empty so I ran over to the door and looked outside but there was no one around and not enough time had passed for her to get away. So I just said, she's gone but she was just here right at the door.
Then the candy girl looked at me with a look I had never seen before. Her eyes were like fire and she began screaming at me to get out of the house and never come back again. I was so scared I ran back to my house and hid behind the couch in the living room till my dad came home from work.
I never told anyone about that until many years later when my brother asked me if I had ever seen a ghost and I said maybe, but I wasn't sure. I told him what had happened at the candy girls house that day when I was about 10. He was like, oh my god, you're kidding me. He said he saw the girl too. He told me it was the girl that used to stay there with her Aunt, who was the candy girl. But the teenage girl was dead. She had killed herself with a shotgun blast in her shoulder. Several years later my brother was talking to one of her relatives who said that it was an accident because she bought the shotgun as a gift for her brother. Not an unusual thing in Gloversville, NY as most people from there are hunters. Apparently she was getting it ready to give it to him as a gift when it went off.
In the hospital she kept saying it was an accident and was begging them to save her. But they couldn't stop the bleeding and she died. My mother was a nurse there and saw them bring her in just as she was getting ready to leave for the night. She never told any of us about that at the time.
Was it her ghost on the porch that opened the door for me that day? I never touched the door except to leave, so unless the door opened by itself, who else could it have been?
JJ
Brother I still feel You with me!
One Friday night, I and two of my other siblings dreamed some what of the same dream... Of our oldest Brother being killed in a type of a vehicle accident yet not quite the same... That following Monday, playing running around as rambunctious siblings do... The police pulls up in the drive.... Father tells us to go play, yet us kids knowing something was wrong big Bubby wasn't home... I will never forget hearing them words seeing my Father bout drop to His knees... When the officer asked if He had a Son by the name of Wayne Lawrence Glover... Then saying, we need one of you to come to the morgue and identify the body... Saying it was a car crash... On Hwy 75... Later that night family in tears... Father drunk, with the loss of His first born... Us kids sent to bed, so much we cried... Falling to sleep with tears in my eyes... Yet to be woken by Big Bubby sitting on the side of my bed... Kissing my forehead, telling me hush now... no don't cry sissy, no need to be scared... Bubby needs you to be a good girl now, I'll be watching over you... You will feel me with you when you need me the most... He leaned and kissed once more I could smell His old spice cologne... Him saying now close your eyes, go back to sleep... The next morning I told Father about my Brother talking with me... He said it was just a dream... Which I know different, for every time I have needed Him the most I have always felt Him and smelled His cologne....
One Friday night, I and two of my other siblings dreamed some what of the same dream... Of our oldest Brother being killed in a type of a vehicle accident yet not quite the same... That following Monday, playing running around as rambunctious siblings do... The police pulls up in the drive.... Father tells us to go play, yet us kids knowing something was wrong big Bubby wasn't home... I will never forget hearing them words seeing my Father bout drop to His knees... When the officer asked if He had a Son by the name of Wayne Lawrence Glover... Then saying, we need one of you to come to the morgue and identify the body... Saying it was a car crash... On Hwy 75... Later that night family in tears... Father drunk, with the loss of His first born... Us kids sent to bed, so much we cried... Falling to sleep with tears in my eyes... Yet to be woken by Big Bubby sitting on the side of my bed... Kissing my forehead, telling me hush now... no don't cry sissy, no need to be scared... Bubby needs you to be a good girl now, I'll be watching over you... You will feel me with you when you need me the most... He leaned and kissed once more I could smell His old spice cologne... Him saying now close your eyes, go back to sleep... The next morning I told Father about my Brother talking with me... He said it was just a dream... Which I know different, for every time I have needed Him the most I have always felt Him and smelled His cologne....
Break In
The year was so long ago, I cannot remember when exactly. A birthday party full of girls with curiosity. Sexual,spiritual and just looking for a good time of any kind. There were games, but not of the pin the tail on the donkey kind. Thinking about it now, I don't remember the names of all the games we played except for the Ouija Board.
We pulled that out and had our laughs. Jaunting the ones who "pushed." What we asked the board has never stuck in my head. I'm pretty sure they were dumb questions anyway. It was the fear the stuck in my head, my heart and that deep pit in my stomach.
I'd heard how the Board opened a door the to hell. Some believed it, some said it was just superstition and simply a game. I never knew what to believe. People believe in different things.
I'd chosen not to stay the night at the birthday girl's house because I get uncomfortable with a group of people, quickly, and when it was time for me to go, I was ready. I'd had fun. A good time and even laughed which was something that never happened often. My grandmother was picking me up and she had about a thirty minute drive so I waited on the corner around ten o'clock at night.
I didn't think anything of it. Small town, no one about and anyone who would be out, I knew. Everyone knows everyone in a small town. I stood on the corner between the birthday girls house and my house and I heard something close to our house so I turned.
There was nothing there so I assumed it was one of the stray cats or a neighbor's dog but that pit of my stomach started to boil with fear. I turned around again and fear froze me. I couldn't move. I couldn't breathe. Panic started to set in and I begged for my grandmother to hurry up because I knew she was still ten minutes away at least.
It was dark and the closest street lights were on the other end of the block but I could see him clearly despite the blackness in the air and the blackness that he was. He was black. His cloak was black. He had no face. The hood that covered his head, if he even had one, was black. Darkness to be exact. I had a eerily desire to reach my hand into the face of his hood to see if it was solid, flesh or touchable at all.
Just darkness.
And he moved. There was no walking. He glided towards me. Slid across the ground. His cloak seemed to be melted to the ground, as if it just opened as he slid across towards me. He held no eyes that I could see. That, however, did not ease the eyes I felt staring, piercing into me. This darkness knew me. Knew my thoughts. Knew my fear. Knew everything about me. Past, present and though revealed nothing of my future, I knew, that this darkness knew what was to come for me.
I found the strength to blink, in hopes he'd disappear. He did, for a moment but after another blink of the eye, there he was. He'd moved back to his original spot and I faintly remember telling him to leave. I don't know if I spoke aloud or just inside me, but I knew I requested his departure.
He complied but not before I felt in my heart, my head, my stomach his promise to return for me.
I have yet to see him again. At least in a somewhat physical form. I believe he broke into me that night though and haunts me still on occasion. Many occasions because I can feel the darkness around me, in me. Floating around between my head, heart, words and being.
I've never known his name but I believe he is a Demon of Depression or Darkness that invades, possesses. He enjoys the fight for me. And maybe, I enjoy, almost as much as him, the fight for me too, allowing him to stay broken in, inside me.
The year was so long ago, I cannot remember when exactly. A birthday party full of girls with curiosity. Sexual,spiritual and just looking for a good time of any kind. There were games, but not of the pin the tail on the donkey kind. Thinking about it now, I don't remember the names of all the games we played except for the Ouija Board.
We pulled that out and had our laughs. Jaunting the ones who "pushed." What we asked the board has never stuck in my head. I'm pretty sure they were dumb questions anyway. It was the fear the stuck in my head, my heart and that deep pit in my stomach.
I'd heard how the Board opened a door the to hell. Some believed it, some said it was just superstition and simply a game. I never knew what to believe. People believe in different things.
I'd chosen not to stay the night at the birthday girl's house because I get uncomfortable with a group of people, quickly, and when it was time for me to go, I was ready. I'd had fun. A good time and even laughed which was something that never happened often. My grandmother was picking me up and she had about a thirty minute drive so I waited on the corner around ten o'clock at night.
I didn't think anything of it. Small town, no one about and anyone who would be out, I knew. Everyone knows everyone in a small town. I stood on the corner between the birthday girls house and my house and I heard something close to our house so I turned.
There was nothing there so I assumed it was one of the stray cats or a neighbor's dog but that pit of my stomach started to boil with fear. I turned around again and fear froze me. I couldn't move. I couldn't breathe. Panic started to set in and I begged for my grandmother to hurry up because I knew she was still ten minutes away at least.
It was dark and the closest street lights were on the other end of the block but I could see him clearly despite the blackness in the air and the blackness that he was. He was black. His cloak was black. He had no face. The hood that covered his head, if he even had one, was black. Darkness to be exact. I had a eerily desire to reach my hand into the face of his hood to see if it was solid, flesh or touchable at all.
Just darkness.
And he moved. There was no walking. He glided towards me. Slid across the ground. His cloak seemed to be melted to the ground, as if it just opened as he slid across towards me. He held no eyes that I could see. That, however, did not ease the eyes I felt staring, piercing into me. This darkness knew me. Knew my thoughts. Knew my fear. Knew everything about me. Past, present and though revealed nothing of my future, I knew, that this darkness knew what was to come for me.
I found the strength to blink, in hopes he'd disappear. He did, for a moment but after another blink of the eye, there he was. He'd moved back to his original spot and I faintly remember telling him to leave. I don't know if I spoke aloud or just inside me, but I knew I requested his departure.
He complied but not before I felt in my heart, my head, my stomach his promise to return for me.
I have yet to see him again. At least in a somewhat physical form. I believe he broke into me that night though and haunts me still on occasion. Many occasions because I can feel the darkness around me, in me. Floating around between my head, heart, words and being.
I've never known his name but I believe he is a Demon of Depression or Darkness that invades, possesses. He enjoys the fight for me. And maybe, I enjoy, almost as much as him, the fight for me too, allowing him to stay broken in, inside me.
GHOSTS
Then have I nothing, except this -
steep walk around ramparts in rain,
the castle lifting from the dew;
stillborn bird-cry, seeping shoes,
as lost, my footing slips away from you?
I think of fighting; battle-shouts and blood -
this ground is steeped in it.
The castle laps it up, sucks sap
through dungeons, drinks deep.
These walls are sponges, mopping up flame,
trapping din and disappointment.
And what of sanctuary in cool rooms,
of stone-peace where roof unfurls to sky?
This castle my cage; I should leave,
but some thing in its walls is keeping me.
© professoryackle (Sara Willow) - All rights reserved.
Then have I nothing, except this -
steep walk around ramparts in rain,
the castle lifting from the dew;
stillborn bird-cry, seeping shoes,
as lost, my footing slips away from you?
I think of fighting; battle-shouts and blood -
this ground is steeped in it.
The castle laps it up, sucks sap
through dungeons, drinks deep.
These walls are sponges, mopping up flame,
trapping din and disappointment.
And what of sanctuary in cool rooms,
of stone-peace where roof unfurls to sky?
This castle my cage; I should leave,
but some thing in its walls is keeping me.
© professoryackle (Sara Willow) - All rights reserved.
