"bogeyman" poems
What if,
Pause, consider
(Can you see the glittering of my eyes?)
Deadly seductive
Because I can feel it
Fire pulsing through my mind
(Cycling though, trapped in my spine)
Deadly Seductive
The temptation
Ever more irresistible
'Stop clinging to life'
Not just letting go
Not just relinquishing
But jumping
Madly flying
Through the empty space out there
Tantalizing
How close can you get
Playing chicken with fate
Deadly Seductive
Flirting with the darkest kind of bogeyman
(I will not lie and say
That it does not lurk in all of us)
Apr 4, 2011
Apr 4, 2011 at 11:51 PM UTC
Inner Peace
Evil is everywhere, monsters don't hide in closets,
they roam the streets, sponges of malvolent twisted minds,
The devil is not a fallen Angel, but born from a unfortunate mother,
Where's the bogeyman ? we need only turn on the **** tube, or look out the window or across the kitchen table,
Where Do I find my Inner Peace? No mediative state of mind, not a prayer to nothing.....I have a pistol and six bullets.
Firewalker
Dec 21, 2014
Dec 21, 2014 at 8:52 PM UTC
Have you seen the Master Magician around lately?
He who shows you a mirror with his right hand
While he picks your pocket with his left hand
He whose tongue tells you tales of a bogeyman
As his eyes induce you to part with your keys
He who wears the most beautiful of masks
To hide the psychopath that lurks within
Have you seen this Master Magician around lately?
He who will empty your pockets and ask for more
He who will become the master of your home
He who will convince you: “its all for your own good!”
Sep 1, 2016
Sep 1, 2016 at 11:34 AM UTC
It's just me, it's just me come and sit on my knee!
I'll tell you a story of how the wind blows, and where all the bad kids go.
The boogie man ate em', he snatched them up by the toes, spanked them on the bottom, and gobbled the boogers from their nose!
Oh YES, the boogie mans got em' oh mommy and daddy they know, it’s off to the boogie man all the bad kids go!
May 3, 2017
May 3, 2017 at 3:42 PM UTC
I crawl the floor
Collecting broken glass
To protect feet of those who do not know
Do not care
Whilst rejecting offers of company
As music moves the floor.
Later
When all is quiet
I enter the night
To walk along roads alone.
A bogeyman of myth
Stalks these streets
It's ok
For I am not the prey he seeks
I am not the prey he seeks.
Oct 18, 2016
Oct 18, 2016 at 4:02 PM UTC
Your trumpists whoop and shout "hooray"
You talked a lot but talk is cheap
It's your inauguration day
and now you've promises to keep
You must ***** that border wall
or did you change that to a fence?
So wide, so deep and very tall
or were your promises nonsense?
And as for Clinton - Lock her up?
Or did you change your mind?
"Conflicting interests" you once said.
Such crimes in you they'd never find!
Will you deport each and every
undocumented immigrant?
When did you start backpedalling
from that initial angry rant?
And then there are the Muslim folk,
such a convenient bogeyman.
Will they all have to register
while you drop bombs on their homeland?
You said outsourcing steals jobs.
Let tariffs ease that trouble.
But how'll you soothe the working poor
when Walmart's prices double?
But know this, Donald, you have friends
to help with troubleshootin'.
Will you get cosy in that bed
with your dear comrade Putin?
The swamp you promised you would drain,
did it improve or worsen?
How will your bootlick billionaires
assist the average person?
And may we see at long, long last,
your tax returns today?
The ones you promised to release
but changed your mind along the way.
How will you handle, Mr. Trump,
these questions you must face?
The pressure's on you starting now
Lets hope you don't fall in disgrace.
So many promises you made
up to Inauguration day
But please don't keep them - they're so wrong
and such a price we all would pay.
Feb 20, 2017
Feb 20, 2017 at 8:23 PM UTC
Under hazy violet twilight hum sprites
Performing acrobatics above my head
Eyes fixated on the popcorn ceiling
They sing the body electric
In the cinema between four off-white walls
Under lazy muggy moonlight I hang tight
Watching pixies become gremlins
Eyes chartreuse, bright, and bulging
Scurry down walls and seek refuge beneath me
Becoming the neurotic symphony of aging pipes.
Under fading fluorescent lights I sit upright
Scanning all four corners for my personal bogeyman
Eyes bloodshot, heavy, and weary
Once again close beneath then fortitude of quilted mass
Becoming another night of stuttering slumber.
Mar 31, 2016
Mar 31, 2016 at 5:50 AM UTC
once when we were speaking candidly
in the car or maybe at breakfast
I told you how much I love the you
that comes out at night in your room,
the Bogeyman beneath your glasses who
leaps out of the shadows and, like a
ravenous beast, topples me over to
devour my tasty flesh —
you shrugged at my suggestion and I
wondered if it ever occurred to you
that your lust simmers so near the
surface on those nights that smell
so heavily of *** —
when I asked if you noticed any
Bogeyman in me, you only admitted
that I become more “blunt”, not
commanding, necessarily, but
straight-forward and concise —
it makes me think of those shivering
nights without clothes when we haven’t
made it beneath the covers yet
as something like a ritual where we
shed our daily roles and put on
those of the beast and his master,
where I conquer you and clean up
your spoils, leaving only a
slick orange sweater and a
hasty a capella symphony, a
prelude to sweet and somber slumber.
Dec 18, 2013
Dec 18, 2013 at 12:07 AM UTC
"Why are you crying, mother of two?
Tears stain your fearful face."
"The country where I was born and raised
Is now a frightening, deadly place."
"Why are you crying, mother of two?
Tell me why your tears don't cease."
"The journey north is hard, yet we
Yearn to live in a land of peace."
"Why are you crying, mother of two?
Have you lost faith in your caravan?"
"The president says that we are a threat;
He says that we're the bogeyman."
"Why are you crying, mother of two?
Because you’re hungry and have no shoes?"
"We've come seeking asylum, yet we
Are now hearing discouraging news."
"Why are you crying, mother of two?
What is it that gives you pause?"
"We would like to be heard, but now
The president is changing the laws."
"Why are you crying, mother of two?
Do you fear the guard, or sentry?"
"They won't let us plead our case;
They're even blocking the ports of entry."
"Why are you crying, mother of two?
Why the chaos? Why the disorder?"
"Authorities see our desperation;
They've shot tear gas over the border."
"Why are you crying, mother of two?
You are running and out of breath."
"My future may be uncertain here,
But one thing I know: home means death."
-by Bob B (11-27-18)
Nov 27, 2018
Nov 27, 2018 at 9:45 AM UTC
One star two star
Little moon
Something dark and something blue
Something here something there
Something underneath the stairs
Trapped under pounding feet
It wakes to falling dust storms
Life of isolation, darkness, pain
It can only hope to be better reborn
For what it says and what it does
In the deep dark depths below
Are not made for human consumption
If you feel the need to know
You have been warned
All is as it appears
There is no light at the end of the tunnel and no hidden layer of love
With power in its presence
Luster in its lack
Stealing the breath from out of dreams
And never giving back
Your attempts to run are futile and his claws embrace you tightly
In space they cannot hear you scream
But this is not space; this is the space under the stairs where your darkest dream lives
Apr 6, 2014
Apr 6, 2014 at 1:33 PM UTC
I’m gliding, not fighting
As I enter later years.
I’m skating, not debating
As I face my aging fears.
I see what I was afraid of
Were just phantasms only.
They leave too many scared
With talk of being lonely.
Go away with bearboo talk.
Nobody is frighted here.
It’s just another day for me
It’s nothing but another year!
Age is not the bogeyman
It comes along with the ride.
It’s part of what made my life
It’s proof that I have tried.
**** and chest swapped places
My hair is wandering south.
All that goes very swiftly
Is my energy and my mouth.
Everything is changing now
I am not a kid any more.
I spend time in pharmacy aisles
More than the rest of the store.
But none of this unexpected.
I watched others go through it.
It’s not like it was ever a secret.
No mystery. I totally knew it.
So I plan to celebrate this stage
Which means I must slow down
And take things as they come
No reason to whine, cry or frown.
Apr 2, 2017
Apr 2, 2017 at 12:57 AM UTC
Well,
Some sticks and some stones,
They may break a few bones, but
I've got megaton bombs,
That make dust out of homes,
My days are spent waging war,
Spreading famine and disease, and
I get anything I want, without ever saying please,
I'll slay your dragon, storm your castle,
Once I swim across your moat,
I'll slit your throat, and take your life,
Then **** your wife, and steal your goat,
I've overdosed on every drug ever imagined or conceived,
I've got a guile that's monumental, and I'm eager to deceive,
I'll tell you anything you want because you're willing to believe,
I'll build you up to break you down, the lost pieces, never retrieved,
My victims receive no reprieve, I live a life with no remorse,
My course of action's one for which I'll never seek recourse,
I'm an immovable object, I'm an unstoppable force,
I have discarded sympathy, and from my empathy divorced,
I'll bet you think that I'm depraved, that I'm a morbid ball of slime, but
I'm asleep inside of you, and you'll be mine within due time, cause
I'm the devil on your shoulder, I'm the voice inside your head,
I'm the blackout following the vision tinted red,
I'm the man inside your closet, monster underneath your bed,
I'm the reason for the millions the world over lying dead,
I feed my hunger with your fear, wet my thirst with blood and tears,
This machine is shifting gears, don't try to scream; no one will hear
I'm not a problem you can solve with stronger locks or bigger guns,
In fact, it's when you seek these things I know that I've already won.
Sleep tight.
Oct 24, 2014
Oct 24, 2014 at 9:40 AM UTC
I tread on eggshells, says Ruby,
my life is the fearing of the heavy
steps, the trudging where others
fear not to tread; I see dangers
where some see none, where
the shadows become real, where
shades become demons, I am
the fearer of the bogeyman. I hear
laughter in the nightly dreams;
hear the sounds of baby’s cry,
the empty cot, the vacant spot
where baby lay, the moonlight
on the chilling room. I see my baby
as it used to be, its mouth around
my dug, its lips on the **** *******
the sound of that is my aching wound,
the lance in my side, the hammering
nails. Nine months I carried the
precious gem, my womb the dwelling
place of my dearest love, the moment
of the birth my deepest joy, the echoes
of my happiness ring in my mind when
I'm ****** and drawn by the depressing
nights, the lowest ebb of the sea of loss.
The smallest coffin carried they said,
the men in black, the coffin white,
crowned with roses, the smell of death
covered by blooms, the kisses of my
lips on the coffin’s lid, the sleeping
baby held within, the tiniest shroud
to hold her warm, to keep her safe
on her journey’s way. They sang hymns
to my deepest loss, their voices like
pinpricks to my ears, the sounds seeping
in my skin, eating at my grief. In my dreams
my baby’s safe and sound, in my dreaming
arms not underground, I hear the baby’s
words, the chuckling laugh, the open eyes,
the ******* mouth, the first steps across
the floor, the first day at school. I carry my
loss like a heavy cross, my baby forever in
my thoughts, the vacant spaces where baby
was seems to hold her ghostly scent, her
shadowed presence is my mind’s pretence,
my need for holds and kisses. Bring back
my baby; let me hold it once again, here
comes the night and the ever present pain.
Feb 5, 2013
Feb 5, 2013 at 2:50 AM UTC
how do you become
comfortable with
the bogeyman when
he lives inside your
lungs and brain and heart?
how do you tell him
that your lungs must pump
that your brain don't work
that your heart can't beat?
do you pray to him?
write little notes that
say "please" and "thank you"?
do you beat him til
he gives in and goes?
do you hug him close?
does he know how dark
it is inside there?
can he even leave?
is he permanent?
is he washable?
can you scare him out?
can you swallow down
poison and force him
out of your soft parts?
can you cut him out
with scissors or blades?
can you smoke him out?
can you drink him out?
can you throw him up?
is he there because of you?
do you really want him gone?
Sep 18, 2015
Sep 18, 2015 at 4:55 PM UTC
It waits for me atop the stair
An eerie presence from I know not where
I cannot feel it, when the sun shines bright
but I sense it as sunsets, It becomes the night
It shares the same space
the same air that I breathe
It's been here since childhood
It will never leave
I feel it behind me
I am seldom alone
Hot breath on my neck
It chills to the bone
I try to escape it
But It's become part of me
I created this demon
Now I cannot break free
Feb 20, 2017
Feb 20, 2017 at 6:47 PM UTC
I'm on the curb
Face to the sky, *** to the world
The rain never felt better.
All the sores on my face are cooled.
I can feel a steady tempo rising in my chest,
I can feel the beat pulsing in my lips.
Slow and steady never won the race
Never won the race.
It was a draw
I saw the portrait.
A man hugged his tie, loosening it up.
Tightening it?
Who's to say? He knows.
All the rain in the world
And all the rain in his world
Couldn't drown his calls
His constant elevation of his voice
As his pet canary threw up.
You toss your cookies?
I toss my frisbee.
Oddjob tosses his hat.
It doesn't make him any less of a ******
Any less of a ******* ******
MI6, 007,
**** it all, let's call on Kevin
Smith, Kevin Smith, Kevin Smith.
...it worked for the bogeyman.
The man hiding in your closet
wasting away, counting the chips
peeling off the walls of your liner.
They say none of us are connected in this world.
They say 6 degrees connect everyone.
Social theory.
Redemption for the bogeyman,
His claws scratching as he kneels
to pick up your screwdriver
And uses it to pick his teeth.
Nuts and bolts, nuts and bolts
He's got nuts coming out of his teeth.
AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
Tunnel approaching.
Playing the keyboard is said to set off
Feelings of arousal in the hearts,
Hearts of those with special tattoos.
Really? Because I don't believe that for a second.
To believe you need to trust
And judging by that squirm, you don't trust me.
I'll believe in you if you believe in me,
Don't you believe that?
A car splashed a tidal wave
It felt cool against my scratches.
Sep 19, 2010
Sep 19, 2010 at 5:11 PM UTC
The Slobber Mouth lives deep down south,
hunting the Ner' do wells.
with candy canes and wooden trains,
with buzzers and with bells.
With fur of green, that's never clean,
and eyes so big and red.
Four filthy paws with unclipped claws,
he fills the woods with dread.
Spiked tail and horns and teeth like thorns,
fixed in a scarey smile.
A big black nose and ragged clothes,
make up his unique style.
Baiting his traps with midday naps,
false promises and lies.
with wasted hours and April showers,
and soft spoke lullabyes.
Dust bunnies hop but never stop,
and never are they caught.
For they are wise to slobbers lies,
and all the gifts he's brought.
The Mites and Motes in winter coats,
so quickly scurry by.
for they too know never to go,
where Slobbers presents lie.
The feather bed floats over head,
the carpet thick with fluff.
He stamps his feet knowing he's beat
and screams enoughs enough.
He packs his sock and checks the clock,
so soon the house will rise.
Stomping away to sleep all day,
and hide from prying eyes.
Beneath your bed this sleepy head,
sits down to scheme and plan.
Tomorrow night if all goes right,
I'll catch the Bogeyman.
On tippy toes in bedtime clothes,
his teddy in his hand.
He waves goodnight to all in sight,
and leaves for faery lands.
Feb 22, 2012
Feb 22, 2012 at 7:11 AM UTC
what figment of me
lives in your whispers?
what shadow dances
on your crumbling walls?
Nov 25, 2023
Nov 25, 2023 at 2:46 AM UTC
This is how our dreams end:
Not an avalanche cascading around our ears,
But the subtle shift of pebbles in a stream bed,
An endless series of minute compromises with ourselves
Which we justify to by raising any number of spectres:
The weight of disappointment from unrequited expectation,
The bogeyman of unintended consequence from our successes.
So we make the box of our wishes smaller and then yet smaller,
Until we do not recognize them as ours at all;
Or, perhaps, we have adulterated them so often
We can no longer ascertain
At what point they stopped resembling our hopes and ideals,
Not unlike when the batter, stepping to the plate,
Scratches out the back line of the batter’s box
Until its boundary disappears
Into a confusion of dust and lime.
One final wish, then; scatter me at the crossroads when I die,
So that, if perhaps for only that one moment,
I can rise above the gray and cracked macadam
Of these too-familiar roads
And float into a clear, blue unambiguous sky,
No longer a victim of the gravity
Of the workaday concerns that shackle us together.
Jun 17, 2018
Jun 17, 2018 at 6:43 PM UTC
Though reading horror stories (macabre),
an only every now and again
genre crazy wave
washing over me like
a killer tsunami,
(subsequently fueling
desperation) to save
thine scrawny ****
(a derriere laughing stock,
and hence cheeky of me to rave),
those rare occasions satiated, when
hung over insomnia heavily bulging,
rheumy myopic blood shot eyes
nonetheless lock into
critical opening sentence determining,
whether adroit kingly author
nimbly setting the stage and pave
ving what thenceforth, pro
misses tubby a cell out ace
in the hole captive audience
(me, this apt pupil), doth brace
himself (by all counts once
a bad little kid) deserving, well...now...
just a bag of bones,
who fiendishly cackles
when leaning in (Sheryl Sandberg like),
whereat after opening sentence, an instantaneous
possessive gnarly hand
forcibly grabs my attention
presaging and frightening
yours truly (juiced in case
ye did not know),
where within the bazaar
of bad dreams epic,
which seems like forever,
when I finally erase
and exorcise the bogeyman who,
masterfully, immediately,
dramatically got woven
lady chattery teeth and all
withering wicked warp and woof
establishing (proof positive),
an excellently crafted
Chiral Mad heavily shades
of night are falling
gussying haunting place,
where the color of evil permeates
every cerebral space
with darkness, said
sub rosa prime evil punctuates
the mind this dream catcher,
whence after four past midnight
the reaper's image appears
sending adrenaline rush,
viz flight or fight blind
did, when firestarter alarm didst grind
passage of time manifesting dark forces
blaze zing atavistic fear itself lined
up battleground formation
from the borderlands of my mind
this even before turning
the first page where the eyes
of drag'n my afterlife shined!
Jul 15, 2018
Jul 15, 2018 at 4:23 PM UTC
We need more Martians , they nattered at me all the time,
More monsters—people like to be scared,
As if those callow youngsters,
Growing up with two cars in the garage
And three sets at the country club,
Their fraternity mixers at Whittier or Occidental,
Knew the first **** thing about terror.
Still, they wanted me to grind out the harum-scarum hokum
They enjoyed watching two-reelers on Saturday afternoons
While men were doing hard work in Leyte and Manila,
As if the transitory fear of some ghoulish bogeyman
Would last through the thirty-second epics
Featuring some cartoon bear shilling for beer
Or bunnies extolling the virtues of toilet paper.
Let me tell you what fear is, I would say time and again,
*It’s a padlocked fence and a smokestack
Which isn’t churning out a **** thing.
It’s the jobs you can’t get because you said something
(And more likely, you didn’t) twenty years ago.
It’s one more envelope from the bank or the phone company
With bold red lettering on the front
That you don’t open because you know what it says
And how it doesn’t matter one bit,
Because you can’t do a ******* thing about it*,
And these promising young men would just look at me
Like I was some poorly made-up extraterrestrial
From one of their Buck ******* Rogers potboilers.
Several of my neighbors here were among the men,
Mostly boys in truth, who marched with the 126th New York,
Taking fire at Petersburg and The Wilderness,
At Spotsylvania and Cold Harbor.
We have spoken about the horrors of war,
The kaleidoscope of confusion and dread,
No direction leading to shelter, no road guiding the way to home.
They have said that, as frightening as the sound of the minie *****
Zipping overhead like malevolent flies,
And the cannon were, what they found truly awful
Was the manner in which those fields,
So like the ones where they had flushed out quail as children,
Became foreboding nightmare landscapes,
Containing a dark madness
That they never dreamed could have existed.
Mar 6, 2017
Mar 6, 2017 at 10:28 AM UTC
The bogeyman from my dreams is halfway down the street.
Mar 12, 2015
Mar 12, 2015 at 12:47 PM UTC
Doo doodoo what can you do
Such small child alone in your bed
Doo doodoo what can you do
When the bogeyman lays eyes on your head
Doo dadee da da de do he won't stop coming for you
Look over your shoulder but not will you find
For child oh child he rests solely in your mind
Be not afraid for here I will be
Right at your side and to keep you and free from all who would harm you
To help you and hold you my ever beautiful child
So rest your eyes and open your mind for I will stand guard
Be not afraid.
The morn is not far...
May 28, 2015
May 28, 2015 at 9:28 AM UTC