"ghouls" poems
*Darkness falls across the land
The midnight hour is close at hand
Creatures crawl in search of blood
To terrorize your neighborhood
And whosoever shall be found
Without the soul for getting down
Must stand and face the hounds of hell
And rot inside a corpse's shell
The foulest stench is in the air
The funk of forty thousand years
And grisly ghouls from every tomb
Are closing in to seal your doom
And though you fight to stay alive
Your body starts to shiver
For no mere mortal can resist
The evil of the thriller*
© Michael Jackson
Mar 27, 2014
Mar 27, 2014 at 6:03 AM UTC
we were just small children so we didn’t quite understand what father meant when he said
“mother is sad”
we continued our games and make believe stories and waited for mother to be happy
and when we were young, sad just meant someone stepped on your picture
or they ruined your sand castle
and in 2 seconds it was over
the deeper I fall into my depression I find my mother
I find her ghouls and her ghosts
her corpses
I find her dark eyes in my dark eyes every time I look in the mirror
and I find her hatred for everything, including me
I find new ways to torture myself
my mother
“you have your mothers eyes”
we also have the same disease
the only difference is, her demons won
mine don’t stand a chance
Nov 15, 2012
Nov 15, 2012 at 12:17 AM UTC
The steeples are white in the wild moonlight,
And the trees have a silver glare;
Past the chimneys high see the vampires fly,
And the harpies of upper air,
That flutter and laugh and stare.
For the village dead to the moon outspread
Never shone in the sunset's gleam,
But grew out of the deep that the dead years keep
Where the rivers of madness stream
Down the gulfs to a pit of dream.
A chill wind blows through the rows of sheaves
In the meadows that shimmer pale,
And comes to twine where the headstones shine
And the ghouls of the churchyard wail
For harvests that fly and fail.
Not a breath of the strange grey gods of change
That tore from the past its own
Can quicken this hour, when a spectral power
Spreads sleep o'er the cosmic throne,
And looses the vast unknown.
So here again stretch the vale and plain
That moons long-forgotten saw,
And the dead leap gay in the pallid ray,
Sprung out of the tomb's black maw
To shake all the world with awe.
And all that the morn shall greet forlorn,
The ugliness and the pest
Of rows where thick rise the stones and brick,
Shall some day be with the rest,
And brood with the shades unblest.
Then wild in the dark let the lemurs bark,
And the leprous spires ascend;
For new and old alike in the fold
Of horror and death are penned,
For the hounds of Time to rend.
12k
Sand on the seashore,
Wand and a bezoar,
Rustle of lace,
Legolas’ face,
Dragon’s and ghouls,
Monkeys and fools,
Knights, and Queens and fights
Oct 18, 2014
Oct 18, 2014 at 7:05 PM UTC
I.
Hear the sledges with the bells—
Silver bells!
What a world of merriment their melody foretells!
How they ****** ****** ******
In their icy air of night!
While the stars, that oversprinkle
All the heavens, seem to twinkle
With a crystalline delight;
Keeping time, time, time,
In a sort of Runic rhyme,
To the tintinnabulation that so musically wells
From the bells, bells, bells, bells,
Bells, bells, bells—
From the jingling and the tinkling of the bells.
II.
Hear the mellow wedding bells,
Golden bells!
What a world of happiness their harmony foretells!
Through the balmy air of night
How they ring out their delight!
From the molten golden-notes,
And all in tune,
What a liquid ditty floats
To the turtle-dove that listens, while she gloats
On the moon!
Oh, from out the sounding cells,
What a gush of euphony voluminously wells!
How it swells!
How it dwells
On the future! how it tells
Of the rapture that impels
To the swinging and the ringing
Of the bells, bells, bells,
Of the bells, bells, bells, bells,
Bells, bells, bells—
To the rhyming and the chiming of the bells!
III.
Hear the loud alarum bells—
Brazen bells!
What a tale of terror now their turbulency tells!
In the startled ear of night
How they scream out their affright!
Too much horrified to speak,
They can only shriek, shriek,
Out of tune,
In a clamorous appealing to the mercy of the fire,
In a mad expostulation with the deaf and frantic fire
Leaping higher, higher, higher,
With a desperate desire,
And a resolute endeavor
Now—now to sit or never,
By the side of the pale-faced moon.
Oh, the bells, bells, bells!
What a tale their terror tells
Of Despair!
How they clang, and clash, and roar!
What a horror they outpour
On the ***** of the palpitating air!
Yet the ear it fully knows,
By the twanging,
And the clanging,
How the danger ebbs and flows;
Yet the ear distinctly tells,
In the jangling,
And the wrangling,
How the danger sinks and swells,
By the sinking or the swelling in the anger of the bells—
Of the bells—
Of the bells, bells, bells, bells,
Bells, bells, bells—
In the clamor and the clangor of the bells!
IV.
Hear the tolling of the bells—
Iron bells!
What a world of solemn thought their monody compels!
In the silence of the night,
How we shiver with affright
At the melancholy menace of their tone!
For every sound that floats
From the rust within their throats
Is a groan.
And the people—ah, the people—
They that dwell up in the steeple.
All alone,
And who toiling, toiling, toiling,
In that muffled monotone,
Feel a glory in so rolling
On the human heart a stone—
They are neither man nor woman—
They are neither brute nor human—
They are Ghouls:
And their king it is who tolls;
And he rolls, rolls, rolls,
Rolls
A paean from the bells!
And his merry ***** swells
With the paean of the bells!
And he dances, and he yells;
Keeping time, time, time,
In a sort of Runic rhyme,
To the paean of the bells—
Of the bells:
Keeping time, time, time,
In a sort of Runic rhyme,
To the throbbing of the bells—
Of the bells, bells, bells—
To the sobbing of the bells;
Keeping time, time, time,
As he knells, knells, knells,
In a happy Runic rhyme,
To the rolling of the bells—
Of the bells, bells, bells—
To the tolling of the bells,
Of the bells, bells, bells, bells,
Bells, bells, bells—
To the moaning and the groaning of the bells.
10.5k
Camping lantern
Swinging to the sway
Of the labyrinth pine tree breeze
Camping lantern
Bobbing to the throb
Of the great grass firefly seas
Camping lantern
Beating off the hordes
Of forest ghouls until morn
Camping lantern
Flickering goodbye
As the first rays of new day are born
Oct 14, 2014
Oct 14, 2014 at 10:40 PM UTC
Darkness, it falls like a massive leaden shroud
Over this quiet valley as the dusk infects the sky
Pleasant faces fade into the shadows of the night
As the demons of the dead and dreaming come on out to play
Howling at the moon
Swarming through the streets
Lurking in the shadows
On this night of Halloween
Carve the faces, light the candles
Offerings must be made
In the cold October moonlight
To the Phantoms of Samhain
If you fail
If these ghouls are not appeased
You will be...
Taken
by the spirits of the dead!!!
The Tempter's Chosen
And kin to the Grim Reaper
Children of the Darkest Night
Steal mortal souls to feast on
Ghastly transformations
Amidst accursed corpses
We are possessed by the evil of tonight's demonic forces!
Carve the faces, light the candles
Offerings must be made
In the cold October moonlight
To the Phantoms of Samhain
If you fail
If these ghouls are not appeased
You will be...
Taken by the spirits of the dead!!!
By the light of the orange moon
In the dark of the purple night
We linger in these shadows
And wait there, until the time is right...
On this night of Halloween
We roam your city streets
And among the masks of plastic
We can finally be free
So carve those faces, light your candles
Offerings still must be made
In the cold October moonlight
To us Phantoms of Samhain
And if you do not heed these words
And refuse these simple deeds
Well then, my friend
You will be,
Taken by the spirits of the dead!
And if you do not heed these words
And refuse these simple deeds
Well then,
My friend,
you will be
Taken ...
Taken to the grave!
Taken...
Taken far away!
Taken...
Taken by we, the Phantoms of Samhain!!!
Oct 30, 2014
Oct 30, 2014 at 1:33 PM UTC
could it be a ********
like cotton buds
from the ***** flower
a witched river
under dark clouds
of brooms that don't fly anymore
maybe in need of an upgrade
perhaps a spell of weaponized winds
with insinuated floating ghouls
shaking their lopsided claws
under blood orchards
and diagrams of grief
as they follow their noses
looking for *****
******* the scent of vivacious
zyzzyva
loving oozing laughter
thirsty skin
needles too
**** heroine stuck on toe picket fences
mimicry of ducks blood butter
like a crime scene of kisses that went to far
eggs and runny yokes left puddled on a thigh
the ****** burps Pans milkshake
*** legacy legs
lookin for love
auto asphyxiated in a closet fringy and hanging with a hardon
lost eyes and drool
somewhere in Thailand
after spicy noodle soup
and a Tsingtao
hurt me
hurt you
i'm an evil boweval
a Zyzzyva come to love you
Jun 14, 2019
Jun 14, 2019 at 4:34 PM UTC
. @
@ @
@ @
@ @
@ @
@ @ @ @ @ @
america, americultus, americate, dubiously **********
::: our gold-flecked bodies.
blackbirdian danceparty, i'll go.
washed-up beach bottles and all our feet amongst them curling time.
teens dream in orchid; they wait for stars and dark and los hombres of good dust.
they wait on eyes, and on embers, on belly belly.
jellyfish flashlight shrine.
we eat acid and strawberries and butter in the cemetery,
and feed foxes lizards face first :::
us lost ghouls on school-nights.
flash tag jazz, and yellow bicycles.
::: that hot eternal light.
that candy colored smoke don't smoke; go south on her body.
then thoughts form thoughts form action, form twangs all tuned to air.
& we, as notes, we notes harp like light
to dust.
our glistering hormonal thrusts beneath sheath of liquid love. her eyes,
with those multi-speckled strands
infinitesimally drunk :::
seed from my ****
pearled halo: smoke above my head.
::: waves and machines and weekends. filtered by the long ****
of existence.
boys wait in rooms of hotels for more drugs, and the girls bringing them.
like caterpillars on silky thin treadways,
with nothing but the flavor of our passions to ignite the way. we
exacerbate the boundaries of our intentions. we
curl under sheets, bending sheets of light and sound. we
flakey emaciated flakes. [sequence suffered time in motion] we
dirt. it’s what we are; dirt.
we are druggernauts, tasting ourselves along the iridescent brim.
::: we crawl up cross-glowing hillsides toward portals and faraway
bleep-blorps of hot god-head calibration.
we sticky-crackle go burn. [nature puzzles]
the brain shifts back; twenty-one grams they say the soul weighs.
they say things.
cherry blossom tree tips in the dark.
tele-portal surfing with an intergalactic pizza priest, and his satchel of secret sauce.
he heaves in the corner; rebirth :::
tendrils pulled tight, everybody **** chung…
Apr 3, 2014
Apr 3, 2014 at 3:44 PM UTC
To smile at the carnation,
So gallantly growing,
At peace with this world.
In silence...
I tune in a short conversation
Between minds and bodies -
Incredibly cold.
My heart has surrendered
To nightingale's song.
I dream of Rhode Island...
I'm leaving! So long!
The winds of Sonora,
My nannies and friends.
My love for Evora -
My tears know no end.
The shadows of Mordor,
With sunrise they fade.
Grace, Kindness and Splendour:
Three Buddhas in jade.
I feed roastede pidgeone
To poor ryebread crumbs.
Avoiding curmudgeons,
I'm playing professional dumb.
Caressing the grass-blades,
I live in a drop.
Arcadian arcade:
There, God has no job.
In hurting the Nature
We drain our souls.
Let’s all at once cease
Being ignorant ghouls.
...To stroke the carnation,
To gently kiss buds.
To eat simple meals
Like lentils and spuds.
To carry some water,
To chop down some trees.
To stop feeling rotten.
My soul is at peace.
The time is forever,
The purpose is now.
No “when” and no “where”,
No “why” and no “how”.
The light effervescent,
The sound circumaural,
The hearts ever-pleasant,
The dreams polynomial.
...Collapsing eternity,
Upheaving humanity,
Rock-bottom fraternity,
Defying the gravity.
Creative destruction
Is staunchly forbidding.
The wisdom of ancients
Is widely-misleading.
Depleting our anger
Is key to survival.
Harnessing the hunger,
Improptu revival.
Combustion of senses,
Precarious laughter.
Incurable sepsis,
Delirious canter.
Regrets are forgotten,
Bright days are all-cherished.
Let’s live unbegotten
Until we all perish.
13.06.2012
Jun 17, 2012
Jun 17, 2012 at 8:13 AM UTC
The tavern roof was smokey
with a pall of blueish ash.
The juke box was a- booming
as it played "The Monster Mash".
A giant puffed a burning witch
whilst smoke rings he exhaled....
While victims of our neighbor,
Vlad...on stakes were all impaled.
The Faceless Man was grinning...
from ear to missing ear.
The hanged man turned his twisted neck
to sip a mug of beer.
The Headless Horseman shouted
for an aspirin or three.
He popped them down his gullet
where his head was meant to be.
The zombies waited tables
and the werewolf tended bar.
Mothra was the carhop
and took orders car to car.
Godzilla worked the griddle
and served burgers ala carte.
Dracula complained about the steak
caught in his heart.
Ghosts and ghouls were dancing
with abandon on the stage
While cyborgs did "the robot"
'cause they thought it was the rage.
The mummy came unraveled
as we took him for a "spin"
As Frankenstein played tuba
to contribute to the din.
Igor brought "the monster"
and then Freddie brought his claw.
Jason brought his butcher knife
and his buddy from "The Saw".
The guillotine was working
and the raven refereed
So nevermore would pardons
be
allowed to intercede.
The pendulum was swinging
to the beating of my heart.
I hoped that I would wake up soon...
then did so...with a START!
Halloween is coming. So, I guess
I should prepare.
Watch out for bars with men from Mars...
'cause BEASTIES party there!
Oct 23, 2017
Oct 23, 2017 at 6:45 AM UTC
inky black skies
pricked by pinholes of light
above our heads with your hand in mine
as our feet dance - exalted and anxious
upon the tired concrete ground
where we've danced before
the knowing gaze
of the sagely moon upon us
does not compare to the brightness
that gives life to your eyes
and births your smile
we escape inside
from the uncertainty of night
with your hand never leaving mine
and the frantic dance continues
until we are strewn together
cloaked by covers
hearts pressed together
in a duet of frenzied marcato beats
that steadily decrescendos as our breath slows
and our limbs weave and entwine
like a dreamcatcher
bodies intertwined
protected from the ghouls of night
with your hand in mine
we sleep safely
Jan 2, 2012
Jan 2, 2012 at 8:27 PM UTC
---
A zombie and a troll
Squared off one fateful night
All the ghouls and goblins watched
Expecting quite a fight!
But much to their surprise
The troll was quick dispatched!
He was dumb, and so outdone
He had met his match!
He WAS good at deception
But now the zombie reigns!
Altho he's in a fit of pique
The dead troll had no BRAINS!
SøułSurvivør aka
Write of Passage aka
Invisible inc
Catherine Jarvis
Jul 13, 2015
Jul 13, 2015 at 8:50 PM UTC
The colour of the clear sky,
the colour of my dreams.
The colour of the sea that goes on
as far as the eye can see.
The colour of the horizons you chase,
the colour of hope painted on your face.
The colour of your eyes,
like deep mountain pools.
The colour of the voice
of the playing ghouls.
The colour of innocence disarming.
The colour of your thoughts so charming.
The colour of rain
on a hot summer day.
The colour you feel
when the spring leaves sway.
The colour of peace, a colour so true,
it fills me every time I look at you.
Jun 5, 2014
Jun 5, 2014 at 4:03 PM UTC
By a route obscure and lonely,
Haunted by ill angels only,
Where an Eidolon, named NIGHT,
On a black throne reigns upright,
I have reached these lands but newly
From an ultimate dim Thule—
From a wild weird clime that lieth, sublime,
Out of SPACE—out of TIME.
Bottomless vales and boundless floods,
And chasms, and caves, and Titan woods,
With forms that no man can discover
For the dews that drip all over;
Mountains toppling evermore
Into seas without a shore;
Seas that restlessly aspire,
Surging, unto skies of fire;
Lakes that endlessly outspread
Their lone waters—lone and dead,
Their still waters—still and chilly
With the snows of the lolling lily.
By the lakes that thus outspread
Their lone waters, lone and dead,—
Their sad waters, sad and chilly
With the snows of the lolling lily,—
By the mountains—near the river
Murmuring lowly, murmuring ever,—
By the gray woods,—by the swamp
Where the toad and the newt encamp,—
By the dismal tarns and pools
Where dwell the Ghouls,—
By each spot the most unholy—
In each nook most melancholy,—
There the traveller meets aghast
Sheeted Memories of the past—
Shrouded forms that start and sigh
As they pass the wanderer by—
White-robed forms of friends long given,
In agony, to the Earth—and Heaven.
For the heart whose woes are legion
’Tis a peaceful, soothing region—
For the spirit that walks in shadow
’Tis—oh, ’tis an Eldorado!
But the traveller, travelling through it,
May not—dare not openly view it;
Never its mysteries are exposed
To the weak human eye unclosed;
So wills its King, who hath forbid
The uplifting of the fringed lid;
And thus the sad Soul that here passes
Beholds it but through darkened glasses.
By a route obscure and lonely,
Haunted by ill angels only.
Where an Eidolon, named NIGHT,
On a black throne reigns upright,
I have wandered home but newly
From this ultimate dim Thule.
4.9k
Throughout our childhood, our grandmother would turn to us,
in her yellow-lit kitchen, brandishing a rubber spatula or meat
tenderizer to warn us against falling to temptation. She’d witnessed
too many good people disappear into what she called
a consumption of the soul,
and as my cousins licked sugary batter off their spoons,
no one could have known that one day the candy-coating
would melt from their eyes to see their mother
for what she had done the last six years that now showed in her trembling hands, glossed vision, and a temperament that splashed into anger, flowed into melancholy as easily as she had found herself downing bleary bubbles at the brim of a precipiced fountain.
She was promised her very own message in a bottle, and this keep-sake
manifested in cousin Libby’s dreams, floating down a wine river
that gushed from the slashes in her mother’s wrists. Somehow I knew
these nightmares were born from warm and heady “sleep well”s
mumbled from across the darkest of rooms which held so many glass
ghouls with names and strengths so real, they even scared
my grandmother into silence as she stirred the pecan pie for Easter dinner. She offered to let me lick the spoon clean, but I simply
asked for straight sugar instead.
Feb 16, 2015
Feb 16, 2015 at 8:40 PM UTC
Friday- the most promising day of all.
The beginning of the weekend, but the one day that will spark appall.
Down on Mainstreet all the girls
In their fringed dresses, pouting their foxy lips and their hair waving in short messes.
The hags frown as the winged ladies pass by- displaying their carriages a little sly.
Oh, but Jane's favourite speakeasy was 'The Back Room' down on Norfolk Street: the place where the lost creatures meet.
Tin ceilings, velvet wallpaper, plush thrones and back in that dark corner, there is the sound of low moans.
'A whiskey, neat, please' as a shadow in a tuxedo walked towards her and he whispered 'Hi,' in a sensual purr.
'Who are you?' he stirred,
'Oh, I'm Miss Doe' and he lept into the stool with a swift flow.
And the jazz trumpets married the spontaneous harmonies and the saxophone created sublime melodies.
So they sat as idle as ghouls in the dim spotlights, until Jane asked Mr Buck:
'D'you fight in the war?' And he whined 'Cambrai, Amiens and Lys' - his lips seemed a little sore.
'I'm sorry - do I know you?' His face looked as familiar as Jay to Nick. A brief pause in time at that smile.
That was the final chord to the "lick".
He drove her down to Roslyn- to his replica of Versailles and Jane looked intensely shy.
'Oh, do come in,' the desperado soughed. And she walked into the gilded palace which Cupid's presence bowed.
'I have a favour to ask of you, Miss Doe. Would you be as kind to wash away my woe?'
And as they congressed under diamond chandeliers, his comrades gathered around the bed in amorphous silhouettes; watching disgustedly.
As for Mr Buck he was an alien, skin-to-skin with a haunted beauty and Miss Doe- a labourer on duty.
Jun 24, 2017
Jun 24, 2017 at 6:32 AM UTC
*We bask in light when morning comes, yet tremble in the night.
Halloween must be the cause to give us such a fright.
Ghosts and goblins haunt the streets where moans and chains abound.
Ghouls and vampires lurk in shadows, scared of holy ground.
Werewolves stalk unwary victims. Frankenstein is loose.
Ogres, trolls and spectral zombies hanging by a noose,
Gorgons with their "stoney" eyes and bats with leathery wings...
Mummies wrapped in yellowed cloth with rotting flesh that clings,
Pirates, gangsters, space invaders, just to name a few,
All in search of "Tricks or Treats"(or just a head...or two).
Beware the time when darkness comes. Be sure the door is locked.
But most of all .... to just be safe ... keep lots of candy stocked.*
Oct 31, 2017
Oct 31, 2017 at 10:41 AM UTC
Viva Sto. Nino!
Come let us celebrate
The boy Jesus
Our King, our Savior!
Colorful banderitas drape
This town street.
Here comes the
Pagan parade
Going to the church,
Lead by gay majorettes
Flaunting their legs while
Blowing kisses to the priests.
There is a river
Of people each holding
A portrayal of the living God,
A glossy Sto. Nino statue
Dressed in peasant clothes,
A chef's uniform,
A crisp black suit,
A traditional Chinese costume,
And a striped swimwear even.
Some people are masked
As zombies and ghouls
Quite like Halloween in January.
Their face paints start to get
Smeared in their sweaty cheeks
In this scorching 2 pm sun.
At the middle of the parade comes
A pick-up decked with a stereo.
A portrait of lady in a bikini is
Taped on one of its speakers.
As the parade moves on
The kids moshed and fist pumped
To tribal rhythms and hiphop hits
With cuss words in every beat.
The sun is setting and
The celebration finally arrives
At the crowded church plaza.
People make their way,
Inching slowly to the grand church door.
The great parade ends in a bang, well
A slap rather.
A ***** boy hits
A lady's behind
In yellow micro shorts.
A brawl erupts
In the midst of the crowd,
In front of the saints
Petrified in the stained glass windows.
The mass starts soon after
As if nothing happened.
*Viva Sto. Nino!
Come let us celebrate
The boy Jesus
Our King, our Savior!*
Feb 10, 2014
Feb 10, 2014 at 8:56 AM UTC
Eyes dance across ,
The wondering images alive.
Visible to those,
With a perceptive eye.
Focusing on whats in sight,
Figuring out the reaction.
We are visible to those,
With the eyes to see.
We stand in plain sight,
But are ignored by the tyrants.
The ghouls, The thieves.
Perception is everything,
When it comes to seeing whats in front of you.
With eyes to see,
You are visible.
Visible,
As a canvas of vivid colours.
Visible,
As a storm dancing in.
Visible,
As a house burning with fire.
Visible,
As a mustang and his kin.
We are Visible,
We are the perception.
That you see.
May 15, 2014
May 15, 2014 at 9:47 AM UTC
there was a little mouse he loved a fairground ride
on the roller coaster he just love to glide
sliding riding the bends going very fast
waving to the crowd as he was going past
riding on the ghost train gave him such delight
skeletons and ghouls gave him such a fright.
riding on the track feeling every bump
then a big loud scream this it made him jump.
then on to the dipper high up in the air
travelling so fast he just love the scare.
going oh so fast it would quickly dash
running through the water making such a splash
when his fun was over he took a rest and then
waiting for tomorrow to do it all again.
May 1, 2014
May 1, 2014 at 1:06 PM UTC
Desert Rose, she grows in the light of the moon
She glows like a ghost amid wandering ghouls
Beautiful and rare, she loves the desert air
and I love to see her bloom after the rain falls
Be my Tree of Life
Be my Peace of Mind
She's my Healing Light
At the end of every night
Desert Rose, her eyes of crystal-clear skyblue
I don't wanna be anywhere but here with you
Against your ivory skin, and to caress your spun-gold hair
The starlight in your smile burns right through my despair
You're the only one who understands me
And still there's sunshine in your eyes
You're the only one with whom I can be
Who I truly am inside
Be my Tree of Life
Be my Peace of Mind
She's my Healing Light
At the end of every night
Oh, darling
Be my Tree of Life
Be my Peace of Mind
She's my Healing Light
At the end of every night
Feb 24, 2016
Feb 24, 2016 at 9:16 PM UTC
After the pay toll
I go down steps
to wait for a train
heading one way.
Glances reveal a
demon eyed glare
searching through
the dark tunnel,
a waft of air pushed
up against me, spins
the time I wait from
seconds to minutes.
I'm going underground.
It's warm, clinging
to soaked skin -
everyone is the same,
drenched in a fatigue
like tired ghouls
smothered in oil,
their bodies caskets
lined up as the day's
catch. We shuffle
into a viking funeral
riding the current
for the journey home.
Sep 6, 2014
Sep 6, 2014 at 5:12 PM UTC