"nightmarish" poems
Memories crying, screaming to be heard.
Try as I might to bury these amidst busy days,
still they rise from the backyard of my mind haunting my dreams,
making youth a nightmarish memory.
Empty rooms cry out in agonizing silence.
White ghosts float on lifeless bodies with the same question; why?
Anxious moments still taunt just beyond of safety.
The sickness that gave birth to this still clouds the mind.
So long ago, a lifetime to make peace, still lucid moments of torment
making March an anniversary dirge.
It makes no sense to cry for those gone, for mortals spent in tragedy,
yet every year I try to understand once again, why?
Aug 22, 2012
Aug 22, 2012 at 12:22 PM UTC
Acts of love save.
They save from evil
from envy
from suffering
from disturbing memories.
Only acts of love save.
From the nightmarish and stagnant life.
From anxieties
from unnecessary tears.
Acts of love save.
From words that hurts
from the fiend of insomnia.
From self-flagellation.
From monotony and emptiness.
Only love saves you
from sadness lagoon
from yourself.
Sep 24, 2018
Sep 24, 2018 at 1:07 AM UTC
A stranger has come
To share my room in the house not right in the head,
A girl mad as birds
Bolting the night of the door with her arm her plume.
Strait in the mazed bed
She deludes the heaven-proof house with entering clouds
Yet she deludes with walking the nightmarish room,
At large as the dead,
Or rides the imagined oceans of the male wards.
She has come possessed
Who admits the delusive light through the bouncing wall,
Possessed by the skies
She sleeps in the narrow trough yet she walks the dust
Yet raves at her will
On the madhouse boards worn thin by my walking tears.
And taken by light in her arms at long and dear last
I may without fail
Suffer the first vision that set fire to the stars.
7.5k
I awoke into a morbid dream
A shadow realm of neither form nor scheme
A subdued mirage without shimmer or gleam
A foul abomination
In this nightmarish realm of dread
Weary souls are tapped and bled
Demons feed, Spoil and spread
Like dengue in the hearts of men
This was surely a prison for the mind
Perhaps even beyond even gods reach
A place where dark kings rule and black priests preach
And life itself has been impeached
I writhed and recoiled in primordial plasma
Managing a precise thought in my horror
“Is there not some chaperone
To guide me through this hell unknown
Some charitable entity
To which I could bond eternally”
Dec 6, 2014
Dec 6, 2014 at 5:56 PM UTC
Twisted reeds sway gently in the wind as black seabirds slice the sky overhead.
Waves rolling one by one crash with increasing ferocity on to the rocky beach,
And I watch the red sun set fire to the spray while the tide encircles me.
Tugging at my feet, pulling me forward, it beckons for my consent. I give in,
And all is quiet even in such chaos. All is nightmarish and beautiful all the more.
The blood red horizon seers my retinas; freshly unleashed tears take to the sea.
These waves, such enormous swells, crash in on me; an unseen war is waging.
They press me down and back, and then drag me further into the endless blue.
Over and over again, repetition loses count, my outcries die prematurely.
Only seawater and air manage to sputter from my lips, cracked and worn.
Not a whisper can be heard out here in such a true state of despair, but not all
Castaways are without faith. The past I once cherished has been lost to the depths,
Yet a knowing tingle in my gut keeps me searching for a message hidden merely
'Neath the surface. Drifting deeper into my pain, I notice a curious thing:
The force of the waves lessening as I gracelessly surrender to Sorrow and the sea.
My feet torn by jagged rocks no longer felt, my eyelids blistered by the red
Eternal sunset, a few waves push me under before the siege of the sea falters and
I learn to ride the surf, taking each afront as it comes, whether predicted or
Suddenly upon me. My pain ebbs away slowly with the passing of each episode,
And with each wave I acknowledge my loss, relinquishing my burden.
Like so many desparinging hearts before me shipwrecked in the sea of tears,
I forcefully remind myself that one day the lush, inviting green shores of the
Other side of the sea will appear in my line of vision. Yet, for now, I let myself
Drift through the grief of grieving you, often unsure of whether I'm meant to float
Or should let myself sink toward the blackest crags of my mind. Here alone.
Apr 19, 2011
Apr 19, 2011 at 11:30 PM UTC
Shh, listen.
Did you hear it?
Its disturbing echo
inching down your spine.
Its chilling breath at the
nape of your neck.
Snaking through my mind,
creeping in like fog.
Seeping through the floor,
spilling secrets like blood.
Sounds of a clock
muffled by cotton.
Cloaked, it hammers
growing louder.
Can’t you hear it?
The thumping it emits.
Shuddering through my frame,
suffocation, blame!
It’s growing louder!
Uttering secrets only I know.
Acute are the senses
that hear its woe.
Pounding away all thoughts,
persistent, Its haunts.
Shattering midnight it stalks,
nightmarish pillow talk.
It grows, my skin pales.
louder and louder it wales!
A dead man’s heart yells,
telling its tale.
Say that I am mad, do you?
If only you knew,
I hear things in hell, it’s true.
Don’t you hear it too?
Nov 14, 2015
Nov 14, 2015 at 4:24 PM UTC
She knows exactly how I feel
She swept me by me heel
She stares into me charmed eyes
She must be seeing paradise
She holds my arm to feel me pulse
She instead feels something else
She sees a lad with much affection
Feels fragile warmth that needs attention
She holds me tenderly in her embrace
She places my arm about her ***
She raises hers and lowers me head
She steals a bite of me lip instead
She then whispers words like magic
She probably senses me past is tragic
She slides her arm 'neath me shirt
She asks "was it so bad, the hurt "
She has her reply before I give it
She guides me through to her room
She believes it beautiful I assume
She starts for me lips soon as we sit
She has her way with me and I obey
She pauses for breath,eyes bright as a ray
She holds me firm, can't keep me calm
She sighs as I go above and on I turn
She's a ****** afraid I might do her harm
She obeys when I tell her it'll be a balm
She sees it'll soothe as I take off her dress
She shuts her eyes in honey grace
She screams as I cut to the chess
She sheds a tear, maybe she's badly hurt
She clings on when I lose my hope
She turns me down, she's now ontop
She whispers, "started it, I'm the one to stop
She's something from far outer space
She takes me up on a slower pace
She knows I'm her car,carefully she drives
She's a good swimmer,how perfect she dives
She then disappears soon as I'm on the crest
She leaves me in the dark, can't stop the rest
She's no Angel, I have to deal with the cream
She's an illusion,they call it a wet dream
She's just a nightmarish dream I honestly hate
She leaves me cursing my pants,they're wet
Apr 4, 2015
Apr 4, 2015 at 4:52 PM UTC
I am lost
In the wilderness of my youth
I fight
with every ounce of my might
To keep the dark forest of desires away from haunting me
I try to flee
To the right path, I see
but thorny branches of nightmarish trees grab me so maliciously
And reach my heart
To pour some venom
I sink
Into a shuddering oblivion
The soulless devil invites me to his enmity
I refuse
As I hearken the sanity
My Lord had provided me
And I cling to it like ivy
Indeed, My Lord helped me to seek Him
Before the devil and the sinful hankerings sought me
Apr 13, 2021
Apr 13, 2021 at 7:19 AM UTC
**In the shadow of Everest people are dying
Crushed in a chaos embirthed from beneath,
Emerged as destructor of temple and Taos,
Emerged as an innocent killer... bequeathed.
History crumbles as heavens roar mightily
Ghorka is dead in an avalanche of rock,
Beggars and potentates crushed in the brickfall
Dharahara’s fall leaves men gaping in shock.
Shuddering mountains in avalanche of free fall
Wails of the stricken as quaking defiles,
Gold topped pagodas and statue of ancients,
Sculpture of lions now a rubble in piles.
Khathmandu in the clasp of calamity
Nightmarish forces arisen from deep,
Grasping the earth in their grip of profanity
Monstrously tearing the bedrock from sleep.
A techtonic ****** of Asia by India
Nepal’s Himalayas ****** to the sky,
Inconsequential, this plight of humanity
Nature proceeds as poor Nepalese die.**
M.
ANZAC Day 25 April 2015
Apr 26, 2015
Apr 26, 2015 at 5:45 PM UTC
I can barely move
I can barely talk
I can't breathe when I'm this way
It's gotten worse
And it happens more often
I'm paralyzed in a nightmarish dream and I come out gasping
I smile in the beginnings
because it tries to pull me under and can't
But after a while it wins and pulls me under
I fight
I try to move, but all I get is a bit of shaking
And I try to talk or scream, but all I get is a short puffed out breath
I try to breathe more, but I hyperventilate
I half wake up from it to try to get free, but it pulls me under and smiles at me
Mar 4, 2014
Mar 4, 2014 at 11:30 AM UTC
You me the dog our kids
White fence
Two cars kids toys
Elvis on the radio
Wonderbread and bananas
Pinesol on hand / Folger's at wake
A granite island counter
Our lives are now a life
Our lives
Fat red bowtie on 'em
We're yamaha piano keys played all night
Presents under the tree
Pantry stocked; cars washed; bedtime;
And now becoming domesticated
Isn't as nightmarish
As we thought
It would be
In college
It's bliss & bliss & bliss &
Going well & better
than Mom n Dad
& saccharine &
Dreamy
Dec 6, 2012
Dec 6, 2012 at 10:56 PM UTC
At the stroke of midnight,
When sleep is at its height.
A ghoulish mist engulfs the town,
Bewitching even the Gothic Parish.
Marring its beauty with sinister a frown,
Ivied gates forbidding all that is nightmarish.
Its tall angels now grotesque gargoiles,
Tis when the witches own the sky.
Hidden by moonlight, for youth they toil,
Decades of immortality, watched with sharp an eye.
The towns square, a friendly place,
Now expressionless, a face.
Rings with its blurry past, haunting,
It's residents hiding, whence the hunting.
The witches doth confess,
The town's too quiet for us to obsess.
Begs the darkest one:
"Let us recess, to that dark cess,
Whence we came from.
Tis better to live a day hungry,
Than to be denied your place in history !!"
Jan 23, 2018
Jan 23, 2018 at 3:17 AM UTC
Must you be here in such an interesting illusion?
Why must you sit in such... vogue?
Here though, you exist in fashionable cyst.
Bygone futures of blighted sutures
Youngster-stale and eight-hundred pale
Destitute pasts of layer passes present
Horses gather at the gates of heaven
Spitting at me
And in this way, I've given myself nightmarish feelings.
Yellow blocks provides battery-colored translucence a doubt of mortals
Tungsten belated harmony
Jan 26, 2014
Jan 26, 2014 at 3:37 PM UTC
I wonder if my late night plays
Will ever be relayed
To a generation that is slayed
In my play every black home
Has two stories, a fence
and a dad that won’t roam
Their cars ain’t all chrome
No bars on the windows
No grandmas saying lord knows
When cops shows
There are more colors than grey
No dope boys on the corner cliche
Or dogs on chains barking to get away
The colors blue and red stand for a flag
The black youth aren’t in a body bag
And pants never sag
Black men aren’t scary and mean
The system isn’t their adversary or
The silver screen
They don’t fill cemeteries nor chase
The color green
Black women have a name
Not ***** or **** used as shame
No fakes buts for their fame
The son has more hope
Then shooting a ball and ****** bout dope
He aspires to use a stethoscope
The daughter is strong and free
She can either write a song or get a PhD
Her future is whatever she wants it to be
Their ain’t thugs on tv our color
Not every sitcom has one strong black single mother
Or get drunk and fight one another
Gun violence is a joke
the police don’t chock our folk
Our music don’t promote drug use
And Gucci don’t ******
Drivebys are now hi’s
Every family is woke and wise
It’s sad to know
That this world won’t ever exist
Because the world outside
Is to nightmarish
Jul 12, 2018
Jul 12, 2018 at 9:11 PM UTC
It’s all laundry and cigarettes
White-knuckle odd jobs
And freezing your *** off, at 7 AM, to
Help your buddy out
Breaking and bleeding, and
Smoking and shirtless, and
Spinning your finger and thumb
Counter-clockwise until the
Resulting ring of fire and fury can
Torch your inhibitions
No one ever restricted you from
Rioting with grace
And through the windshield of your vision,
The streets wake up to the smell of
Alcohol and experience
It’s all rubble in dumpsters, and
Spray paint that swears
Oaths, to bands and bandages
Singing the praises of
Stolen promises, their swiftly
Prying minds can’t understand
And you’re standing
In front of the truck
Arms outstretched
Pistons firing air through your
Organs, that vibrate with the
Trepidation of nightmarish resolve
It’s all battlefields and accomplices,
The kid that kicked you down so,
That you’d eat the dirt,
Place your teeth in
Leather pouches,
And taste defeat for decades
You’re pleasantly high on the
Smoke of your still-burning debt
You’re a supermarket superhero
You’re the queen of the Gasoline Dream
It’s in the way that
Your outline is
Edged out
By your insides, and the
Arms of the chair have become
Wings, that unfurl over
Valleys and oceans, of headstones,
And nursery wards
Tinted windows promise nothing
Regarding secrecy of soul
What would your wisdom teach me
About sentience?
Apr 24, 2014
Apr 24, 2014 at 11:36 AM UTC
Rapid Eye Movements
cruise down the Autobahn,
driving dreams of soldiers
slaying the Beast in the East:
seeds hidden in the cuff links
that return home for the victory parade.
The victory parade of the new millennium
is a mirage: desert sand creeps
through the streets of Basra;
spray painted slogans of “Aryan Nation”
are left behind on pock-marked walls.
High level terror alerts
scroll across the Fear o' Dome,
breeding paranoid glances
from commercial-class passengers
while they fly above fenced camps
where centralized secret service agents
watch the unloading of another train.
"Son, do you forget the sacrifices?
Have you lost all your respect?
Okay, it’s possible that the Feds
were influenced by the Purebreds—
a minor repercussion
of maintaining our national security.
It isn’t even about racial purity—
you are all mixed now, anyway.
Whether female, black, jew, or gay,
we must unite together as a nation;
raise its flag with pride,
and fight against a common enemy!
This enemy is trying to disintegrate
the cornerstone of our free society!
Son, can you not see! Not see-notsee-notsea-notsi-notzi-natzi-nazi-natzi-notzi-notsi-notsea-notsee-not see!"
_____
—cold sweat.
I awaken to remnants of nightmarish images
sifting through my mind:
flocks of carnivorous sheep
with invisible shepherds.
The dream had felt real—
solid, like flesh-out reality.
I rush out of bed,
just to make sure.
From my bedroom window,
I see the neighbour’s Iron Eagle weathervane
goose-stepping towards the west.
A lawnmower growls in the background.
Everything appears normal here
on the corner of 4th Reichstag Blvd.
2016 Neu Berlin Remix, July 13th, 2016
(original version was written on March 29th, 2010)
Apr 1, 2010
Apr 1, 2010 at 6:14 PM UTC
I join with you today.
the nation
in whose symbolic shadow we stand,
seared in the withering flames of injustice.
daybreak on a lonely island
in the midst of a vast ocean of material
architects -
wrote the sacred obligation:
give the people a bad check -
“insufficient funds.”
the bank of justice is bankrupt
in the great vaults of opportunity, of
the fierce urgency of now.
whirlwinds shake the foundations of my people.
by drinking from the cup of bitterness and hatred,
high plane of dignity - degenerate.
veterans of creative suffering! unearned suffering!
sweltering with the heat of injustice and oppression
not judged by the color of their skin, but
by the content of their banks!
Oct 4, 2012
Oct 4, 2012 at 11:14 PM UTC
****
Went to the toilet and saw a floating ****
not flushing is so **** absurd.
Pushed the handle and found out why,
what happened next made me cry.
Brown water coming to the top,
tried everything but it wouldn't stop.
Water and turds all over the floor,
this is something, I didn't ask for.
Squeezed my nose and grabbed a plunger,
it's a good thing I used to be a plumber.
I can feel the turds oozing through my toes,
man this **** really blows.
Finally I got the water to go down,
the once white tile is now covered brown.
Smells so bad, I started to gag,
got some paper towels, a mop and a bag.
Sprayed Fabreze as much as I could,
puked on the floor where I stood.
Took an hour, but the bathroom is clean,
never have I seen something so obscene.
Jumped myself in the shower,
gave myself one hell of a scour.
Suddenly up from the drain,
another **** I couldn't detain.
There it was laughing at me,
this **** is ****** up, wouldn't you agree.
Maybe this is the famous Mr. Hankey,
this South Park character is making me cranky.
Everywhere I looked, all day I saw ****
it was like a nightmarish continuous loop.
Just couldn't get turds off my mind,
for the first time in my life, I wish to be blind.
For now on my bathroom is the back yard,
who would have thought turds would leave me scarred.
Oct 16, 2013
Oct 16, 2013 at 10:17 AM UTC
The doors of the churches and the schools are closed.
No decent people are on the streets,
Where we see sad crimes and horrible abuses.
Many windshields are broken by badly thrown stones.
Violence rains in the streets and in the corridors;
No dogs or cats dared to vent outside.
A few meager birds, on the branches, stare with disdain
And amazement several thugs and charlatans with masked faces.
It is sad to see these heinous crimes. How awful!
There is a hostile war? One wonders which party will win?
We can hear the voice of an old man coming somewhere
Who shouts faintly, "We are all poor victims, sad tramps,
Who are committing suicide for bad politicians, for misers. "
Not too far, we can see a crazy woman with a close friend,
Both in rags. It's a nightmarish image that proves
That the country has become a hell on earth. On the radio, they say
That some ships of the United States Navy are in the harbor.
What are they doing on our territory? We flee,
Or we do not flee? We cannot. Everyone is in prison.
Violence snows blood on the streets of a tropical country, where fear
Reigns. Children do not dare to play in the streets, where terror
Hisses like snakes, like machine guns of the enraged demons.
No war is civil or civilized; war among the same people is also violent
And nefarious. My God, things are very bad in the streets nearby.
Violence is raining and everyone is crying. Victims are everywhere at bay,
Waiting for the arrival of the good angels, who shall come perhaps in a few months.
Copyright © June 2019, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved.
Hébert Logerie is the author of several books of poetry.
This is a translation of the poem La Violence Pleut Dans Les Rues by Hebert Logerie
Sep 11, 2025
Sep 11, 2025 at 8:27 AM UTC
Today I walked to the park and back
And saw suburbia rearranged into dizzying distortions
All the trees had a purplish tint
And on the grass, I saw multicoloured light reflecting off the dew
When I got home
I attacked all the imagery with a dagger to reshape reality
And a blank mirror to recreate the world in my head.
The world that was quiet is humming again
I hear choirs of crickets and choral basslines
Cacophonous and ecstatic in the constant confusion
The dull concrete is shot open with marquee moonlight
Indulgence pouring out, free-flowing like communion
And painted onto canvases like rain on a car window
Daydreams and delusions are ice cream melting, sticky and sap-like on your chin
Clouds pixelate with diamond edges
Voices ring out in a flurry
And there isn't a soul in sight.
So I breathe in the air
And let all the sounds and smells and limitations of reality colour my imagination once again
Daydreamed delusions and nightmarish reality are one
Filaments in the vibrant violence
Until the summer fades away again.
Aug 18, 2023
Aug 18, 2023 at 7:25 AM UTC
I had a dream about a memory
So vivid I recall conversations
My subconscious made up a story
And turned it into nightmarish creations
Mimicked the past, I got lost for too long
Paralyzed, I'm no longer strong
Jan 19, 2019
Jan 19, 2019 at 9:18 AM UTC
Often, when I'm on the
streets, decaying in *****
degradation of the soul,
I go under the bridge and watch
the ducks.
Sometimes I talk to them.
They don't talk back.
Some days, it's the only
beauty I can see.
I think and dream of
a different world.
A land without
brutal lunacy.
I can handle madness.
It's the wicked,
smiling hatred that I
can do without.
The Iowa River beckons
me to come swim-
float blissfully to heaven.
But I know better.
Katie and Perry drowned not
far from where I sat.
It's usually at this time that
I'm fresh out of bread for
the ducks and I have milked the *****
bottle for all it's worth, that a
warm blanket of a thought comes to
me- I need help- go to the hospital.
I stumble my way there,
sometimes by ambulance.
I go through nightmarish withdrawals.
At around the third day, I get a
laptop from the patient library.
I catch up with neglected family
and friends, then I try to write.
The first four days, my mind is
like a smashed snail.
But usually, the magic comes back.
The muse kisses me gently, and I
put the shaking pen to the paper.
I can order whatever food I
want between 6 am and 8 pm.
I discovered years ago that they
have phenomenal cheesecake.
So when I'm able to eat, it's the
first thing I order.
My withdrawals are deadly.
Diastolic blood pressure
numbers like 103,109.113.
So they give me Ativan.
It helps tremendously- Ativan and cheesecake.
**** the muse's **** then more
Ativan and cheesecake.
If I'm lucky, I'll turn out a
poem or two-like this one right now.
Jan 24, 2021
Jan 24, 2021 at 10:58 PM UTC
Figures standing in my peripheral
With eyes like the void, paralyzing me
Illusions fade to reality now
Drift into the nightmarish miasma
I thrash to no avail
Fighting to escape their dead gaze
Evading my vision
Silhouettes flicker in the dark
Dancing in the pitch black dead of night
Hallucinations of aberrations
Whispering in the back of my mind
Manifestations of apparitions
Phantoms fabricating
Horror permeating my core
Nocturnal terror
Haunting my soul
Manic visions plaguing
Every fiber of my being
Panicked and screaming
Please God save me
Perchance a dream
Facade of reality
Stuck on repeat
I can't tell the difference
Falling into darkness
Hopeless to escape
Painting a bleak
foreboding dreamscape
Minds eye collapsing to oblivion
This existence consumed by shadows
Trapped in this enigmatic consciousness
My perception fleeting through the night
Feb 2, 2016
Feb 2, 2016 at 10:59 AM UTC
And as a child of science
I walk through my days,
clinging to theories
and laws
and equations
While my nights
are consumed with
nightmarish visions
otherworldly beings
and bloodied hands.
Taunting me, almost
I look into a mirror
With a voice laden with grief and exhaustion
And ask my smiling reflection
whether this is Spirituality
or Lunacy?
Dec 1, 2021
Dec 1, 2021 at 3:08 PM UTC
She felt as if she was going to explode. She hated herself, the guilt began to consume her as she waded in her own disgust. Ugly, fat, and now a failure. For once she wanted to follow through and make the voices in her head going against her demons proud. Not yesterday, unfortunately not today, but maybe (probably not) tomorrow.
But, we want to stay with you... forever.
There's only one thought on her mind. Nothing but this single thought mattered. Just one, nightmarish, thought racing through her head.
But the voices were far too cunning to ignore.
Get rid of it!!! Get rid of it now!! If you don't you will be a failure. A fat failure!! Get rid of it while you still can. All of it.
She walks calmly past her mother; her composure plays the role of some sort of genius guise. She'll never know, no one will ever know. At least for now.
Hurry up!!! You wouldn't want all that to settle, would you?
The toothbrush was sitting where she had put it that morning, after using it to brush her teeth. This time, it was being used for a different purpose. A disgusting, wonderful, agonizing, joyful, painful, perfect, ugly, beautiful, addictive, freeing purpose.
What are you waiting for?! Do it now silly girl.
Nothing else made her feel so powerful.
That's how it's suppose to feel. That's how you know you're doing it right.
Many minutes zipped by, as if her brain pressed the fast forward button. She quietly got up, flushed the toilet, turned the water off, brushed her teeth, changed clothes, and exited the bathroom. The cold, hard floors were all too familiar to her beaten down knees.
Good girl.
47 minutes had passed during her absence.
She began to feel anger for herself. Once, just once, if she could go a whole day without deprivation or gluttony, maybe she could feel what it was like to function properly.
But, we're proud of you!!
All she wanted was to be able to go out with her friends and not be terrified. The secret must stay a secret.
No one can know about me!!
She began to think out loud.
"How will I ever become fully recover(ed)?"
As if on cue, the demons inside her head replied.
You won't.
Apr 2, 2014
Apr 2, 2014 at 6:42 PM UTC