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Dyanova Sep 2014
When clocks strike twelve and trainings end
— lurk not, they say, in school at night.
Age-old stories tell of how there’re
things that throng in fluorescent light.

In toilets silence screeches loud,
for when school’s empty, they arise:
Ghosts of pregnant girls lie wailing,
with cleaner-uncle poltergeists.

For now I sit on chilling white,
resounding prayers in my mind;
my heart racing with dire wish
a friend of Casper’s I won’t find —

Then eeeeeeek!
Is that a door creaking?
Perhaps it stemmed from my own mind,
Hinges sing as they fly open!
Thou who entered, oh be my kind!

A thud thud thud as shoes traverse
across the glinting marble floor;
and louder,
louder as they get
much nearer to my sacred door!

THEN SILENCE

or so I wish!

But a loud knock takes my breath away.
The unlatched bolt lies there lazing
HOW’D I FORGET TO LOCK TODAY?

A hand thrusts in so hard and swift,
door’s open ‘fore I can react!
I’m facing now a girl my age,
She bawls at me with little tact —

Eyes bloodshot and tummy bloated,
“YOU DISGUSTING PIG! HOW DARE YE?!”
I dash out of the girls’ toilet
before she tries to castrate me.
Hahaha wrote this for the fun/pun of it.
Phobial Jan 2014
They teach you in school that the building blocks of life and matter are atoms filled with subatomic particles
But believe me when I tell you that they're lying.
"They" are claiming to be your saviors from what is actually fueling your bloodstream.
Protectors of your sanity
But believe me when I tell you it's fraud, a scheme of words that are meant to prevent you from discovering the actual monsters buried beneath your fingernails and hidden in the cracks of your bones.
You see, what the evildoers trains the neurons in your brain to understand is that the demons in your skin cells are atoms filled with subatomic particles.
This is what you know and you know it for a fact until the time comes for the poltergeists within you to attack.
They line up and pluck away at the petals of your once "protected" sanity one by one until you're convinced he loves you not.
Your defense has been destroyed and the demons flood in with no intention to come back out.
The swarms of beasts taking over every aspect of your being is what is now going to cause a new feeling called "numbness."
Your last memory of peace is permanently shattered.
This is called growing up, kids.
Gregory Bowman Sep 2012
how can we know where lovers go
or when they take the notion
to stop the flow and try to slow
the rhythm of the ocean.

we cannot seek to reach this peak
or lift above that sea,
we are too weak to mug the meak
of their sincerity.

we are alone, together and free.




and here's some stream of thought (that just so happens to rhyme, kinda)...

loopy arousal.
lofty appraisals.
disabled and taken for granted.
in the eyes of the dead,
instead of the usual red,
we decided on green
to dress the scene.
the sound man listened.
the light man leered.
the chef was cooked.
i'm hooked.
heaved on to me like voyeurism
and sought like publishers.
distasteful? yes.
useful. yes.
knowledgeable? sometimes.
lurid trysts and poltergeists
expounding.
multiplication escapes me.
pen and paper **** me.
Nevermore May 2014
Reading about the paranormal,
The unknown,
Hearing of ghosts and spirits --
It hurts.

The otherworldly
Stirs up the painful memories
Of you.
I'd rather feel
Horror and fear
Anything else but this.

The demonic
The satanic
Can do little else to me
That you haven't already done.

Ghostly visitations,
Hauntings,
UFOs and their merry little abductions --
They all remind me of you
Still lurking my nights

When people trade stories
About aswang and demonic possession,
Cattle mutilations in the middle of nowhere,
I get chills
Thinking of you.

You are as inscrutable
As the Works of the Old Men
As the Nazca Lines
As the Coseck Circle.
Deciphering the Voynich Manuscript
Is nothing compared to the puzzle of you.

Listening to UVB-76
Max Headroom
The Bloop
Rebecca Black
Makes more sense than listening to you.

Unmask Jack the Ripper
Explain the Toynbee Tiles
Solve the Taman Shud Case
And I can solve you.

It's far less taxing, really
And more merciful on my limited cognitive faculties.


Bring me the Mongolian death worm
And Spring-heeled Jack
The Wandering Jew
The Dover Demon
And the Am Fear Liath Mòr
Before I decide
That sympathy and love
Are more that mere legends
Roaming the windswept wastes
Of your icy, shriveled heart,
Closer to reality than cryptozoology.

Abandoned cities and colonies
Only remind me of how abruptly and senselessly you left,
Leaving me a decrepit mystery of ruins

You believed in Atlantis
I said it was Plato's illustration --
His Republic,
Like Augustine's City of God.

Perhaps this was why our Atlantis
Sank to the ocean floor --
We were just good on paper.
Or maybe we started slaughtering
Noble half-breeds and changelings wholesale
Out of a misplaced sense of pride,

Or our union was unholy
And rankled the senses of the Sovereign
Who deemed it an offense
And thus condemned it,

Or perhaps this was an act of mercy
The equivalent of what Lovecraft said
The most merciful thing
Is the inability of the human mind
To correlate all the ******* he encounters
And has to deal with
On a daily ******* basis.


That the solid waves of mindfuck,
Pushing and heaving like tides,
Emanating from little ole you,
Would have finished off
Whatever was left of my mind.

You believed in ******* everything
But us.
Lost continents
Fox spirits
Psychometry
Were-boars
The ******* occult
No problem
All that which science cannot quantify nor qualify
You embraced
Yet you ran from me
And into the arms of another.

You claimed to be an empath
So tell me
How do I feel
After what you did to me?

You tell me.

And isn't empathy
Supposed to make people more compassionate?

The **** is this, then?

These stories
Of yetis and apparitions
Poltergeists and precognition
Used to intrigue and thrill me as a child.
When I grew up
I started ignoring them.
You put meaning back into the whole thing,
However insipid.

I was a skeptic.
You walked the line
Between the physical and supernatural
At least
If what you said is to be believed.

You were nothing but a specter,
Luring another hapless soul
Out into the barren wastelands
With a *** of stew,
Just beyond reach,
To its doom.

You're nothing but a ghost
Of an angry girl
Murdered by the cruelty
Of your parents and the church
And now I'm one of your victims.

Now as I start to see
Faint vistas of the supernatural,
They start to run
With memories of you
Until I can no longer
Distinguish one from the other.

So I'll ignore the glimpses
Of lurid phantasmagorias
And lock myself in
My world of letters and literature
Of armlocks and flying elbows
Of video games and liquor
I will pretend your world never existed.

Please, please keep out of mine.
*****.
Brent Dec 2014
When I was young,
I was afraid of the night.
I believed it was
home to ghosts, poltergeists
and all kinds of frights.
Just the absence of light
sends shivers to my spine.

As I grew up, I've come
to love the night.
It makes me feel alive.
All of my emotions revive.
and my words drive
to self-proclaimed beauty.

But the thing that I
most appreciate,
is that this is the time
that I get to you.
The only time
I can see your smile
shine bright.
Brighter than the
gleaming moonlight.
you know it's you. :)
Sam Hain Aug 2015
Tonight the poltergeists will come
    And rip you out of bed,
And pound your walls, and drum your door,
    And hammer in your head,
And leave you writhing still alive,
    Though rather you'd be dead.

But fear not these; they merely prank;
    Instead the demon fear
That frightens away the poltergeists
    Whene'er it doth appear,
And screams a scream that makes to bleed
     A stream each mangled ear.

It comes for you, your soul to possess;
    And I do sadly tell,
You have no chance yourself to save;
    So, sleep, and sleep you well—
Enjoy another tender dream
    Before you're dragged to Hell.

O.O
EmperorOfMine Sep 2018
-----------------------------------------------------------------­-------------------------
Dear Diary,

I am a ghost. I don't know how long I've been this way, but It's my reality.

I've smiled with people who can't see me. I've laughed and made conversation with shadows. Sometimes you forget that you can't be seen...or heard...or even thought of.

I like to watch people live -- questioning the actions and thoughts they feel. Oh, yeah, I can hear their thoughts. Vile and sweet...mixed into a bowl like candied poison.

Sometimes I get lonely. It can get bad...like...really bad. Have you ever wondered why ghosts get so aggressive?... You probably know them as poltergeists. That's when we get so tired of being alone...something comes over us...

It's not like we see each other...no...ghosts are solemnly solitary, unfortunately.

So...yes, there you have it...something I wanted to get off of my chest -- the nonexistent one.

I am an utterly, unfortunate, miserable, somber, quiet, insane, and hurt Ghost.


You're welcome.
Are you a Ghost?
Aeerdna Dec 2015
Broken
Empty
I feel naked
Ashamed
My heart is exposed and my weaknesses are there
In everyone's eyes
My darkness only blinds me
I hear people laughing diabolically
Planning ways to use my flaws
I feel people getting too close
I cannot stop them
My wall is down, my broken arms
Cannot build a new one
I cannot run anymore
Cannot oppose them
I can't cover my nakedness.

My mind has become a blank page
I don’t know who I am anymore
I am lost
In the darkness I feel that I've never existed;
In my thoughts I see
Things that are not supposed to be here

Bitter words are flying in my brain
There’s a cold wind in my soul
I am getting cold
Like Andersen’s Little Match Girl
Dreaming hopelessly about some arms that could make me warm.

I hurt
I'm hunted by poltergeists,
With my bleeding hands I dig my own hole in the ground,
I hide in it
I close my eyes
I feel that I'm dying, but I know
I am only sleeping.


I can only hope that I will soon wake up from this nightmare
A
stirring
rendition
by orchestral
digestive specters,
little poltergeists wielding bows against heartstrings;
play on, little daemons! Make music that grinds
the brain to a halt, resolute and unyielding.
Sphere of Severity, for which one pillar
of the Tree of Life is named, burn!
Be the coal in my gut; I'll fan thy flame
to ashes - firm in my lust to speak against.
For in my years I have learned that it is suicide
to do aught but listen to my belly - who knoweth better
than I ever will - exactly
when it is the right
time for me
to say
no.
Thanks to Brandon Barnes, the formatting of whose excellent poem "Ode To Tom Waits" (http://hellopoetry.com/poem/ode-to-tom-waits/)  so reminded me of a hexagram and inspired this shapely piece.
Aeerdna Apr 2016
Your portrait carved on my soul
—burning masterpiece lasting forever—
I feel your eyes on my chest
you wrote your name on my lips
for forever
                                              
I wake up with swollen eyes
—make up won't ever cover up
the pain I carry—
I feel
black holes swallowing me whole
I get lost in old books no one reads any more
I am a ghost
wandering in a nebulous world
I fight daily for a slice of air
I'd stab the sky and drink its blood
if it would bring me a crumb of life

regrets
they haunt me like poltergeists
can't sleep at night
their sound is so loud
everything I've done
comes before my eyes
I can't breathe
I want to make it stop

I've kissed devils believing I was buying love
I've ran miles and miles trying to reach the horizon
I've cried tears
and tears
and tears
trying to forget what wasn't mine to love
I've haunted black birds disguised in the angels of the night
I've kept the dirt in my pockets believing it was gold
I've walked to the light
but it was just a fire burning me whole
I've turned into devil then into angel
and demon and angel and so on
I've let myself fall believing I would land on clouds—
the ground, it broke my bones—
I've drank all the glasses of poison in the world
I've eaten sorrow as dessert

I've lost my soul
my brain is shattered
my lips bleeding
my arms longing

and still

nothing is as bad as the fact
that I've never shown you
my true heart
and how much
I
love
you
https://youtu.be/rDIh3dsH1BY

Am I good or bad?

.



.
JDK May 2017
Springboarded into the future,
and now I can finally afford a decent piece of furniture.

But the disassembled futon in the unused bedroom looks as if it's been manipulated by some angry spirit whose soul doesn't know any better than to linger.

My oldest friend and first girlfriend gave me a tarot card reading while I stayed at her place when I was midway towards my new life in this strange state.

It was vaguely upsetting.

But I can't remember the trappings of a mind that I've taken every endeavor to leave behind.

The thing about a banana bar is that it's really just banana bread with frosting; banana cake, really, is what it ought to be called.

Banana fish can only be caught on a perfectly banal day, but it's the kind of thing one shouldn't wish for, ever.

Rewound into the past,
and for just one moment I can finally relax.
Stretch out the tightly woven brain matter and let it splat into ink blots that sort of remind me of that one time that we had a great time while expounding on our little personal explorations into emotional forefronts where all judgement was either suspended and/or explained in such a way as to not affect us at all.

Pioneers of living a life without societal fears where we were free to steer the wheel of progress in any direction we saw fit . . .

Aw ****, I have to work tomorrow.
but text me if you're (still capable of remembering what if feels like to be) free.
Paul Butters May 2015
The Laws of Physics say
That Everyone Dies
And is Gone:
Every blade of grass, insect, man and woman.
Every sentient being.
From Big Bang to Big Whatever.
They all Die.

Yet is there more than this?
Something of the spirit.
More than ghosts
And poltergeists.
An afterlife
In Heaven.
Another Realm.

Some say that when you die
You re-join The One Being,
Let’s call it “God”.

Your individuality may be gone,
But you become part of that Super-Consciousness,
The One,
And thus Remain.

The logic of this is frightening:
It means that I am part of God,
Just going through a phase
We call Life,
In readiness for
For Ever.

You too are part of God
And logic dictates
That I am my own Mum and Dad,
My sister, friends and everyone else:
Mother Theresa, ******, Shakespeare
And Eddie The Eagle.

I am a wasp, a lion, a dolphin, a tree
Maybe even a germ.
Another poet
Commenting on my poems.
I’m even You.

Better get on with it then.
I’ve got plenty to do!

Paul Butters
Still thinking...
Abbie Argo Nov 2013
the worst that could happen?!

a meteor could hit the earth
at this very moment
and stop me dead in my tracks

speaking of tracks
two trains could collide
right now and cause
mass destruction

really, it's just a terribly inconvenient time
i couldn't possibly-

the black plague,
the bird flu,
terrorists,
poltergeists!

so there really is no reason for me to
go over there and interrupt him
with so many dangers lurking about-

nausea
heart burn
indigestion
upset stomach

and oh, god strike me
dead if i must even imagine
what else!

the four horsemen
of the apocalypse
could decide to
come upon us right now,

and you want me
to go up to him and
say hello?!
honestly, you really must
get your priorities in order.

(but the very worst that could happen?
he could say no.)
Faith Dec 2023
Do the malevolent poltergeists of my past haunt your benevolent spirit?
When I ride through my ghost-towns like an old west gunslinger,
Will the ricochets shatter your fragile glass house?
If I slash through phantom limbs, is it your blood that I spill on the altar of revenge?
Do all the periods of falling leaves and sundowns I spend at the graveyard
Will away the only real wisps of life I know?
Tammy M Darby Oct 2017
Tis a full blood moon
Shining in a witches eye
The ****** winds blow crossways
As the hour draws nigh

The ghosts rattle their wispy chains
Soulless red smiling demons scream
The night of all nights the poltergeists whisper
Haunting voices that cannot be seen


Black dressed hags riding brooms star high
Cackling cast their spells
Halt the waves of time
Those who speak no more in coffins
When commanded would rise

For it’s a full red moon
In a witch’s eye.
When the creatures of darkness
Frolic round an enchanted fire

The dance of the werewolves continued
So the cold night tells
Not a single trace will ever be found
Where those of the underworld dwell


Gaze deeply into the dancing flames
But beware, careless humans,
Of that which may be seen
When orange goblins of the blood moon
Celebrate Hallows Eve

All Rights Reserved @ Tammy M. Darby Oct. 9, 2017.
c
Andrew Wenson Nov 2014
Across the lake
(Might as well be the sea)
Anxious as me
She sits ****** at the screen
As I do the same, here.
There's yet a year to endure
this sealed cellar
where I'm free to speak to ghosts
and she goes dancing with poltergeists

I can bring a tear to gods' eyes
but can't hold out
in this asphalt stew
away from She.

Vitamins and teas to calm me
Friends to show me shadow-girls
No satiety, no appetite
But alone! Alone! Alone!
The self-spinning mantra
of bedroom-bound boys
Manchildren womanless after sewing hearts together
The bleating goat gives birth to the stench of atoms.
Who or what is it all about?
Alone! Alone! Alone!
Elizabeth P Apr 2016
Echoes ring through my head
Making it ache
Ghosts and ghouls and poltergeists
Appear from nowhere

It's all in my head
It's all in my mind
That's why I can't bear sleep tonight

Echoes play over like movies
Sight, touch, taste, sounds, smells, emotions
On replay
You wonder why my head aches

It won't go away
The ache
Someone take the knife out of my bleeding love
Please
I'm done
But the echoes play on and on

Save me
SG Holter Apr 2017
With eyes narrow from fatigue
And worries, I gaze at the
Traces of time on my bedroom
Ceiling.

Cracks and flaking paint.
Do nightmares and dreams
Leave their imprints
In wood, like silent poltergeists

Remembered; collected;
Guarded; stored?
Invisible scars on dead surfaces.
So unlike those on me

That she finds with drowzy
Fingertips in the dark,
When I visit and cannot
Sleep from the alien music

Of the Oslo City night. It
Lacks the sound of wind
In trees playing with leaves
That usually make up my

Bedtime soundtrack.
I awoke from dreaming she'd
Left me; driving away with
Some ex and not looking back.

I ran until my
Legs buckled. Ran after her.
I sure hope her poor walls
Don't remember.
vail joven May 2014
you left
and took
everything

yet you leave
your unwanted
things in my
messy room

your red lipstick
stains on my
white pillowcases
resemble blood
and flowing
heartbeats

your records
still play on
the radio
at 3 am
when i am
at my loneliest
and my insomnia
brings me
no dreams, 
only half-awake
nightmares

your image
is present
in every single
corner of my 
daydreams

and the wind
still whispers 
your poetry
into my
open windows
like an unending
symphonic
torture 

these ghost
memories have 
done nothing
but haunt me
of what could
have been

and we both
know these
poltergeists
will live
longer than
i will

because they
feed off of
my longing

and i know
i will still
love you
even past
death
Venus Rose Vibes May 2013
I suppose it is not true as it always is
A lifetime of finds to live and let live
Multitudes of perspectives begging to forgive
I would rather have a grave to dig
I am ****** up in the head
And I know this since my mother inspires me to write
About death and fights and poltergeists seeking my soul to feed their fires
brokenperfection Oct 2014
The cold is nipping at my heels again
For two days I have been deluded into
Thinking that Autumn
May actually feel like Autumn

Rows of the skeletons I have shut up in my
Cabinets are now standing bare and silent
Along the horizon; they taunt, they mock
The few leaves they have managed to
Hold on to sway in the chill and
Shudder when I walk past

Three deer creep up to the patio
I watch them behind my safe place
My window is my protective cover
From all that is outside and out of my
Control
Frost sneaks up the wood paneling and
The faint laughter from the school children
Fades into a maniacal howl

Soon the snow will cover the tracks of
The poltergeists who visit me at night
In white robes blanketing their voices,
They surround me and pierce my dreams
Visions of violent assault and grief and
Helplessness
of Seasonal Affective Disorder

Winter steals my Indian summers and
Whips me with brutal cold and sleet
Warm afternoons turn into car accidents
And black ice and broken people
Soon the snow will present itself  
And the sunlight will fade from my eyes
So let me sleep until spring.
Notes (optional)
touka Jul 2018
seven poltergeists
in seven homes
inopportune
the world and its coasts

and when the tide rolls in alone
will you be there?

a nightless time
a moonless month
sleepless, smiling

watch fear run
with its tail between its legs
when the sirens wail
when hell's lid is popped

you'll be there
honeymooning,
swooning

stay, then
sway your life away

let the ghosts haunt your home
pull the fragile waist
of your misfortune close
take the dance
by its pensive hands

it is a parasite
and you are a gracious host for it

fresh, lockstep
pseudo-symbiotism

I know no one would ever tell you otherwise.
stay
even still, so convinced
viperous, writhing
eat the fruit
never touch something so sweet again
Joel Hayward May 2017
Night crawls like lizards
with tongues of opalescent horror

Sleep is a blanket on someone else's bed

and I jolt and gasp like she had

connected by that plastic tube
to a life finally withdrawn

Sleep is torn from my lungs which choke on fears that close around me as coal dust

and all I see in the dark are the
worst things she suffered

from cancer's tongues of horror

Then radiance reaches from your woken soul and you recite Quran over me
like a Southern faith healer

with laying on of hands

They slither away from the light you've conjured and I sleep oh I sleep

Daylight memories appear as camera flashes

petty poltergeists easily banished

Yet darkness always follows day as an anxious housemaid

Memories slip their skins and crawl from discarded scales again where they shouldn't
Graff1980 Mar 2019
It was a small
white plastered walled
room
where I sat alone
studying French
before the bell
would sound
and send me home.

Cracked bits of plaster fell
turning to smoke
as they hit the floor
making a thin white mist
of dirt that exposed
a hidden figure.

A silk specter,
she moved through the air
as if gravity
wasn’t even there.
A beautiful swirling
nightmare
swimming in
this stale atmosphere

Dangerous hands
that could caress gently
or strangle menacingly.

Better than the bitter
poltergeists
that haunted
Hollywood screens,
cause she was
far more fascinating.

Undefined
mistress of
lost minds,
who lost time
trying to find
some sort of meaning.

I watched her
confused
and amazed
at the sight displayed
as she played
in some sort of
ethereal realm
allowing me
to see.
all of her
abstract majesty,
but just as quickly
she evaporated.

I do not think
anyone will believe
this strange story
so, I made it in to poetry.

Hopefully
she will come back
and haunt me
some day in the future.
Hannah Draycott Feb 2017
There's a ghost in my house
More like a polterge/ist.
I've     never      seen it myself
But I know it's there.
I can feel it's e)nergy          lingering,
When I come back there's stuff
                     Just laying around.
  Stuff that I just put awa¥y.
Stuff that is^n't even mine.

There's a polterge\ist in this       house
I saw IT once or tw;ice.
There's more than one
They're ¿friendly enough.
Still, they intrude on my life
But I    can't get r¡id of them.
I just want ever@ything back to normal.
So I left.

There are poltergeists in that house
Just d0own the r:oad from the bus stop.
They all live happily together
With a# woman
Whose children have all grown.
Except one, the daughter
                          She lingers in     limbo
Waiting for her home.


Maybe
             she was the
                  poltergeist
                                  ­      All

     ¿¡ %'£     '÷×£-,!!;$@)
                                                  ­      along?
a mcvicar Nov 2019
inherently demoted
passion waning in Stonehenge
studying the ancestors below me
(abhors me)
no longer needing the satisfaction, i'm guessing
you'll be needing the ever after
when clinging to the clingfilm of thy emotion
lust for the green light of capitalist torsion
but we're fine,
we made it
we're rosemary
and thyme
did she even make it through or did she just forget me
altogether, i get why she'd renounce me
the pretty lady now's in paralysis
international
clinging onto
the crevices
of the menaces
of the surrogates
mind shifting through plain fields of evergreen men
bottles upon bottles of ***** autumn drinks
guilty smokes, alternative facts and poltergeists
cloud my gaze
renounce my place
forgotten wee daisies were born in this place
but i didn't
and i don't
sister is trembling
sorry, she's alone
repenting for foreign perversions
preventing the invasion of thy nation
crossing the borders with thy translation
simply insane,
simply old age
it's bad, i need to get back into my old writing habits
Lake Aug 2019
i always have to guess what comes next
i always try my best then end up with less
the less you expect the less the stress
chances to correct your mess and rest
a messy head and a messy bed
paint the room a depressing red
dread is a part of my culture shock
can't get far before those vultures knock
poltergeists they haunt my nights
don't need to fight, they're gone, i'm alright
Venus Rose Vibes Sep 2018
If I could paint you a picture
It would be pretty and bright
With sights to see, people to meet, places to go
But if I were to show you the real me
It would be haunted forests of hollow trees with phantoms and poltergeists that infest your dreams
But if someone were to paint a picture for me
I would want it to be filled with all kinds of things
That make them real and keep them whole
When all they have are broken pieces to show
Regret and mistakes they’ve made for the third time in a row
Between compassion and empathy they’ve been confused in their role
I’ve laid in the same hole I’ve dug more than I’ve been constipated trying to take a ****
Titled
Oka May 2020
Run away, with me
And the poltergeists and ghouls
We can wander through the darkness
And play by our own rules

Run away, with me
To a cavern shaped like home
Where we'll build our own forever
And never dance alone

-Marceline The Vampire Queen
I love adventure time alot

— The End —