"spooks" poems
homeland security
on these nuts
home land security
in your butts
home land security
look but don't touch
it's too much
for 'em to understand
***** jacker
**** in hand
hatin' big wacker
on tha attacker
i like 'em blacker
she's a ***** packer
don't like 'em battered
spell bound brain washed
what's tha matter?
Homeland Security Act
homeland security
tryin' ta scare
why can't tha government care?
socialist ideals
not tryin' to hear
hippie gal tryin' ta spread peace
until the cognizance cease
down with tha ****
come in your hair
tryin' ta do me long
they can't take it down
ya know they messin' around
neo-con trick
tryin' ta make brunette sick
don't they like the way i hold my ****
maybe i wanna take a lick
lyin' bitchin' wichin' cryin'
like a man's supposed to be dyin'
look at 'em fryin'.
sorcery zap to the court-ordered goofs
snitchin'
doin' bad things
mad federal schemes
they all occultic fiends
with yo mama church
as the ball swings
** **** on me
mother **** the holy see
what ya tryin' to be
....holy?
goons, screws, pigs and spooks
sayin cognizance aint to use
poor court ordered goofs so-abused
papists vowed in their delusions of grandeur
all you supposed ta think
...is white cop
expendable masses they say aint allowed ta know
while they call the pope pop
guardian protectors of tha white bred
they wanna make tha people brain dead
feds frivolous threats
tha number on your badge says zero
what you tryin' to be?
A super hero?
Feb 4, 2015
Feb 4, 2015 at 5:52 PM UTC
Spirits may come spirits may go.
The only talk to those they know.
Those who have a lending ear and listen to the others here.
Usually grey haired old bags with 20 cats and 40 ****
But Anna isn't quite the same she's not what visitors expect.
She greets each one with a smile.
But their eyes can't see they miss by miles!
Instead the look upon her chest, for what a smashing pair of *******
I even think the spooks just come to take a peak at her ***
Imagine that a ghost on top with an enormous supernatural ****
Slid between her silky legs until she screams and begs and begs.
A medium she thought it was, in fact it was an XL ****
A frenzy in the reading room as more arrive to see her moan.
It's like a wiken **** now, at 44 she's in her prime.
I wonder who will "come" next time.
The psychic circle all a gasp, are playing with their mortal tackle.
Who would have thought she wore a basque, underneath a witches tac.
Now its like a wanking club, spooks and mortals all a tug.
finally she howls with delight.
Another soul has seen the light!
So remember when you see her pass check her **** and little *** imagine she's on top of you in stockings basque and heels to.
Though one thing you should bare in mind...
Unless your dead forget it mate!
Jul 29, 2013
Jul 29, 2013 at 4:20 PM UTC
coffee in the night wakes me for the evening,
sipping as I listen to cool tunes
from the lady strummer sooth,
oh the taste of a nice fresh brew,
potent and dark, the caffeine streams
through blood to the brain,
nice quick buzzbuzzbee
in my head.
reprieve from the shop to the abode no one knows,
down the road curved heavy I strode
and sank deep into muses sweet song,
echo ear to ear soul soothsayer,
calm coffee nerves,
trade lines of rhyme
in a compact black
notebook of wonders belonging
none other to d-bake,
spirit of the sun, wandering peace beast
with worthy words and steady grooves.
come midnight go and its time to depart.
come home to dark demons
seeping 'round corridors and corners,
peeking for a sight of frightened prey
to pounce on invisibly,
startled through and through,
spooks steering to insanity, must
seek shelter **** covers with sleepytime tea.
long discussions over late telephone,
with lady of dreams come true,
of one consciousness such that no puzzle piece
stands apart and one love
binds the confines of it all ,
mind shatteringly simple yet
most don’t seem to see
the beauty of all infinitely one.
Dec 26, 2009
Dec 26, 2009 at 10:34 PM UTC
Trill of beak into birch. Dawn spooks
the graveyard into silence. A heart
hardens at God’s withered finger reaching
but not reached for. I trim the hedges
and the whir of weed-eater disturbs
a nest of yellow jackets into tornado,
dust devil, of translucent wings and sting.
I walk among the dead three times a week.
I am learning their language. They relearn
the mundanity of white noise above
and quietly forget, quietly forgive.
This hill is the crest on a wave of coffins,
each one a boat through the world below.
Submerged in a bloodshot morning
I listen to a woodpecker in its throes
of building a home out of the depths of bark.
In the chill, the soft fog rolling, it pecks
and it knocks. The doors to these lives
long closed, I hush. I do not believe God
will visit these grounds to reclaim his clay:
I plant flowers in it between the plots,
each name engraved of marble a blank stare.
The flash of red flushes from budding branches
and I return to work. No one answers.
I relearn the dead’s language, their silence,
relearn every day how to repair stillness.
Apr 22, 2016
Apr 22, 2016 at 12:38 PM UTC
I keep coming across these guys
on the bus
walking the streets
they’re just about everywhere
I am.
Sitting across from one of ’em
on the city bus
spooks me down to my core.
They’ve got slicked back
greasy hair
that’s turning gray,
tanned skin from walking in the sun
too much.
Old-style tattoos up and down
their arms
that are blurry and faded green
women’s names are no longer legible
in the little banner around
a simple heart tattoo.
I always wonder where
their women went
cause they never have one
next to them.
Sitting across from this guy,
he takes a good look at me too.
My slicked back, greasy hair, pale skin, and new old-style tattoos.
It’s like he’s lookin’ back
and I’m lookin’ forward
to a future that just might end up
being my own.
I see these men
down & out,
rolling ****** Top Tobacco cigarettes
with brown & yellow fingertips
pregnant little toothpick smokes
with loose ends that spill tobacco
all over their laps
on their faded grey-used-to-be-black
rustler jeans
the cheap kind from K-Mart.
I see these men
and it terrifies me
to think
that could be me and my future.
It could be me.
If I don’t get my **** together.
Cause
right now
today
as I get ready to pull this sheet
from the typewriter and catch the
2:48 p.m. bus
I am going nowhere
Fast.
**** me.
Dec 2, 2011
Dec 2, 2011 at 2:37 PM UTC
empty hallways, forgotten voices
pictures hang, dusty and off balanced
cobwebs spread from door to mirror
a young rat scurries past the broken floor
his picture still hangs over the fireplace
a spider runs down his well-shaped nose
each brush stroke is thick and sculptured
the dust collects as sand dunes
the whole room seems mysterious
books of occult line the paint-chipped walls
the windows cracked the night air blows
dead trees peer down on slamming shutters
the old house creeks and cracks
howling doge are echos of past crickets sing songs of last dreams
this house, this ledgend infinte
captures one's mind as lonley and hideous
remembers it's myths fools false illusions
under the now dim light of the moon
spooks creep silent footsteps
his spirit surrounds the acre
truth and lies untested question
of how he lived alone from living
Dec 7, 2012
Dec 7, 2012 at 11:17 PM UTC
DEAR JUSTICE,
Every act that day
revealed their involvement,
in their regions, blood pools lay,
as deep dug the predicament,
death and displacement left all awry,
cries of agony crawled, crumbling all.
JUSTICE! They have drawn a blank today,
branding them WAHESHIMIWA, the gall,
visiting us with ‘aid’ and false word, here in the tent,
where they just shove us in the recent,
their dope remains in minds of the awakened,
in those suits we see spooks good at demolishing
stretch your hand and dispense a mete from them
for in you we reckon that they will pay.
Nov 1, 2013
Nov 1, 2013 at 2:23 PM UTC
The Fox sisters of Rochester
lived in a haunted house.
A spirit there was stirring
That was probably not a mouse.
Spirits rapped upon the walls
and on the window panes.
The sisters Fox would rap right back
according to their claims.
The Foxes were sensations,
The Belles of Halloween
Their Séances well attended
By the credulous, T’would seem.
Spirit fever gripped the land
With rapping on a table
(Maggie Fox was double jointed
And the whole thing was a fable.)
It’s hard to sell your real estate
when it’s a haunted home.
But when spooks rap, rap right back
You’ll never be alone.
Oct 16, 2013
Oct 16, 2013 at 10:01 PM UTC
Maybe your mothers and fathers do not know right from wrong
Maybe those that birth you cannot tell real from unreal
The apples do not fall far from the trees that we know all along
So no surprise when off-springs and all fall into the reel
Unable to decipher the lost and damaged from their midst adorn
My mother washed me in truth, honesty, sincerity and real love
That's the only path that graces the soul and makes humanity
So all my life I know what's real, true, honest from all else above
You walk your path and serve your gods in all their profanity
Your festered minds and putrid brains is not like mine thereof
In superficial abodes, your falseness lies fakery has confused you
No truth or honesty exists all around only deceits and raw fear
You rot from the inside and feed from poison not breastmilk too
from start you're ****** your brains from chemicals they rear
Spooks with semblance no substance, serving satan them born fools
I know what's real what's true what's honest and sincere or not
That is me from real bosoms raised in edifying values not falsity
Come in thousands you stink from a mile off satan demons squat
Sincerity truthfulness if erred makes amends not sit discordantly
Real Humanity embraces love and peace not mortal duels that's fact
From negativity you drink in darkness lies your bread and joy
miseries and fears you seek to share cause your souls lies in pain
In cancerous fears you scheme and plot your ****** evils ploys
Cause it destroys you to see goodness whilst your souls' in chain
Weak corrupted dark and damaged subjugated to lucifers noise
Gnarled old wrinkled before your years you envy my young looks
Borne of inner joy and unafraid pious calm pathetics spit zombie
Too sick to know a clear conscience never pines or fears like crooks
Pure and noble emotions caters no dirt or negativities like loonies
Dignity and integrity offers granite to malevolent duds and hooks
Oct 31, 2018
Oct 31, 2018 at 10:16 AM UTC
Molasses is
The most red
The most gold
The most vibrant
Least cold
Fall of my life
And it’s a new ****
Maybe he wears a trucker hat
Or maybe he wears bibs
Maybe he’ll be some dark horse
New candidate
I don’t know yet
He could be one of these
Over mountain men
Filtering through the woods
Appearing in the hills
Ghosts of Hatfields past
Fur on their faces
Instead of skin
Strong and sturdy
Growing up from the ground
Like the cane we’re cutting
Down
And it ain’t about money
Out here in God’s country
We’re just willing and
Able
Enjoying the rich soil
And machetes
Carving calluses
While the sugar’s pressing
Staining, straining
Green and sweet
Skimming, boiling, browning
Finally draining
Into glistening mason jars
The day is going dark
Sail away ladies
Sail away
And say darling say
Playing banjo
In a moonshine-induced
Hallucination
Till all the bread is gone
The molasses gets carted off
And now it’s full dark
The spooks come out
All the wicked witches
Spitting hairballs
At their victims
That thing making noise
Moving in the bushes
Might be Matt Kinneman
Tells me I’m a good woman
I’m a human wall
And my pigtails make good handholds
When someone needs to reach his knife
The mountains grow
Apart at night
And the hollers pull us in
Molasses tastes like being
Home again
Dec 11, 2012
Dec 11, 2012 at 2:28 PM UTC
IN the newspaper office-who are the spooks?
Who wears the mythic coat invisible?
Who pussyfoots from desk to desk
with a speaking forefinger?
Who gumshoes amid the copy paper
with a whispering thumb?
Speak softly-the sacred cows may hear.
Speak easy-the sacred cows must be fed.
1.6k
I froze up on the staircase, staring at space much like a jigsaw falling in place. I was high and dry like a lotus flower in bloom. Lost in the fog as I tried to sail to the moon. I was searching for the subterranean homesick alien on Planet Telex to ask him the million dollar question he spoke in codex. So I’ll never find out the answer for the talk show host just like how the spooks won’t give up the ghost.
© Matthew Harlovic
Jul 14, 2014
Jul 14, 2014 at 3:29 PM UTC
👻Ghosts 👻
👺Goblins👺
🧙♀️Witches that soar🧙♀️
👽Aliens are Creeping up at your door👽
🐺Wolves that Howl🐺
👾Monster that Growl👾
Spooks of All kinds are on the
Prowl!!!
So, stay at home and don't
come out!!
That's Right!!!!
For the Spooks
👻SO SPOOKY!!!! 👻
come out at night!!
Lock your doors for, you'll be in for a Fright!!!
THE SPOOKS ON (HALLOWEEN) COME OUT AT NIGHT!!!!!!
MUAHAHAHAHAHA!!!
WHAT A SIGHT FOR A FRIGHT!!!!
THE SPOOKS ON (ALL HOLLOWS EVE)
COME OUT AT NIGHT!!!!!!
B.R
Date: 10/25/2022
Oct 21, 2024
Oct 21, 2024 at 7:51 PM UTC
I went to a funeral and lied
I went to a funeral and lied
In junk and drink, no grief,
Just cowardice and pride.
Fear of losing you by my side
Losing you to the other side.
Fear that shook with the gloved murderer's hide
I went to my funeral and shied
I didn't want to sleep or hide
I just held your bloodless, jaundiced face
I couldn't help but feel a fake
As two sets of opache eyes
Did not pass a tear and cry.
Just the shivering hands that stopped your last sighs
I went to a funeral and lied
I drank and stood in black and could not cry,
I strung words and made some ineloquent speech
Loved and held but held love out of reach
Spoke in riddles, played hide and seek
With a congregation of perjured freaks.
I laughed at their blindness where my guilt sits.
Last night in our death bed where I slept
Dry-eyed like your cataract eyes
Dumb mouth fish gape
In the old flat, my eyes, dry, dry eyes.
I didn't hear the trains last night
I couldn't hear grief's knock at all
There was no knock,
There was no wake or ball, just
Your bloodless gape and jaundice face
Shining yellow plumbed and spent
****** leech-mouthed, dumb,
Your cataract eyes,
Under clumsy-ashed mascara lids
A shy pass in some gothic flick
A tetany spasm, no shock or awe.
You looked up at me and saw nothing at all.
I share some dead shark surprise;
Opache, tearless rolled-up eyes
And I lay gibbering at your side
And laughed and hated your passion and cries
King over requiem and bride
Healer, dealer, hood and pride
Addicting storm and flushed aside.
I scraped blood off your chessboard marble floors
Wiped the evidence from cold-polished claws
I burned effigies of pagan-hates
Hoodwinked the sentimental double agent spooks
And threw scent off my mistress as a ******* clown.
This morning I went to a funeral and lied
I could not spill one tear from these witness eyes
That watched the hands suffocate your traumatic sighs
I went to a funeral and lied
Conducted proceedings with the murdering hands’ whys
I wanted the last of you, my bride.
Mar 11, 2014
Mar 11, 2014 at 6:17 AM UTC
When I misplaced my faith
And had to find
Something to ease my
Questioning mind
I studied
Numerology
Astrology
Reflexology
The Chinese Zodiac
Neglected scientific facts
To try and fill the lack
Of wisdom
Looking for some ego boost
In my spiritually void youth
Such a goofy kook
Believed in spooks
Not spies but ghouls
Walked with other fools
Who thought they could cast spells
That they fought monsters from hell
And battled dream demons
It took a couple of years to transition from
One magical thing to the next
Till I finally settled on the logic of
Reasoning
Science
And love
Of humanity
But at thirty four
I got a whole lot more
To learn
Apr 11, 2015
Apr 11, 2015 at 11:00 AM UTC
8AM strikes like a *****
And romping the losing street -
The engineered reptile stalks the hound we are.
The soldiered army, oozing molten pride,
Spike me in the side with their knees
Lifted to caution, so-so below the chin
The cold, dead breath bullies like a child
Never been taught, never have they ought;
I give them pity like spit, the drool reared.
The glands of my sodden state are nucleic
They spark and fizz and pop at the slightest fix
And they mount the green turf as they say the things they say
They say them in spite
Their eyes to register a flat-line, the pulse of my eyelid
Froths staring into their granite granules, you call them eyes
I do despise, I do despise,
The heartless range of those hunter-deers,
The wet pathos that criminals invoke
And then, I woke, the rage, the rage!
A mountainous affair, cracked into your skin
You wished I were dead so you could be thin.
And when I am not hot,
Risen, aired by the microwaved Monday dawning,
I can almost laugh about the spaces between your eyes
The slight disgust, the frozen musk
Awns over me, little fist tight of pink
Ears rabbited off -- a sharp, twisted empale
And then, you are there--
Frozen and dominating, your coffin spooks to me
A spoken longing and then all we know wilts
A running red cloak of tartan regrets
Jades the illicit wail bespoken after the instrumental twist
The torture device you call your words is broken out
I ask for one thing, beg for it, screech it
To the solars like I am owed.
Knowing Death, if not heed, the spited greed--
Give me strength, for the thoughts
The thoughts, that blow through me
Windswept, gliding the dead human ash through my marsh
Do not upturn the limped greyed grass
And blow through, a harmless storm,
With nothing to say about how I carry my day.
Move on to your homeward-bound, your
Concentration plantation, reeling off dead spinners
Like your words, your cold ******* words.
You slimy ******* you ****
I have spoken, one million syllables,
For your satisfaction.
You lord it over me like a raw-meat hand
Of the disciples. Well, well, Judas, Judas --
I bite my tongue. I bite it so it jades.
Jan 24, 2014
Jan 24, 2014 at 12:48 PM UTC
Tax is a concept
By which you measure governance and each cent from each pocket
Tax is a concept
By which you measure a homeless man’s pain and the hard rain
Tax is a concept
That only adds up but sometimes doesn’t
Tax is a concept
A technique to intercept the poor man’s invasion
Tax is a concept
That funds a government servant’s evasion
Tax is a concept
That requires frequent revision for the privileged 1% division
Tax is a concept
For the rich to market their wealth as a sales pitch
Tax is a concept
That is open ended that helps lawyers find a niche and sometimes a gaping ditch
Tax is a concept
That helped the Untouchables put away that whiny *****
Tax is a concept
That takes the interest out of the spooks
I don’t believe in being rich
If I have to pay more I think that’s a glitch
I don’t believe leaving it all to the middle class
If I criticize it the government shows a lot more sass
Tax is a concept
If it wasn’t it wouldn’t be in books and in the salaries of prison cooks
Tax was a concept
That kept out of it the clergy mooks
Tax was a concept
That kept a nobleman’s coffers’ ostentatious good looks
Tax was a concept
That kept death at bay
Tax was a concept
That contributed to the dead everyday
Tax was still a concept
If it wasn’t then in Germany there wouldn’t have been any bread for each day
Tax is still a concept
It still pays the rich and takes from the rich *****
Who has the lawyer who is smarter than Tom Sawyer
I don’t believe in law and order
I just believe in world order and peace
Sep 13, 2017
Sep 13, 2017 at 5:39 PM UTC
Now! is the time
for those loved least
A howl!
assembles the spooks, kooks, and beasts
An umbral lens looks
at cracks between light
Be brave! Embrace inspired fright
Reach into the shadow
and we just might make friends
with the spectre called Life
We are alive! Let's celebrate this
divergent experience we co-create
Feb 9, 2025
Feb 9, 2025 at 11:12 PM UTC
From sunrise to sunset to sunrise again.
The truth on why we stay awake
May linger within the very nature of our breath
May very reflect the nature of the wave
For these night are set upon the stones
Of our light rebirths
From the very nature of unconditional love
Is where im speaking from
Light floats on so clear
On the feelings that seem to be real
And the fire its just burning there teaching us to stay aware
The memories of our time
Roam around in this endless conciouss mind
Seeking what in this life drives us all here
Sitting in this car?
No other reason for which I can explain
Than the need to seek the love within
This very root appears to be getting hooked
Between all my fellow phsycadelic spooks
Finding fulfillment
Withing the very sound of air
For we have started to rebel
Apr 16, 2013
Apr 16, 2013 at 12:11 AM UTC
Bristling green rice plants,
Make waves reaching the far hills;
Wind’s jugglery spooks!
Sep 28, 2018
Sep 28, 2018 at 12:45 AM UTC
Simple. Simply put.
I am the standing figure, casting a long long long shadow upon dark green.
A hill before me.
Sun, half mass of which is behind a mass of land.
Evoking spooks and spirits.
Burning away my smile and smoke...
Melodic Ghosts.
I. Forth-path walkers, entombed upon a sealed fortress within my dreams.
When I blink, it all fades back to a green flash.
Then I laugh...pretty heartily, I should add...
May 19, 2013
May 19, 2013 at 5:43 AM UTC
Where are the ghosts, where do they hide?
Why don't I find them on my bedside?
The nights are long, worried sleepless
Still they don't come, don't show their face.
But there were nights, now a faded book
When spooks reigned, at every dark nook
With their creepy touch, whispers in my ears
How I was scared, yet how I loved those fears.
Now in the night's depth, as I toss on bed
No visitors of dark, caress my forehead
I wait for them, with love and no fright
But they aren't there, vanished out of sight.
Sep 17, 2013
Sep 17, 2013 at 6:13 AM UTC
People on the internet
are like any others
and talking without reason
terrifies us.
‘Everyone you meet
is the monster under the bed
the skeleton in your closet
the psyche of horror
haunts their dreams.’
Maybe
every fable
we’ve ever heard
is lingering behind
the veil we call
our lives.
Or maybe,
if we were
really honest
for one moment,
a single breath.
We’d all come to know
spooks and goblins
didn’t come from tales told–
it is our personal fears
hiding within the mind.
Our unwillingness to believe
that anyone could come to love us
and the doom that suffocates
is the feeling no one will ever know,
who we are.
If people ever caught sight
of our bones
sleeping underneath skin
they’d run
leaving us with scars
scratched so deeply
we’d never be able to recover.
Nov 18, 2018
Nov 18, 2018 at 9:46 PM UTC
I thought by now I'd feel better
The past few months spiraled hard
For answers looked among constellations
My faith put into a tarot card
I have been shook by superstitions
Seduced by the way they sound
Agony altered my belief
No longer a skeptic without you around
Haunt me until I cannot find sleep
Forcefully frightened by your ghost
Your absence spooks instead of strengthens me
Facing the reality of our love reposed
Jul 28, 2021
Jul 28, 2021 at 1:47 AM UTC
French sirens in her head
Pink flowers on the bed
Pale and faded
Bruised and jaded
A cycle of spooks and delights
Heart is a question mark
Tree is full of sparks
Blue angel wings
Birds that don’t sing
The sandman is her best friend
Exhausted with heaven on earth
Tracing her steps back to birth
How do things grow
When time moves so slow
She’s watering her own garden
Now the bathtub calls her name
Mystery, no longer her bane
A kite flying in the sky
A curious lullaby
She now knows the meaning of life
May 1, 2015
May 1, 2015 at 9:24 AM UTC