"suspenseful" poems
Beastly is this monster state yet many damsels cannot avoid
Some may call it disturbingly conflicting and become annoyed
Where rationality coexists with irrationality in an unstable realm
Pretty monster states navigate this journey as captains at the helm
Pretty monster states, Pretty monster states
No need to disguise your fury or depressions
Pretty monster states, Pretty monster states
This is just part of your amazing expressions
Wonder is this monster state since the inception of Adam and Eve
Men can only hope to be compassionate, steadfast and never peeved
One moment, pretty monster states can be loving and best friends
Next moment, challenging one’s good nature and spirit to extreme ends
Pretty monster states, Pretty monster states
No need to disguise your fury or depressions
Pretty monster states, Pretty monster states
This is just part of your amazing expressions
Frightful is this monster state like a suspenseful thriller or mystery
Only those who are not faint of heart can sleuth this case history
Where a profound will of character serves to stabilize one’s constitution
Bringing the monster state to an uneventful but amenable restitution
Pretty monster states, Pretty monster states
No need to disguise your fury or depressions
Pretty monster states, Pretty monster states
This is just part of your amazing expressions.
Oct 18, 2017
Oct 18, 2017 at 10:44 AM UTC
Life is full of mischief and artful trickery
The way through never made easy for the foolhardy
Misleading gestures only employed to solely distract
Left up to you to decipher and hopefully extract
Experiences teach much, had you only been accepting and learning
That a dove could be made to appear; out of thin air, out of nothing
When the road ahead offers no more than mere misdirections
Altered trajectories stemming from convenient misinterpretations
Your cards may have been dealt revealing astonishing outcomes
"Not the hand you get but the game you play," said some
Depending on deft wrists and a flick of the wand
Overnight you'll wake to find that a new day had dawned
Only would happen if into the wind you hadn't spat
Hope would emerge like a hare out of a top hat
The play on light and shadow, nothing short of dramatic
You volunteer onstage, accompanied by apprehension and suspenseful music
Faced with an eager audience; you realise that alone you stand
Be not surprised to learn that love is life's sleight of hand...
Sep 4, 2014
Sep 4, 2014 at 8:22 AM UTC
My cousin told me that I am a good storyteller, but I should write something about me, about real people and a time that I was scared "shitless". Well, I can only think of one time of a real life shocker that shook up my young world. It's nothing suspenseful. It probably wouldn't win any contests, but it isn't contrived. It's a snippet of the first time that I encountered the raw reality of death.
What did I know about death at eight years old? Our parakeet, Perky, died. My grandparents dog, Bruno, had to be put to sleep. As a girl, I vaguely recall seeing a dead man in a coffin, and that was at the funeral of my mom's aunt's husband. This was only an introduction of the temporary world we live in.
Well, then there was an older couple two doors down from us. They had two grandchildren that used to come and visit them, a sister and brother. When in the neighborhood, they would play with my older brothers. I cannot even recall their names. I cannot remember what they looked like or what they said.
What I do remember is the news being on in the living room, and I was eating dinner in the kitchen with my mom and brothers. Suddenly, the faces of that brother and sister were on TV. It was reported that their mentally troubled mother had killed them. I think it was because she was denied custody of them in an ugly divorce. Doing a little bit of digging in the Michigan death index online, I rediscovered who they were. They were Susan and Richard. They were ten and nine-years-old at the time.
I surely don't remember plenty of details, as this was in June of 1973. Over forty years ago, it's a much faded memory now. I only know I did not go to the funeral home. If I did, I am sure I'd be horrified to look upon those children who were robbed of their lives. Death was no longer just for pets or old people. It wasn't fair and it didn't discriminate in age. And if it could happen to someone as young as them, it could come knocking on my door.
Perhaps, that was the beginning of my fear of death.
Mar 14, 2015
Mar 14, 2015 at 11:43 PM UTC
a bean like no other
bitter and white;
a microscopic dynamite,
peristalsis using all its might
my cave so suspenseful and hollow
ridges lined along its curves
churning to my so-called mental benefit
those gastric juices now released,
microscopic dynamite
simply had one more muscle to defeat
a match at last perceived
microvilli yearning love ,
in, it took the dynamite.
yet confused it became as
micro relations only last a short while.
"Nutrients" absorbed,
betrayal on its way
the bloodstream sent in shock
oh such bloodless atriums
oh such vaulted ventricles.
oh how my blood flow met its end.
Although deceiving it had been
no promises were riven
the dynamite exploded
and at last
no longer was I broken.
May 10, 2018
May 10, 2018 at 1:06 AM UTC
Quiet
in that suspenseful kind of way.
Only two people in sight.
Well, three...
if you count the man sleeping
on the bench.
I'm scared
but hopeful
that may way home will appear soon.
Crickets are
cricketing
quite loudly
in fact.
It's as if there are billions of crickets
flooding the train station
But they are no where to be found
somehow.
Where do all the crickets go?
Where are they hiding?
Are there really as many
as it sounds like there are?
My way home should be here soon...
...cricket cricket...
...cricket cricket...
...cricket cricket...
Ladies and gentlemen,
the next Brooklyn bound
is one stop away.
Sep 14, 2014
Sep 14, 2014 at 10:53 PM UTC
*blink an eye and it will disappear
blink the other and you will cry
a thousand tears of joy
blink them both and watch
fireflies alight the azure sky
in suspenseful darkness the alabaster moon
croons its romantic breath over all those vineyards
angels taste the dryness of the grapes
and laugh at the waste of another year’s wine
move out of the way of human frailty
share your space with our immortal stakes
a slavery more terrible than any mankind has yet to try
the Goddess is our home
sower of seeds for those that fast internally
rise the quickest
and dance the hardest
seek the longest roads
give more than you’ve ever known
swallow whole this ocean filled
with the bones of your daughters
forsaken in trendy delicatessens
our heroes are just myths that drift
like derelicts in psyche’s mythos
i am pathos, eros and shadow
i am daylight’s twin brother
her-eyes-on the horizon
yet she could see through to his soul
her-eyes-on the horizon
if we are destined to find our way back home*
Apr 5, 2017
Apr 5, 2017 at 10:28 PM UTC
the brevity of a singular breath,
one that is full of peace,
such a rare glimpse but
if you look at his face, at the right time,
you might just see him smile.
then, much like an old spruce cello,
descending in suspense,
that smile -evaporates-, and the
quick "bliss" is no more.
oh how old and wise is this cello i play,
if only it was genuinely surprised by the
intensity of such
-hair raising horror-
it faces in its composure, daily.
"but it simply ain't",
as Bukowski would drunkenly say,
and his quivering cigarette would rightfully echo
through the halls of this unholy Cathedral.
"put me the **** down already, Charles", it echoes.
"no,
i refuse
to let go of my
identity...
...why would i let go of all
-i feel-
is left?"
he (i) is either a man,
or on the road to understanding
what this even means really...
...maybe he's halfway there...
regardless, he now understands,
he must accept
"reasons" to smile won't come often,
and one is subject to the tug of war of life,
of society,
of women,
of his children,
of his forgetful mother,
of his vices,
his hair raising horrors,
the torment,
of his absent father.
to continue is to face those suspenseful
-crescendos-
of life, with
"a ********* smile on your face",
as Bukowski would say,
no matter
-what-
he's been through, or
-how-
-deeply-
he
-feels-
...
-melancholicreator
Feb 21, 2024
Feb 21, 2024 at 6:24 PM UTC
A mystery woman named Mystery,
So suspenseful yet so majestic.
A damsel in distress she was,
Who keeps it all to herself.
Pale as the snow that fell one evening,
An evening where I had met her.
Her luscious red lips,
Her black painted finger tips,
And her wavy dark hair has intrigued me.
Her eyes were so mesmerizing,
But so lovely as they were frightening.
Her smile was rare when she showed it,
But her laugh was much too sinister.
Yet I had an urge to sound it more.
A sudden lust I felt for her,
Once she had been flirtatious.
What her motive was,
I'll never know,
But her love making surely was bodacious.
The rapid lust was frightening to me,
As it became an untreatable addiction.
Once lust had turned to love,
I knew it was a bad contradiction.
Once she felt that feeling for me,
She couldn't help it much longer.
She rose from the bed,
Her hands on her head,
Crying,
Wishing that she had lived stronger.
Amazed at what I had witnessed this instant,
I felt a sudden chill.
Her body glowed like Christmas Eve,
And then I started to feel ill.
I don't quite remember,
what happened post chill,
But skeptical I seem to be.
As I woke up with a slight aching head,
My memory was somewhat fuzzy.
Sep 8, 2016
Sep 8, 2016 at 10:28 PM UTC
Give me your strength as a tennis player,
Your kindness and compassion too.
For learning from your consistency,
And having your jokes glued to me too.
Striving to become you,
You help me overcome frustration over a point too.
You teach me to try my best,
And use the right grip too.
I’m rolling on the floor,
Laughing to your ironic jokes too.
You’re a great friend,
And my tennis partner too.
Besides your jokes,
I admire the effort you present too.
You’re very honest and sincere,
And fun to be around too.
My jokes will never surpass yours,
As our friendship grows too.
You make me ecstatic,
The laughter and joy increases too.
You lift me up when I’m down,
Teaching me how to become a great tennis player too.
Watching you before my eyes,
Make me not only smile but really adore you.
You’re an inspiration,
And spontaneous too.
You would fight till your goal is reached,
And improve on your unforced errors too.
I’ve known you for eleven years,
As we played together too.
I’ve been timid around you at first,
Not even glancing at you too.
Over each year we’ve talked more,
Now we’re best friends too.
I hope these years will continue,
And we’ll see each other too.
We’ve been through exhilarant and complicated times,
But we’ve been through much excitement too.
I’m grateful to have met someone like you,
You make me feel worth while,
Playing a suspenseful game of tennis too.
Feb 18, 2013
Feb 18, 2013 at 2:06 PM UTC
Your love is not a hurricane
It is not an earthquake
It is a sweet, sweet salve
to an old heartbreak
Your love is not lightning
It is not a tidal wave
It is a deep, deep breath
at the end of a long, hard day
Your love is not a fever
It's not an addiction
It is not my nicotine
nitrous
Novocaine or
nitroglycerin
Your love is not suspenseful
seismic
shellshocking
stomach-churning
sugar cane saccharine or
surprising
Every love before you has been
a frantic, careful dance of
close
but not too close
honest
but not too honest
Yet you
strange you
can look at me from across a room or
across a tabletop and
there is wonderment,
but no wondering
passion,
but no pondering
Defined by choice
not whim
We always crave the love
that is our
hurricane
Novocaine
sugar cane
to sap away
our pain
But what about the love
that simply is?
Is that what makes it real?
Is that what makes love
Love?
Jun 10, 2013
Jun 10, 2013 at 8:22 PM UTC
I just left your house and
counted the glowing, dotted lines
that passed by all too eagerly
The fluorescent paint
reflects the lights back to me
like the letter I passed to you
which you so hastily returned
A chipped away memory and
a winter kiss only dreamt of
finalize this draft of our
suspenseful novella
But I hear you have many of
these unfinished stories
pushed aside while you reread
the same old text
hoping that you can add to
the blank pages in the back
And while you study
those worn, yellow pages
you leave behind
a library of fortune
too late to discover
With a flick of the thumb
and a twist of the wrist
these missed adventures become
glowing embers on the asphalt
a fading memory in my rear-view mirror
Oct 12, 2012
Oct 12, 2012 at 7:26 AM UTC
Poem of prosy
I am so sorry
to relay this story
of ending glory
knowing
your suspenseful stories
await my attentions.
Your suspenseful showy
purposefulness I feel,
I do!
I read and write and breathe
and cry!
Just as you.
I slay dragons daily,
carry princesses away,
I live in castles
like you!
I walk every word wearily,
or crawl away , but always go forward.
Oct 1, 2014
Oct 1, 2014 at 2:50 AM UTC
Secret talks, Late night walks
Glistening eyes, Cute lullabies
Blushing cheeks, the knees going weak
Hearts beating fast,
Embracing one another like it's the last
Watchful stares, walking by without a care
The smell of sweet cologne, the melting of ice cream cones
Record stores, the books scattered on the floor
The sunsets in the evening, the sun rising in the morning
Holding hands, designer brands
The long lunch lines, the expensive traffic fines
The first kiss, the suspenseful bliss
m.d.
Apr 2, 2014
Apr 2, 2014 at 4:14 AM UTC
Two Men,
Traveled into the forest,
Very foolish and wise,
When they came across,
A shoe,
With many lies.
Peter asked Harry,
What they shall do,
They had found an old,
And broken shoe.
When suddenly,
The shoe came alive,
It had gown thick,
And sturdy eyes.
The men were so frightened,
Yet so eager and suspenseful,
They were willing
To know more,
About this little ripped sore.
The shoe opened its mouth,
And only said 3 words,
Fly with birds.
These men were confused,
Very clueless and dumb,
Peter had aimed for a target,
Then spit out his gum.
The shoe spoke again,
“Fly with birds”,
Yet only a fool,
Would follow that,
But they were nerds.
The men ran together; frightened,
Holding the shoe,
They knew what was happening,
They really, really knew.
The men were now lost,
So sorrow and blue,
What was that strong stench?
Could it be the shoe?
At that very moment,
The shoe flied up,
To the birds,
And when he landed with them,
He said, “Hey nerds”.
The men were fooled,
By a clever shoe,
Who knew he’s fly free,
Without any of thee.
Both nerds
Were now speechless,
Yet nowhere to be found,
But then finally decided,
To turn back around.
Feb 18, 2013
Feb 18, 2013 at 1:32 PM UTC
Untitled
Pureness bare
Unadulterated and no
Quagmire of complexities
Suspenseful infertility of ideas
What better title if I ran out of titles
Words eagles circling in my head
Swoop to my jabbing fingers
A hummingbird in rhythm
Posted a poem online
Simply entitled
Untitled
Nov 21, 2017
Nov 21, 2017 at 10:44 AM UTC
Apple falling to the ground,
Look what you've set in to motion now.
The gravity that loves to pull me down,
The defiance that loves to get me high.
Just the bright balloon you forgot to hold.
Acidic clouds framing my distant goal.
I can't look back, I see the gold.
Let go and fall in to the sky.
To a patchwork space of stars and time,
Holes brimming with unknown, an endless mine.
To the string that ties me, your authoritative bind,
You can't say goodbye, so you just lie.
I am only filled with air, no helium.
This knot my balance, sweet equilibrium,
delicately pressed between your forefinger and thumb,
I am leading your way, just like I should.
You've considered the scissors and a brighter place,
Sending me on with a last glance at your face.
You go off to your addictions, their calls you can taste,
You'd entwine me in a thousand pound weight if you could.
This suspenseful sinking is all that I know,
Bought as a souvenir of that cheap city show.
Just a light globe of laughter, an unwanted load,
Get out while it's still good.
Those scissors slip and cut me free,
You took all you wanted to from me.
Lift me as high as helium could,
This lie was meant for Hollywood.
Mar 16, 2011
Mar 16, 2011 at 9:21 AM UTC
Two Men,
Traveled into the forest,
Very foolish and wise,
When they came across,
A shoe,
With many lies.
Peter asked Harry,
What they shall do,
They had found an old,
And broken shoe.
When suddenly,
The shoe came alive,
It had gown thick,
And sturdy eyes.
The men were so frightened,
Yet so eager and suspenseful,
They were willing
To know more,
About this little ripped sore.
The shoe opened its mouth,
And only said 3 words,
Fly with birds.
These men were confused,
Very clueless and dumb,
Peter had aimed for a target,
Then spit out his gum.
The shoe spoke again,
“Fly with birds”,
Yet only a fool,
Would follow that,
But they were nerds.
The men ran together; frightened,
Holding the shoe,
They knew what was happening,
They really, really knew.
The men were now lost,
So sorrow and blue,
What was that strong stench?
Could it be the shoe?
At that very moment,
The shoe flied up,
To the birds,
And when he landed with them,
He said, “Hey nerds”.
The men were fooled,
By a clever shoe,
Who knew he’s fly free,
Without any of thee.
Both nerds
Were now speechless,
Yet nowhere to be found,
But then finally decided,
To turn back around.
Mar 16, 2013
Mar 16, 2013 at 2:49 PM UTC
Try to buy you roses. Hoping you care.
"Knock, knock", by your Heart. Hope someone's there.
Liberty of freedom between hips.
Taste of Love between lips.
ATM withdrawals to have all my money for you in checks.
But I'd fear of it not being my own withdrawal in the latex.
And not all sweet words sound the same,
Try driving slow in a fast lane.
Hiding often wise behind the camera lens,
Just hate for the love to be for a season, like loving the current trends.
Hold up on the minute just to have a second gone.
So many love tracks on the radio, but not singing the same song.
Really just too scared to wake up all alone.
Birthday wishes all on my own.
Dear, don't you run away from me. Try to follow you behind at a slow pace.
Holding on the best memories for closure just in case.
Just wanna be all that I could be.
Just longing for the clearer pictures I could see.
It's suspenseful but what could I do.
Nov 29, 2018
Nov 29, 2018 at 1:13 PM UTC
It could be the duchess
Or maybe the CEO
Or the media mogul
Who almost stole the show
Consider the brash *******
(He does look kind of shifty)
Then again there is the gambler
(Everyone calls him "Swifty")
Check out the carefree diplomat
With that fake smile but no charm
And then there's the airhead heiress
With tattoos adorning her arms
My money's on the senator
Always running, always winning
His wife seems kind of suspect too
With her endless mindless grinning
And then there is the debutante
Who flirted with the football star
And don't forget the pro golfer
Who spent so much time at the bar
But after all that guessing
Throughout the suspenseful show
Turns out the butler did it
...As if I didn't know!
Jul 1, 2015
Jul 1, 2015 at 10:33 AM UTC
Bled for truth in subtle honesty
Hope the day's sacrifice will mean
Then end of this crazed tidal dream
For you know of what I speak
The cute candor of nothing more
Will be the downfall of what you implore
Drift aloft through midnight hopes
Another helping of roses to forget
Watch the petals fall past your regret
Posed in eloquent and harmonious prose
I mean for the guise to be it all
Where the days will garner the fall
Watch the scabs and scars fall away
The clarity that escapes the day
See the blade fall upon your head
For after this, it will be dead
In circumstance and in time
The wine will flow and the words rhyme
Hazy dreams matter not in frame
The death of something far more lame
The hope that guards the fantasy within
The night that counters thoughtful sin
To play with the words is to dance
And to dream of happenings and change
Remember how the days came together
With buzzing electric skies and tremors
I stood in awe as the sparks began to fade
For I hoped the night would be a darker shade
Where we took the truth that the day dies
In the trunk of a tree where our stories coincide
The remembrance of the singular past will shake
And the realities of love will make your soul quake
To open the truth to the calling of the sirens
For I know not what is means to ever cleanse
The music and song will change the temper hence
In the misdemeanor of what can make no sense
The disappearing guise of nostalgia and fate
For this suspenseful story can only ever berate
A change of heart met with force and blockade
For in the end, I can only ever think of what stayed.
Oct 2, 2011
Oct 2, 2011 at 6:04 PM UTC
i found myself stuttering over your name in conversation
it was almost two months ago
although i keep wondering if it happened for a reason
maybe to prevent the eventual sobbing that night
doesn't mean i don't kick myself for it
i constantly feel the weight of your ghost
maybe it's selfish of me to notice the consistency of you
or to assume it is always you
or is it low of me to think that you wouldn't be there
i've held onto this thought since july
and i'm just angry you're dead
Sep 21, 2021
Sep 21, 2021 at 12:26 AM UTC
See evil
Hear evil
Speak evil
Aggressive regression brings me suspenseful intentions of regrettable perplexion
Tense houses with tin roofs
Fill soundless with an itchy noose
May 9, 2014
May 9, 2014 at 10:46 PM UTC
I am on Everest
But it’s suffocating my breath.
Wish it was like the Dream
Breathless Trek
Upbeat Track
Dirging my glory all around.
I am on Sea
But it’s killing my gut.
Wish it was like the Dream
Featherlight walk
Suspenseful score
Wailing my glory all around.
I am on Cliff.
But it’s breaking my step.
Wish it was like the Dream
Gladiator circus
Dropping riff
Lamenting my glory all around.
Feb 25, 2019
Feb 25, 2019 at 6:36 AM UTC
Her laughter suspenseful,
a shivering tale of discomfort
turmoil and bleeding mascara.
She denounces her faults
and erases our friendship;
I retract my statement
of trustworthy companionship.
Her developed state of maturity-
lack thereof existing,
she exploited
my love,
my patience;
and victimized my dedication.
I really
believed
she could handle my passion,
when all I wanted
was an everlasting love.
A heart stopping contraction.
Sep 11, 2014
Sep 11, 2014 at 1:22 AM UTC