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In the near silence of this night
as witching hour soon approaches
I try to overcome my fright,
despite my best it still encroaches.

I'm in this house based on a dare
made in the cheerful light of day
but now I feel dark spirits' stare
all urging me to run away.

Flee this small deserted house!
Flee right now while you still can!
Flee! my mood and mind espouse.
But fleeing isn't in the plan.

Outside a zephyr shakes dead leaves
which rattle just like loose dry bones,
then a stronger passing breeze
whispers in eaves with low dull moans.

Then all turns still, unnaturally.
Watch dial declares midnight is here.
Kidneys clench, I have to pee,
alone with naught but night and fear.

They say he murdered his young wife
as she slept in this bedroom,
head nearly severed with a knife
and thus earned his endless doom.

He thought his bride had been untrue
and never found that he was wrong.
By the time his tale was through
be'd hung himself from a beam, strong.

Now in the quiet floorboards creak.
In the corner a strange mist appears.
I stand to get a better peek
trying my best to face my fears.

Mist takes the form of a low bed
which holds a lovely staring girl.
Her stare is dead, sheets stained with red.
Across pale throat red blood streaks curl.

I stand now transfixed with fear,
eyes buldging, my jaw hangs slack.
I feel a presence drawing near
then a cold breath upon my back.

I slowly turn as a rope drops
and see mad eyes in spectral face.
As rope tightens my breathing stops;
my eyes glaze in now slack face.

Each year October thirty first
the husband slays his wife again
trying to slake his blood lust's thirst,
he endlessly repeats his sin.

And seeing me, at last, he thought
he'd found the lover of his wife
the one who for so long he'd sought.
For his mistake I paid my life.

So pass this derelect farm house,
heed my whisper in your ear,
heed that dread which you can't douse.
On Halloween don't come in here.

....................sweet Halloween dreams all...........the scribbler


that there will be no more poems from you now you've been got?
sorry to hear that

lol - i got out my meter stick, and then realised this was a blog, so i put it away again.... but i have to say, it had beeped at a fair few lines before i shut it up...

a fun write scribbles, and really most of the time you got away with the meter - there were really only a couple of verses that need a tad of work

love judy

'Each for the joy of the working, and each, in his separate star,
shall draw the Thing as he sees It, for the God of Things as They are.'
(Rudyard Kipling)

That might be the problem as I use a yard stick instead of a meter stich lol. This Was written for fun more than art. Also had to list it as a blog as my one per day time had become too late for many to read on Halloween. You can beat me with your metric stick on a more serious write lol.............stan

author comment

I've been wanting to write a ghost story for a year now and can't tack down a storyline I like. This is really good fun. Needs a little more big time scary, but I love it. I just gotta get me a ghost story.

W. H. Snow

A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds. Percy Bysshe Shelley

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A really good ghost poem would need to be a bit longer to build up the story line and fear. A near EPIC which I just wasn't up to that day lol. Perhaps you will be able to write later in the week about how the ghosts of the Obamination administration will be haunting us for years lol..............stan

author comment

IN 2017
WHEN WE ALL re Oldie
u wanna scare
or show desire
of u we still care
have we any options

our victory lies in only U r hands

ex sink the titanic
posted in a blog
of mine

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