Wednesday, October 11, 2017

Writer Wednesday ~ Spooked

Michelle, over at Today's Little Ditty, interviewed Carrie Clickard last week.  Carrie challenged the Today's Little Ditty readers to write a poem about a person, place, or thing that spooked you as a child.


There were PLENTY of things that spooked me as a child.  Basement stairs (oh, the shivers), a creaking house, shadows that looked like  shadows of evil but were actually shadows of coats, doors, toys, books...it was rough.  I sympathize with all the scaredy cats in the world because I was (AM) one of them.  Why be scared when you can be happy?!  I mean really--wouldn't you rather NOT have your heart thumping in fright?

Be sure to check out the other poems on Michelle's padlet, especially if you like spooky, creepy, heart-thumping poems.  I assume they are there.  I don't have the nerve to check.

Chores Are Fine. It's Fine. We're Fine.
On hard-packed, shaded, friendly road,
Our wheels were sure, we never slowed;
We moved in sync, with joy, we were a team.

We ventured farther down the lane,
Our goal a simple one to gain:
Avoiding chores at home was our sole scheme.

Our carefree ride was sweet but short 
For soon our habitat would thwart;
Our joyful jaunt was changed when past the stream

Our wheels found dusty washboard track;
We thought that we might double back 
As shade became a gloam; no sun did gleam. 

The houses took a cheerless turn,
The lawns were junkyards. Faces stern
We pressed on, moxie pushed to the extreme. 

With legs that shook and palms that sweat, 
We made it past that unkempt threat.
Our confidence the sunlight did redeem.

Now languid, rolling past a field
Our haste forgotten, jitters yield
To summer's warmth and ease but then our dream

Becomes a nightmare as a shriek
Is heard and heard again; we freak;
Our wheels they skid and legs run out of steam. 

But then we're supercharged with fright
For menace lurks just out of sight;
The farm with monstrous mischief-makers teem.

We peddle fast but tangle, THUD!
Our nerves are shot by curdled blood;
We race with dents and scrapes.  Relief supreme

When home is reached, our chores a sport 
We relish as to Mom report,
Who laughs (she gloats?!): "'Twas just a peacock's scream!"

©2017 Rebekah Hoeft





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