By Laura Wynkoop
"For all who bravely dare
To learn this haunted sonnet,
May you be made aware
A spell’s been solid upon it."
From spiders to mummies to the elusive Boogeyman, those pages carry a bit of of every thing creepy, crawly, and simply undeniable spooky. With a pinch of terror and a splash of humor, readers may be solid right into a shadowy international, the place creatures lurk and nightmares reside. Surprises abound on each web page, ready to drag in readers...sometimes literally...
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Additional resources for An eyeball in my garden: and other spine-tingling poems
My heart—it stops. My breath—it quickens. The tension in the room— It thickens. The air is cold, the lights are dim. He looks at me, I look at him. With crusty eyes, a vacant stare, Mangy, matted, messy hair, A puffy face and scruffy chin, Zit-infested, pallid skin, Teeth encased in grime and gunk, Breath that smells of rotting skunk. Despite near paralyzing fright From such a nasty, wretched sight, I bravely take a few steps nearer, Where things become a whole lot clearer. . I am looking in a mirror.
58 The Gargoyle By Kevin McNamee High above the bustling street, I sit alone both day and night. My talons, horns, and outstretched wings Create a ghastly, gruesome sight. But if you look at me, you’ll see, I am not all that I appear. Come close, for I have tales to tell. I’ve many stories you should hear. But where shall I begin my tales? I’ve seen much from this lonely post. Come closer; look me in the eyes, And hear what you should fear the most. Too late! I’ve cast my spell on you! Now you’re a gargoyle just like me; For those who gaze into my eyes Are doomed to keep me company.
Tonight is just for fun. Except . . what’s that? A vampire bat? Excuse me, gotta run! 63 Read at Your Own Risk By Christy Critchfield For all who bravely dare To read this haunted sonnet, May you be made aware A spell’s been cast upon it. Proceed to read this rhyme. You’ll be in lots of trouble. Your skin will turn to slime And slowly start to bubble. ). Your only hope to avoid this fate? Don’t read the ending. . Oops, too late! (Ribbit . . Ribbit .
An eyeball in my garden: and other spine-tingling poems by Laura Wynkoop