Poet's Home             All Poetry       Sign Up!  Login
© 2000-2019 Individual Authors of the Poetry. All rights reserved by authors.   338770 Poems Read.

Search for Poetry


Read Poetry
Home, Ghuey, Sweet Home

All Beings Considered

I Long For Stars

The Best Revenge (For All Your Critic's Critiques)

Your Next New Dying Black Swan

The Dreaming Life ( A Series Of Dream Vignettes)

Nothing's Sadder Than A Rose

Not For The Bloom of Tears Cultivated These Last 100 Years

All Too Clearly Now

If This Is Any Art For Which You Care

Informed Through Pain

Sometimes In Losing I Have Gained A Lot

A Man Of The Clouds

The Birds Are Such Un-numbering Creatures of Distant Hitchcockian Past



Didn't You Learn That First Lesson In Kindergarten?

They Grew (A Poem From The Imaginarium)

Cuba Libre


Max on the max

The Little Bird Said

The Factory of Resentments

When My Blues Are Gone

Expect Yourself



Silver-Tongued Devil

Within The Green Wind Becomes The Fall

Think On This--IF YOU WOULD

Open Lines

You Got Your Lilly Back

More Poetry >>


  Sign Guestbook

Read Guestbook


something better to run to...

its a stare down
yellowed glowing eyes
and grabbing octopus arms
I'm running down a hall
which never seems to end
and suddenly begins to telescope

he is waiting along a
long dark walkway
in the trees
a shadow I cannot
quite comprehend
he moves stealthily nearer but
I cannot

I am falling
hoping to fly
there are tree limbs within reach
but I have no hands
I flap my stumps and webbed feet
a gaping mouth yawns below
I feel its heated breath tickling my toes
and grab at the next branch with my teeth

I hear the snarl of
a great bear-dog-beast
of impossible pedigree and size
it has meat hook paws
a saliva'd mouth like foaming fondant candy
red eyes trained on me
sniffling snorting
I am running but can never seem
to out-distance what I hear
I am treed but he/it
is using an ax

masked creatures lean over me
I am masking-taped to a cold gurney
my mouth moves sideways like pulled taffy
a pile of bloodied teeth lay in a silver tray
beside me
they are slit eyed I hear them inside my head
whispering just loud enough
I would rather not listen
they use familiar voices of the long dead
my grandfather/mother, father and mother
I am not convinced
wake up number thirteen wake up I scream

draw your nightmares
make a sketchbook of your fears
see the pages speckled with dried tears
write them down for your own posterity
does the light illuminate
does the darkness seep in
little awfuls grow into big bad fears
see how they can cannibalize your nerves

so I draw my nightmares
to illustrate how you can face your fears

if you are no longer running
you will find something better to run to

Copyright 7/26/2014 All Rights Reserved By this Author
All Stories/Poetry/Ideas are the Legal Property of this Writer
Melissa A Howells/Meloo/Tilt-a-World

Vote for this poem

Please Comment On This Poem


 Email Address


Vote for this poem