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01-11-05 | Goosebumps (1 Viewer)

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Literary Maneuvers: Goosebumps

Opens: Tuesday 1st November
Closes: Saturday 18th November

Indeed! The first LM for some time. I apoligise. Let's make this one good, eh? Veterans read on, new users check the LM Guide and previous themes for all the relevant info.

OK, so I missed Halloween by a day. Still, it seems like a good idea to capatalise upon that ghostly spirit. Some credit should go to Philo for his illuminating suggestions, of which I have here taken the wider. The theme this time around is Goosebumps - the more of them the better. What we're looking for from this challenge is something evocative: something, to reuse a cliché, that sends shivers down my spine. Because this is something probably easier to do in prose, the genre this time will be Poetry. Make it narrative, surreal, abstract or gruesome: the choice is entirely yours.

Your poem should not exceed 200 words. As you'll recall, there are 'marks' for creative interpretation of the theme and punctuation (besides good writing, of course). Poe's The Raven is an obvious point of inspiration, but I'm sure there many others. Adaptations from horror stories and films are also fine. There are several online compendiums of amateur and professional horror poems by way of further inspiration (like this one). Like horror in any other literary form, the genre well suits a narrative twist (well exemplified in Farror's submission below). Have a go, it's all good practise; there's nothing to lose.

Good luck!
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WF Veterans

Late. Late enough to be early.
Just before sunrise, still dark as midnight.
Only one light in the house was on.
A fleck of comfort in the gloom,
and he, inside the lighted room.

The place was simple,
two chairs, a bed, a lamp in the corner.
On the walls, a picture, a mirror and a clock.
Still in the room, against the night,
sitting alone, inside the light.

Sudden discomfort, spoilt the mood,
apprehensively, he glanced about.
It seemed to colder then before.
Deciding it was time to go to bed,
without even knowing, that soon he'd be dead.

Rising and sighing, hand pushed through his hair,
he tried to ignore the odd buzzing in his ears,
the sudden chill.
He froze on spot, struck dumb with fear.
That's not his face, staring back through the mirror.

Now two faces stare out from the mirror,
and wait for a third,
to die from terror.
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Senior Member
The specter of death glides through the field
Bearing solace to those who can’t be healed
The mortals know their ends are near
And yet they know they’ve naught to fear.

To them the world around seems dead
Compared with the land where they’re being lead,
But some among them will lose their way
And for this mistake, they’ll forever pay.

The Lost wander the grounds, searching in vain
For nothing on Earth can assuage their pain.
So when He sends for your life’s end
Be sure to stay near to whom he might send.
[an]Not sure it will give anyone goosebumps, but I tried. Hope you enjoyed it anyway.

edit: Changed a word or two.[/an]
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Friends of WF
The Winning Entry:

Rain water ran down the glass outside,
the way her screams ran down my back;
the ambulance in the distance
was never going to arrive in time.

Her eyes, full of dark realization;
her mouth, a perfect small 'o',
she knew there was nothing left
but the final trip to midnight death.

I pulled the knife out;
it had entered just below
the shadow of her left breast,
bent low, my tongue licking

the blood, not a lot, not a Tarantino feast,
while I pushed against the blade,
using my weight like a lover
upon her chest, her mouth stretched wide,

surprisingly she had another scream left,
a kick or two of her legs, a pushing of arms,
not enough to prevent the blade breaking
a rib, winning the contest, the deepest stab yet.


Breeze from an invisible breath
traces across your back.
Tingling hairs on your shoulders
there is definitely no lack.

Wandering shelves
of many a dusty tome.
This is a place of death
where spirits make their home.

A deathly chill
which passes by.
Was that something
in the corner of your eye?

Shivering still
all is quiet.
Torch lights only
what is by it.

Smells of dust
and of mold.
Sweet scent of death
roams through the cold.

Tastes gone dry
in your mouth.
Sweat only moisture
all heading south.

You turn your head
for something you hear.
“Is someone there?
Is someone near?”

Death awaits those
who wander through the tomes.
Sweet death awaits you.
This be your new eternal home…


Senior Member
The dark night

Tick-Tock Tick-Tock
Sings away the clock
I am alone in the room
And it is all dark

Sitting in the corner
On the edge of the bed
I look around the room
With sweat on my forehead

The whoosh of the wind
Is that a snake passing by?
And the shaking leaves
Are they too scared of the dark?

I gulp down my fear
And open my eyes just a little
What is it that moved?
A form standing at the window!

I want to scream loud
But no voice comes out
I close my eyes tight
And cover the blanket around

A cry, a laugh
Strange sounds in the night
I just sit motionless
With my eyes shut tight

Tick-Tock Tick-Tock
The clock marches away
And I wait patiently
For the sun to rise

[an]I got goosebumps imagining the scene while writing this poem :D[/an]


Senior Member
Alone in the dark

Alone in the dark
She refused to stay,
For when she was there
She could feel him,
His spiny hands closing
Like a vise on her throat
His kisses searing her breasts

Alone in the dark,
She could feel the wind
Blowing down the alley
Playing over her skin;
Sensual, yet transient,
Like a bow pulled gently
Over the strings of a violin

Alone in the dark,
Shaking violently,
Tears pour down her face.
She sleeps fitfully
Lost in the nightmares
until she wakes, disturbed, clammy
and a prisoner of her own mind
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He's twisted, crawling, craving,
Too weak to hold his teeth.
They teeter, totter, tower over
And kick and scrape while his jaw is ground hard into harsh concrete
Relentless forced down like a vice.
They smile, these people
As they take his life.
The Masochist

"It won’t last forever,
Someone’s life must be severed,
And surely it won't ONLY be my own.
I don’t know why you’re crying Jeremy.
This isn’t quite like the hell you made of my life.
Although you won’t live long enough to experience my pain.
I’ll be with you, so don’t worry about being lonely in hell,
Maybe this will ring a bell–
‘Tell the freak he can’t sit down if he asks.’--
Yeah, I heard that.
You thought I didn’t care about being accepted,
You also didn’t think I would care about the spitballs in class,
I’m not going to masochize anymore with rubber bands,
But it all boils down to this: now your life is in my hands."
He quietly slipped the glock out of his left pocket
And held it up to Jeremy’s temple whispering,
"I hope you’ve enjoyed making my life a living hell,
Because now I’m sending you straight there."
He fired the gun directly into his forehead.
Sitting there with a face of guilt and dread
As everyone ran screaming,
He quickly aimed the gun into his mouth
And fired once more----

---I dont know how scary that one is, much less if its even a poem, lol. I gave it a shot. I'm not a poet, I just thought I'd try poetry for once and enter it into here. Like the original post said "I have nothing to lose". Well, I hope everyone likes my poem.

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Senior Member
The Man in the Mirror

[ot]Almost didn't make it!!![/ot]

The Man in the Mirror

The shower-
A supposedly perfect haven
A place to wash away all fears,
troubles, doubts
But do watch out
Furtive footsteps are not audible
Over the roar of the fan.

And surprises do lurk
Behind cloudy mirrors.
Who could be behind this door,
But a crazed man
With a gleam in his eye
And a gleaming knife in his hand?

Hope you run fast in a towel,
I've been told that a knife slicing through
not butter--
Is just no fun at all.


Sleepless nights draw you to find
A place that's long weighed on yur mind
Familiar plots that lay confined
By iron gates and stone cold shrines

Fond thoughts this place does not remind

Recall every grinned goodbye
Clear as tombstones to your eyes
All the friends that had to die
All the guilt that you deny

Cool corps lips beg silent whys

Faceless bodies; not but names
Peeling statues can not blame
Time forgives; you'll outlast pain
You leave this place just as you came

Their whispers peirce you all the same

Thoughts and conscience start debate
wondering who deserves this weight
The mind suggests, the mouth restates
Hollow words, "that's not my fate"

The dead just smile and simply wait

Walk on swift don't terry long
Your time's been wasted in their bonds
The dead stay dead, the past is gone
The graveyard's not where you belong

Lifeless lips mouth words "you're wrong"

You start away drenched in the moon
Every step craving more room
But guilt's a thought you wont let bloom
After all - their only tombs

An icey breath sounds "see you soon"


Senior Member
Of Thoughts Alone

Of thoughts alone on darkling night
In house of stone and candlelight,
Persistent clock and seeds I've sown,
Amid bits of rock and shards of bone.

Still I hear the thund'rous crash
Through burning tears and smoke and ash.
Within tumbled hill and tangled rope
Lay buried Jill and desperate hope.

Frenzied I leapt and began to mine,
With hands inept, sought belaying line.
High rose the moon to light my task
If only to exhume was all I could ask.

Two days I lingered, working the rubble.
My blood raw fingers now numb from trouble.
When on the third night, the moon did set
My hope turned to fright; I collapsed and wept.

Fatigue then took me and ended my chore
But "Too early," said she (my weakness I abhor)
After sleep without rest found I the cruel sign
Beneath my breast lay Jill's cold hand in mine.


Refrigerated Nights

It was much a night like this

When the darkness wrapped around me in cool comfort

The time clock nattered away

Waiting for its oak tag deposit

I started my job, with much the same aplomb,

The way I often do

The morgue was cool and cautious place

The smell of antiseptic battling the smell of death.

When they brought in the latest victim

She had auburn hair

That lie on the gurney, spread about in casual beauty.

After signing, they left her to me.

Slot twelve was opened

Or perhaps number five

Never the type of choices

For those not alive.

I saw, for a moment, impossible


Her hand clenched in response to the pain

Her eyes moving beneath the lids.

I had to move quickly, to save what was right.

I grabbed the book end from the table

And smashed her head in.

She was dead after all.
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