by Andrew Packard   Feb 3, 2013


Floating from room to Room,
Smears a trail of paranoiac mollusk mucus.
Sounds of popping heated grease,
as the walls boil.

Lion's matted cob webs,
Stream behind in lightly twisted dregs.
As eardrums grip the carpet,
and pray the Earth doesn't let go.

The phone is ringing again,
chatter rushes and mounts.
Static from the flatscreen,
spills forth in a foamy pointed heap.

Vision flashes with every gasp,
searching; but no windows found.
Doors slam shut,
staircase tumbles and shatters.

Seismic quaking vibration coming from beyond,
insecure; waiting for its arrival.
Stoic boredom of nameless objects,
It's stormy out tonight ....

Monday January 28, 2013 10:04 pm

Poem #69


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Latest Comments

  • 7 years ago

    by Rusheena

    You continue to amaze me! I still can't believe that you just starting writing. This was another favorite of mine. I love it because it's running wild with vivid imagery, and I could experience the poem, while reading it. It's also cryptic and left room for interpretation, another reason why I loved it. Keep it up, Andrew!

    • 7 years ago

      by Andrew Packard

      Well golly gee thanks! You know good poems just write themselves, they just flow right out of your being....

  • 7 years ago

    by Tara Kay

    Andrew, This piece was powerfully written for the imagery was strong and the flow may have felt rocky in places but it added to the adjective...stormy and uncalm in its read.

    Really much deserved Third Place :)

    • 7 years ago

      by Andrew Packard

      Thanks so much Tara!

      Inspired by my exposure to Horror such as the movie Mama and Dean Koontz 77 Shadow Street