Big City

Driving in the country, in town,
reveling in the beauty,
singing at the top of my lungs,
happy until
I go to the city
my anxiety winding up
spooling tighter with each
revolution of the tires
dragging me away from safety;
terrified of losing my way
losing myself, unable to find
the way out, the way home.
Can’t stop, can’t ask;
can't think; can’t remember;
how to get where I’m going
where the next turn is
how to get back on the path
how to escape.
I could die here…
swallowed whole
eaten alive
by the Big City.

Creepy Crawlies

A dark abyss,
a void,
where one feels things
that one can't see,
where things crawl
around in the dark,
where the imagination
makes them bigger than life.
These creepy crawlies
invade my space
which appears to be
a big dark hole
where no light can penetrate.
I can't breathe
as the fear takes me away.
When they go away,
I finally feel normal again.

Public Speaking

What possessed me
to volunteer to speak
at our annual writers conference
this week end? There will only
be twenty or so, but still,
standing up in front of everyone
with my heart racing
and my head pounding…
If ever I did know anything,
it will get lost in the fog.


Why do I do this every year?
I guess it’s the same reason why
some people bungee jump
or ride roller coasters or
climb mountains.
Next time someone asks me
to speak publicly,
please remind me that
I could always go
to Six Flags instead.

THE PHOBIA SOCIETY


I want to write a letter
to the Phobia Society of America
but I'm afraid.

That same old cold sweat,
the agony of pushing myself
beyond the usual "Dear Phobia Society"
frightens me and though
I want so much to write that letter,
I'm afraid.

And I would have so much
to tell those Phobia pholks:
those self-righteous,
saner-than-thou hypocrites,
who sit in judgment
casting stones at
their members who are
so afraid.

I would write but then visions
of my letter buried in a postman's
dark brown, musty leather sack
leaves me claustrophobic,
not to mention that the sack
is on the shoulder of a stranger
who whizzes up up up up up
elevators to the 500th floor
to where The Phobia Society of America
has its office
very high above crowded New York City.
So I'm afraid.

Somebody inside me says,
"What’s with you, Man?
Reach out and touch someone!
Get that fear out of here!"
And just as I take heart to act,
somebody else inside me says,
"Easy for you to say.
Talk is cheap.
Try acting out, Tough Guy."
I'm in conflict.
I'm afraid.

A letter to the Phobia Society
means they will learn my name,
know where I live,
and they will reply!
"You must confront all the demons
in your miserably cowering life.
Your nights are supposed to be dark.
Elevators are supposed to go up up up.
Crowds happen naturally when more
than a few people congregate.
They can't hurt you.
Hey, Wimp, get a grip!"

I'm afraid
they will want me to write about my life,
bombard me with platitudes like
"You have nothing to fear but fear itself,"
and all the time they're thinking:

"What makes you spineless wonders tick?"

Sometimes in the night I dream
an unreasonable facsimile of myself
sits tall at a banker's desk.
Pen in steady hand, I write that letter,
offhandedly joke about how nobody but nobody
who climbs to the top of this big bank
could ever even remotely know Fear,

except the kind he elicits
in the hearts of his bank tellers who,
when it comes to the possible absence
of this year's raise,
are terribly afraid.

#

“Too High Up”

Once you took me to the top of the World Trade Center
To look at the city;
I panicked, so close to the sky,
And nowhere near the ground,
Only a bottomless elevator shaft between the two.
Both vast and small, the city was lifeless;
A pale horizon with flat clouds
Lying above dull nickel skyscrapers.
No sign of hustle;
No cheesecake, Broadway dancers, financiers.

A few years later, you had left for work
When the World Trade Center was hit once, then again.
I watched (it couldn’t be real)
Over and over again on CNN,
Not knowing where you were:
Had you gotten to Hoboken,
Boarded the Path Train,
Arrived at your office?

Until I knew for sure,
I thought of the day at the window,
When we didn’t know it would end like this,
In falling shafts, torn glass, poison dust.
Even then, I knew I shouldn’t be there.
It was just too high up.

CLOSED IN

I stand before you unafraid.
No dark room ,nor height ,nor bug
will cause me to quake.
I will catch a cute snake
or chase a bear for a photo.

Swinging bridges thrill me.
Watch me bounce up and down.
But ,if you close the door to this closet,
If you give me a space where the wall
is closer to my nose than one foot,
Be prepared to die when I escape.

The longer I am confined
the madder and crazier I will become.
The air grows thick and my breath comes slow.
The beat of my heart is
louder and faster than a locomotive.

Suddenly ,I am superwoman,
able to break through walls
barehanded, run faster than a Cheetah,
And break every bone in your body
when I catch you
for playing such a prank.

Alas ,my weakness is exposed
for all to view.
Laid bare to those
who thought me invincible.

Such a small thing.
So irrational, in one so calm
and level headed.
But take heed you prankster.
A joke is not worth dying for.

Hippopotomonstrosesquippedaliophobia
n. fear of big words

Shunning Latinate constructions, I choose
Instead the simple Anglo-Saxon
Monosyllabic words, simple words.
Why utilize what I can use? I want to
Make sense, not fabricate matter for
Comprehension. Call it a fear, a phobia,
But my skin crawls when I hear pseudo-
words like functionality or paradigm.

In the beginning, we are told, was the Word.
and He spoke the world into being with
“Let there be light!” not “Illuminate this
cosmological nothingness into existence.”
Imagine Matthew penning, “The Messiah
Grew copiously lachrymose” instead of
“Jesus wept.”

As I work on my own humble creations,
I seek clean, clear words, simple ideas:
Leave pomegrantes, gongonzola, and
Osculation to other more erudite lovers;
I’ll tell you, in no uncertain terms, I
Love you. I will feed you apples and
Cheese. We will share one sweet kiss.

DRIVING ON THE "FREE"WAY

Tight grip on the steering wheel
Heart pounding in my throat
Lanes that seem to intersect
mock me as I navigate between them
The exit ramp seems a state's distance away
Irrational thoughts of danger loom
The steady flow of cars brings anxiety
instead of peace
I pray for traffic,
so that I can reclaim my sense of calm

Creepy Crawlies

Creepy crawlies bother me
Why have such eerie pests
None would live if I had my way
I’d get rid of these deviant guests

Spiders are an ugly lot
Eight legs of creeping fright
Webs that hang where’ ere they will
Always at forehead height

Cockroaches make me shiver
When they stray out into view
But there’s that satisfying sound
When they’re squished beneath my shoe

Snakes give me the willies
Cursed by God to belly crawl
They’re creepy, evil, reptiles
If I could, I’d kill them all

Sorry, Liza, after posting mine, I saw that you had the same title on yours. Of course, you know what they say....great thinkers think alike.

Irrational Fear

Not afraid of spiders
just don’t like them.
Nasty creepy little monsters
moving so slyly and
running on water’s just unnatural

Not afraid of cinemas, theatres
but don’t like to go, uncomfortable,
static – sat in place, no freedom to leave.
No way of not disturbing all the rest

Not afraid of crowds suddenly gathering
trapping me in their midst -
thrusting, jostling,
pushing, forcing me in their
(where?) any way direction ‘til can’t breathe
and panic sets in and time runs out
and death reaches in to
save me, pluck me from the throbbing
swelling mass.

Not afraid of people, new people
talking to me - asking, probing, wanting to
know (and then, surely!)take what’s inside.
Nights out, parties cancelled at the last,
half shaved looking forward to
company when terror strikes.
Company! Strangers! Phone in sick
Hit the couch!
Cats are safe, chocolate is safe
Blanket is safe
Staying home is safe

The doctor says it’s Social Phobia
but I’m not afraid, I just don’t want people
in my life - pushing, prying,
expecting wanting, using.
NO, I’m not afraid I’m just a bit shy and
and quite alright just living how I am…

(I am afraid of being tickled
‘cause I have panic attacks
and can’t breathe and think
I’m going to die).

Him

I’ve become so dependent on him
He his solid, gentle, hardworking
He needs very little from me in return

Truly, I am the demanding one
I know I ask too much
Need the impossible from him
But he doesn’t fuss or give me any static

I confuse him from time to time
I’m forever changing
But he is steady
Straightforward
He doesn’t seem to mind

My fear is that I’m going to cause his death
Or some damage
That can’t be repaired

To lose him would be unthinkable

Yesterday he got into a fight
And lost
It was my fault
He was no match for the cord hanging from the window blind
He shut down and refused to restart
I thought it was the end

I need my Roomba
My robot I’ve named Edwardo
To vacuum this place
I can’t live without
Him

Looking Down

Up, up, away,
it's a beautiful day.
I love to climb up lots of things,
like ladders, trees, and backyard swings.
The getting up is not a problem, though.
I take it easy, take it slow.
But once I have reached the very top,
tis looking down that makes me stop.
Cuz when I am so very high
looking down,
from the sky,
I feel all woozy...
from
head
to
toe.

This really interests me. I am pretty much afraid of everything--in fact, I've been working on a series of poems about the woman who is afraid of everything--but when I read your prompt this morning, I started wondering whether any of my numerous fears and anxieties actually reaches the level of a phobia. I have some investigation to do. Thanks for the nudge.

PASSIVE RESTRAINT

I watch
Through the window
Of the steal door
Eyes darting
Constricting pupils
Reddened faced
Full veins bulging

I wonder
Through the window
Of frenzied mind
What if I were her;
Amid a frantic
Heart thudding drums
In my ears

I imagine
Through the window
Of desperate screams
Unable to scratch
Itchy nose
Escape danger
Fire—flooding

I feel
Through the window
Of lost awareness
Leather bound hands
Numbed body
Absolute terror
Hell

Coterie

There’s plenty of food
left over –she says.
Bring out the Ziploc bags,
Glad containers, the old
Tupperware bowls that
somehow still have their lids.
Store neatly in fridge:
Cut-up fruit, potato soup,
fried rice, Hunan chicken,
deviled eggs, carrot sticks,
slices of honey ham,
assorted dips and spreads—
Thank you so much! I exclaim
as I leave, bags full of
tonight’s feast.

Only, this:
I, and I alone, know
that just one night
inside my inky black fridge
is all it takes for those leftovers
(especially the salsa)
to plot my
death
by
poison.

Elizabeth K. Keggi

Ligyrophobia

You’ll recognize me in any crowd –
the guy cringing with fingers in his ears.
My dread of the sudden and of the loud
is the most inconvenient of all my fears.

Firecrackers on the 4th of July,
the starter’s pistol at the track and field meet,
I fear them all, and I don’t know why.
Even blown-up balloons can make me retreat.

My “digital ear plugs” serve me well,
whenever explosive noise is a threat.
Still, I feel an urge to run like hell,
even though I’ve never been hurt – not yet.

So don’t put me on the artillery line.
When it thunders, don’t make me go out.
Life full of surprises, and that’s just fine –
it’s just the loud ones I can live without.

I found this prompt interesting because there's that fine line between phobias and paranoia. I have only one true phobia - spiders, and I already wrote about those. I decided to take my hesitation to eat anything made with mayonnaise left sitting out all afternoon at a sunny summer picnic and then exaggerate it. Or so I claim! ;)

Clumsy bugs in the night

nighty nighty, sweet dreams
ah, lights out
snore weeee snore weeeee
kerplunk. tickle tickle tickle
huh? Wha….?
ARRRRRGGGGHHHH!!!!

Lights on
outta bed,
hop from foot to foot
brush fingers through hair
shake head frantically
flick BIG BLACK ANT
off pillow
flick flick flick

Ooooookay, here we go..
stick big toe
under covers
slide remainder
of body parts
into bed

nighty nighty, sweet dreams
lights out,
eyes wide open
staring up at ceiling
goosebumped arms
covers pulled tightly
up to chin
lump in throat
toes curled
it will be
a long night

Success

“Think positive!”
I do but,

“Don’t listen to the negativity.”
I really don’t but,

“Your time will come!”
I know, it’s just that –

What if it doesn’t?
What if I never see success?
And what if my voice dies from being told:
No.


Haiku version:

I fear it won’t come,
Happen the way I dream of.
I fear the failure.

Patti- It's been a rough one, I know. You'll get there. You're good enough, smart enough, and gosh darn it, people like you!!!!!
Heather

Heather - Well I am sick of the people that don't like me! Enough with the rejections! My Roomba, Dusty, just worked and worked for me this morning. He is one of my best friends. Life wouldn't be the same without him ... that precious angel!

Carol - your poem brought back images of Heather's little snake Sammy! I may not sleep tonight.

Re-posted with a minor edit:

Ligyrophobia

You’ll recognize me in any crowd –
the guy cringing with fingers in his ears.
My dread of the sudden and of the loud
is the most inconvenient of all my fears.

Firecrackers on the 4th of July,
the starter’s pistol at the track and field meet,
I fear them all, and I don’t know why.
Even blown-up balloons can make me retreat.

My “digital ear plugs” serve me well,
whenever explosive noise is a threat.
Still, I feel an urge to run like hell,
even though I’ve never been hurt – not yet.

So don’t put me on the artillery line.
When it thunders, don’t make me go out.
Life's full of surprises, and that’s just fine –
it’s just the loud ones I can live without.

Heather’s Broom

I slink and slide
so silent like
not to cause
a stir but she
who is here
will kill me quick
as flash if I am seen.
I want not much,
a meal, a snack,
a drink a place
warm and moist
to sleep but one
eye open is my best try
as I live in constant fear.
If I remembered my way
home then I would
quickly leave and fear no more
the evil falling,
the quick whaddumn
of nervous Heather’s broom

Yours in scaly anxiety,
Sammy the Snake

Iain - she had more than a broom! If I remember correctly the woman was armed with a shovel! But good job - you almost made me feel a little sorry for poor Sammy. I had never thought about his side of the whole thing ...

Dinner Time USA Haiku

Sometimes I get scared
I am the only one left on-line
all together alone

Patti_ and considering buying a revolver! Sammy old son,time to get the hell outta Dodge!!

R*ts

See I can’t even say it
let alone think about them
the facts are scary
more of them than us
the tail
the way their color blends
with the soot on the subway tracks

Forget the cute ones in cartoons
they make me just as sqeamish
so do squirrels
r*ts with fluffy tails
and pigeons the r word with wings

I asked my Mom if she might know
why I was so afraid
she puffed her cigarette in thought,
I have a memory
of holding you as a baby
watching your father kill them in the yard
we poisoned them but they wouldn’t die
he beat them with a broom,
and still they scurried about
until they finally died
she shrugged and took another puff

Now, I’m also afraid of my Mom.

Tengo Miedo ( I am afraid)

Yo tengo miedo que
maybe she who loves me so
will one day cease
to bang my head against
the wall and sofa leg

Cuando esté lleno,
when I am full she does not
think to empty poor Eduardo
of the the fluff and dirt
and dust and dios mío I think
that was a snakeskin, is she crazy

She is too scared to look under the
dresser but Eduardo he must do it
I am her slave her foil I know it
but por el amor de mi santa madre
I too am scared of the snake

Salvatore, great poem!

Iain- Let's run away together and find Sammy!!!!!!!!!!! Although, I hate to leave Edwardo :(

Heather - sounds good. Now you know when we find him I'm thinking tortillas & some Elizabeth's salsa, dontcha?

Iain - I had a friend who had a phobia of cats. The first and last time he ever came over after school, my big, friendly, black cat came out to say hello to him. My friend leapt onto the armchair and would not come down until I locked the cat in the bathroom. Then he made a hasty exit. He was convinced that the cat was about to attack him. It made me feel a little sad because my cat was such an affectionate creature. I've always wondered what became of my friend after high school ended. Did he ever conquer his fear of cats?

Salsa - mmmm - mmm for mischievous.

Elizabeth - weird but funny or vice versa...

Dogs they have owners
Cats however have staff they say
I fear slavery

G'night Haiku!

Sammy

My drawers have been foamed shut
Because he slithered behind

Some wouldn’t believe
The strength it took me
In a panic
After two days straight
Of no make up
To pull the middle one free
The rest are being left for dead
There’s no chance of entry

I didn’t want to, I can assure you
I didn’t want to set him free
But I had a meeting and it was a necessity
A touch of color was my need

Not a minute passes that I don’t catch a glimpse
From the corner of my eye
Something here
Something there
I KNOW he’s everywhere

Lurking
Waiting for me

I’m afraid to sit for long
In private times
Where toilet paper belongs

Did he come from here
Or there
Sammy, where??????????

What I know
Is that I’m still not prepared
To end it
Squash him
Cut off his head

Iain where’s that cat?

I think I'd like him seared. I'm starving!!!!

Teri - great poem but you know what? With Sammy the Snake milling around, I'm sure Heather's house has ZERO r*ts! Generally I'm not that positive, but I can see the bright side with this one.

Heather - poor Eduardo. Let's hope he never finds Sammy. And you can't leave him behind! He vacuums for you for goodness sakes! Plus y'all aren't going without me ...

Elizabeth - I have a friend who screams each time one of my cats greets her - she's a 40ish Mom - I guess people don't just grow out of the fear. And my dog is a bit afraid of one of them. I think she understands 'mentally stable' really doesn't apply to the grey one.

Heather - loved your latest! Sammy has made quite the impact on many of us. And maybe not in a healthy way.

Queen of the Phobias

Think Woody Allen, but if I
must enumerate for the sake of
space, than I would say, my top tiers
of all my enigmatic fears, would be
those provoking pools of tears--
claustrophobia and darkness, black
with no shadow, no outline visible,
nothing to prove that I am there, so
how do I know that nothing else is?
Combine them and you have a tortuous
enclosure with no escape and then ...
the lights go out.

The Canvas

I am a canvas
of words, borne
of a blank page
A curator of stories
A literary sage

I fear the unspoken,
unwritten word
and colorless expression
in triplicate

The front or back
does not matter
to me
I fear to be read
only between
the lines

that show my well-
aging body
of work
Having given birth
to songs, to stories
Some bloody, some
bore me

tears of joy, and sorrow
Words hauntingly
borrowed
to touch our emotions,
to be read
I am a blank page
I fear no one will
tread, ever so lightly,
upon me

NO FEARS

I'm not afraid
of anything,not heights
or tight places
or bats
or rats
or pigs
or figs
or flys
or fleas
or police
or anything
so I'll quit now,
I'm afraid this
is getting too long.

Fear Factor

Fear factor of one
I play with a gun
An empty one
at that

I aim at your head
Bang, bang
You’re dead
Then I put the
gun away

Fear factor of five
Thank God I’m alive
You grab my
gun, and turn
on me

You load the chamber
I sense the danger
You aim at my head
but graze me

Fear
factor
of
ten
You
come
back
again

(I tried to have more fun with this one. Found an index of phobias on the internet even. What names. This is a very rough poem, but I plan on polishing it up and extending it.)


A Woman of Many Phobias

She was scared of spiders.
Terrified of bats.
She cringed at the sight
of a black cat.

A bird singing at her window
could send her into convulsions.
Rain on a Friday
was a major repulsion.

The colors red and green
had hidden meaning.
Christmas was a holiday
that often left her screaming.

A book with too many pages
had her breaking out in hives.
She really couldn’t stand
the thought of stage fright.

She feared her own relatives,
frogs and being criticized.
But above and beyond it all
was her fear of dying.

IMPATIENT

I am always on my back--
them bending over,
the professionally concerned;
them edging walls, watching
like a white-coated border, whispering.
I am always on my back
in a darkness
filled with the sounds of whispering
and machines.
I am always on my back.
Bleeding.

A haiku for fun and yes, it's about Sammy.

Night Sammy!

Squiggly, wiggly fun
Twirling, trapped inside, now full
and ready for bed.

Up or down?

A hawk hovers
at eye view,
mist of clouds
kiss my cheek,
the world
a green marble
at my feet

trembling
on the edge
of this ledge;
the lone stone
rumbles down,
leaving no sound
when it hits.

---
I got stuck on a mountain once, paralyzed because I suddenly looked down and saw how far away the 'ground' really was. I couldn't climb down the face and ended up taking a 9-mile detour over the ridges of three mountains to get down. Haven't climbed since... Peace, Linda

Down Below

The swampy solution
Fills my nostrils
I kick ferociously,but evil
Pond plants and mud
Prevail
I see the sun
through amber water
But I cannot free myself
Of these bottom dwellers
Little bubbles like smoke signals
Float up when I exhale my last breath
There's no one to save me
Watching my world go black
I wish I could have escaped
Then the alarm rings
And once again I know
I've been dreaming of drowning

Wednesday May 13, 2008 a phobia


Rails

Slicing flashes of silver guard rail,
remind me to keep my concentration.

Massive tractor trailers send burst
of tail winds to shake my rolling harbor.

Memories of sunny afternoons, lazily
bobbing in the wake that boats produced.

I beg you silver guard, be on guard.
Keep my soft human form safe.

In my rolling metal box, I fear you might
crumble if the wake of the trucks strengthen.

“Sssssss”

Slithering silently
Slowly sensing
Seeing snake!
Sprinting screaming
Swamp swiftly scuttled
Slowing slightly
Soon safety!
Sitting scornful
Side spasms, silly snake
Swearing softly
Sweaty sigh.

Thanks, Patti . . . I can feel my eyes getting heavy as I type . . . so sleepy and yet!!!!! Will you take Sammy for the weekend?

Michelle, you've got it!!!! Nice one. Sammy would be proud.

Heather - you know I would if I could, but I just can't since I'm absolutely terrified of snakes to the NTH degree. Night everybody!

(And make sure Eduardo is safely in bed before lights out - you wouldn't want him running up on Sammy tonight - that could be bad in more than 2 ways!)

breaker
-------
your fingers carry current
that can be turned on
and off sensitive things
tuned to events ever noticed
receding in the rearview mirror
a block back even miles
even ten years and vows ago
this morning familiar we ate
coffee familiar brewed as
always in its electric appliance
our mugs worried worn
brittle collections of chips chinks
fine cracks held together by sediment and
artificial cream they should explode
from daily scalding stress of
lifting i sip they are miserable sip
think about throwing
yes relieve them of this
as you reach for our pot i
nod to the unspoken watch
its oblique arc at the end of your arm
across the outer edge of my lap over
the table the cup you do not even
hesitate nor reach
nor touch

Nancy, your poem is SO good, love that perfect turn at the end.

Send In The Clowns

They are so happy.
They have about five pounds of make-up
on.
They have big feet and
big red noses.
And their painted smiles make it seem like
they always have a secret.

Along San Pablo Bay


There used to be a place on
Highway 37 that ruined every
holiday for me.
The rough road and "temporary"
(read: two years) traffic
barrier—tight and high on either side
of the lane—were
on the homeward trip.
So it wasn't the getting there,
to the ocean or city,
that bothered me as much as the
day-long dread of
the return.


You try steering a big family
van, packed with complaining kids and
vacation stuff,
loud with
radio and laughs,
you, the sunburned, exasperated
driver knowing you have just
a few more miles to go and then
the nightmare:
white concrete walls
within inches whipping by,
the slightest accidental twitch of hands
(gripped desperately in the 10-and-2 position
like you were taught) causing
wreckage and certain death for
all aboard.

A lot of praying got done
and I never once crashed and killed
us all—never even got a scratch—but
oh, how I feared being the captain
of the family bobsled team.

Too High

I step to the edge, the fear rises up.
Stopping me .. strangling me.
Trying to keep me alive.
I wonder how it will happen.
Will the floor give way beneath me?
Will I be pushed over?
Will I just suddenly fall?
I try to calculate the distance.
I need to distract myself,
but it's no use.
It's fatal,
that's all that matters.
I hear my voice say
"don't worry, you're safe",
but I know it's a lie.
The fear knows best,
I have to listen to it.
I step back, the fear slips away
with a warning.
"Try that again and you're dead".

Frozen in Time

Last week, a fire fighter
All clad in scuba gear
Dove beneath the thin Spring ice
Of a neighbourhood lake
To recover the body
Of a Labrador retriever puppy
Who had somehow managed
to slip away from his owners
Get out on the ice, fall through
And drown.

While this event made me
almost disproportionately sad
Puppies being puppies, after all,
It also gave me nightmares; or should I say
Renewed nightmares that I have from time to time
Reminding me of my absolute greatest fear
That is – to die by falling through ice, on a lake or a river

I think, the last moments of life
Spent – as you try desperately to find the hole
you fell through in the first place
Or, failing that – you try to stay up and keep
your head in that skinny pocket of air
Between the ice and the water,
Gasping for breaths
Until someone breaks you free
Which never, ever happens
I think those last moments of your life
have to be the most horrifying, terrifying
moments imaginable
and they are the stuff
of nightmares, let me tell you.

Who hasn’t seen the movies where the one skater
Ignoring the signs, “Danger, Thin Ice”
Skates where she shouldn’t
And crashes through the ice
First she is seen splashing frantically
just before she goes under
Then, her friend, sister, brother – pick one
Rushes over – and sure enough
They find a really clear spot on the ice
Where the would-be rescuer
can see the victim beneath the ice
She will be pounding against the thick ice futiley,
And most likely drowning at the same time.

The audience in these instances
is usually given a nano-second of hope
I mean, the victim is sighted,
why don’t they just get her out?
Then, the awful truth sets in;
they can’t get her out
because she’s trapped.
She’s trapped under the ice,
that’s why.
The last thing we see is the victim flailing,
staring in horror up through the ice,
or flailing, then starting to sink, her eyes
rolling back in her head.

My nightmares this go round
have featured a tiny black puppy;
one whose young life, I hope, ended very quickly.
Since the fire department was involved
I imagine, at first there was some hope
the wee dog might still be alive.
I can still picture the look on the fireman’s face
when he brought the little guy’s body to the shore.
He was cradling him as carefully as he might a child.
When he lifted his mask, his eyes were bright with tears.

S.E.Ingraham

I have an absolute morbid phobia of spirits.

Things that go bump in the night...

Faces
Not meant to be seen
Darkness swathes
Glimpses in the night
Drifting away
Out of view
But still permeating my thoughts
Dread filling the silence
That shuffle racing my heart
Eyes darting wildly
At the lifeless beings
"Please leave
You are not welcome here!"
I whimper
Dark corners are moving
Window frames are glowing
Those eyes are staring
Their lips are moving
Why are they here?
Breath is rasping
Figures are floating
Squeeze my eyes shut
Fumble for the light
Sweaty palms not reaching
Something brushing my arm
I choke on my fear
And finally switch on the light
They are gone.

Serpent's Tale

Sudden movement in the grass
sends frissions up the spine.
What lurks there I will not pass,
it is no friend of mine.
Writhing, slith'ring, creeping thing,
You cannot be God's creature.
Hell-made! To heat you cling,
Your sensor's Satan's feature.
If I'd been Eve, your will
wouldn't tempt, oh no. You'd lose.
Mankind would be in Eden still
with Eve wearing snakeskin shoes.
###

Just can't seem to get snake thoughts out of my head. Wonder why?
Shirley T.

Hi everyone. Just got the prompt. Hmmm. So many possibilities.

Salvatore...The Phobia Society is wonderful. Very well done.
Glenda...I will NEVER lock you in a closet. You have given me Glendaphobia :-)
Nancy...I love your Hippopotomentrose...(fear of big words)
Earl...I think many people hate those creepy crawlies but you said it so well.

Will start thinking about a topic for mine.

Linda H.

Night Battle

Sickening thud at the cellar door,
scaly scraping across the floor,
eerier than Marley's chains at midnight.
Gut-wrenching sounds of scrabbling claws
come closer, an approaching chain saw
in a grim forest without shred of light.
Cans in the pantry cry clack, clack, CLACK!
Something lurks, clawing at their backs,
screeching defeat at their steely might.
Flashlight catches the red piercing eyes,
and suddenly, to my own surprise,
I know the only recourse is fight!
Edging carefully into the pit dark room,
armed with long-handled corn husk broom,
I strike full force before it takes flight!
Again and again, each a mighty thwack,
'Til it lies as if it'd been stretched on the rack;
And I stand, a shaken but valorous knight.
I've defended the castle from intruder rat.
Somewhere behind me, a purr from the cat,
Who says why call me? You've done alright.
###
Shirley T.

Finger Phobia

It started in childhood,
watching the boy struggle
to write and draw despite
his whithered arm, left too
long in a cast in between
visits from the Native
Health staff.

Then meeting the man
smoking with the stubs
of his radius and ulna,
skin stretched tight over
the ends to make two
“fingers” to hold his
cigarette.

It came back, working as
a cashier at a convienence
store, handing out change,
touching hands with missing
fingertips or entire fingers
counting back the money
given back to them.

Perinum clenches, radiates
fear up through intestines
as whole fingers pull back
from mangled ones, an
unsaid, incoherent prayer
rises high between the tips,
“Please. Not me.”

Republicanpartyitis
(a newly declared phobia)

I fear the Republicans
and the damage they do
Their lack of vision
and color, too

I see terror lurking
in the Bushes
everywhere I turn
At least Nero fiddled
While Rome burned

A rebate check?
You can keep your dime
I fear you most
at election time

It’s a morbid thought
Oh, the pain
of hearing them announce
President John McWayne

Whoops, shoulda spellchecked BEFORE I posted...

SWIRLING
(The fear of choosing between life and death)

Swirling, gray clouds
gather overhead,
collecting together
in an angry, slow motion.

Swirling, my mind reels from life
as the air becomes heavy,damp.
Pounding waves engulf and pull
at my feet, drawing the sand away.

Swirling, the voices beckon:
"Come with us--you're sure to find it sweet. . ."
The tide rushes, daring to pull me under.
"May we, this time? Your call."

Swirling, a wind wraps around me
with your voice saying
"Don't give in. Hold onto Me
and My work on the Cross. They lie and destroy."

Swirling, the rain comes, whipping me
because again, I chose you.
I sink into your embrace, sobbing.
Jesus, don't let me slip away. . .

Grace - Clowns! I had forgotten about clowns. Spooky, to say the least.

Fear of Predation

Crowds
of normal looking
perverts.
Sneaky violations,
overt, repulsive
displays and peeping
Toms, Janes and cameras.
Can my children
survive and thrive
unscathed?

“Ice Man”

The skittering chill
up my spine doesn’t come from
hoodoos, bogeymen,
bugbears or the night bumpers
anymore. I enjoy
the company of darkness
in my bed at night.
I walk soulless city sidewalks
with their denizens today,
my head high as I pass.
Expressing myself
to others–one or thousands–
no longer shakes me,
as my words here make clear.
I’ve stared down disease,
criminal intent, job loss,
the uncertainties
of parenthood, and swift death.
But nothing, nothing,
scares me so much as, again,
sitting with a frozen mind
at an empty page.

I seem to have started a series of poems about panic attacks, which I've struggled with all my life. I posted one in the Alfred Hitchcock Twist prompt in April so here's a second one. I've had some difficulty with the line breaks changing when I post it so please forgive the formatting of the lines.

Panic #2

Panic is teetering at the edge of the cliff, one foot in midair, scrambling to get your footing, you grab a tree branch and hear it snap, your other foot slips….. running out of breath right before you break the surface of the pond, getting caught in the riptide while you can still see your family on the shore, knowing they can’t hear you over the crashing of the surf…the feeling right before you faint, or just after you get the wind knocked out of you, the moment when your friend’s hands tighten around your neck and you wonder what if she doesn’t stop,
if she isn’t really just kidding, “stop” you croak, but she squeezes tighter…that old ghost sitting on your chest at night, the sheer weight of grief, shame, regret pressing down on you in the dark…the plane angling sharply down, the roar of your pulse beating in your ear as you jerk awake….locked in the narrow yellow closet without a doorknob….the elevator stuck between floors….what you felt after your mother left you for good.

Ivory Terror

I know I'm Mrs. Murphy
in the chair, the fair
maiden helpless as flame
of dragon light is
pulled down close,
still remember the first
nightmare, I was three,
under the sickly sweet
smell of ether, dark
murky waters and eight
arms wrapping to pull
me down, mouth wide
open and penetrated, they
hiss at me beyond the light,
their failings made mine as
if I chose this
damn Murphy clan,
art and instrument
drilled while a million
nerve ends scream,
tone-deaf abuser
why should he care
when he's always had
money for choices
and no memory
of violation.

I posted my tries yesterday but this one came to me today and thought it was worth sharing.

Reality

Reality came home.
It walked right through the front door
Put its keys on the desk,
Looked me in the eye.

Dinner’s almost ready.
I know I’m running a little late,
I’m sorry.
I know you’re hungry.

Reality walked through the house
Quieting the children
Sobering the air, the walls,
The love that used to live there.

Reality came home
Just as it did every day
And brought inside with it
Fear.

Escalator
I stare at the hungry escalator
Waiting, wanting to descend, pretending, praying I won't fall
When I step on a step of this wall of woven stairs
Toe in the water, I try to make my move
Will my heel get stuck in the grooves? Who'll help me?
Shoe stuck, pulled under, my last words,
"ESCALATORS SUCK!"
Deep breath, almost ready -
Then step aside for a strident, steady redhead
who blithely rides, glides, slides as down a banister
(but with finesse - I'm impressed)
Panic sets in, breeding beads of flop sweat
Only one flight, seize the rhythm, you'll be all right.
Hell, I'll take the elevator
and try the escalator later

I smile clenching the stem of the wine glass
as I weave through the crowd,
the oppressive throng of people
I feel clammy and a little nauseous
so I grab a cracker with something
gray on it from a silver platter
and shove it in my throat
"Do you like the pate?" a blond woman
with too-white teeth asks?
"mmmm" I nod, feeling the bile rising
I hide the rest of the cracker in a potted palm
and make a bee-line to the nearest door
I mistakenly exited an through emergency door
setting off an alarm
I swallowed one gulp of fresh night air before I turned
to see a mass of people heading toward me

Black widows
don't freak
me out
I dated one
in college
Now bridges?
No span
too long
too high
too low
or too sexy
spreading wide
her structured pillars
will beckon me
to cross her

edited version

"Agoraphobia"



Sliming I clench the stem of the wine glass
as I weave through the crowd,
an oppressive throng of people;
I feel clammy and a little nauseous
so I grab a cracker with something
gray on it from a silver platter
and shove it in my mouth;
"Do you like the pate?" a blond woman
with too-white teeth asks?
"mmmm" I nod, feeling the bile rising;
I hide the rest of the cracker in a potted palm
and make a bee-line to the nearest door
mistakenly exiting through an emergency door
setting off an alarm.

I swallowed one gulp of fresh night air before I turned
to see a mass of people heading toward me.

Black widows
don't freak
me out
I dated one
in college
Now bridges?
No span
too long
too high
too low
or too sexy
spreading wide
her structured pillars
will beckon me
to cross her

LOL I still hesitate when I get on an escalator amy

Heather - Thanks! I've been so busy lately with things for the kids that I've had a hard time being on here!! It was great fun to come up with words that all start with "s" and make some sense! Yes, Sammy was definitely on my mind!! Have a great week everyone!

Snake

Snake
In the grass
Green
Like the
Summer blades
Sitting
Waiting
For a foot
To strike
To poison
To kill
Because
Grass snakes
Eat humans
For breakfast
Like any other
Snake.

Anahbird, you've made my skin crawl. Thank god Sammy isn't green. He's brown . . . like my tile. He fits in nicely with most of my house . . . nearly stepped on him the first three times I passed him . . .
Cheers and sweet dreams everyone :)
Heather

"Not Lolita, something darker"

I recently re-read Nabokov’s "The Eye”
a tale about a suicide who is treated
poorly in afterlife. To escape the pain
of this life, to decide to end it, may not
be the final statement.

She lay motionless on the bed as I
dialed 911. Had she entered the
afterlife and how was she being
treated. If suicide is a sin wouldn't
she be surrounded by those sinners

from the past, her past, together
again, with her suffering the most. Is
suffering something that transcends time
and space? I curse her for her decision
and now that she is gone my days are filled

with questions and I fear that I’m next.

Once a stroke in the Night

The last session of the semester ended

Yet I feel no relief, it is never students
Who pressure, insists on vigilance.

I keep watch, resist the mental sense
That knows there is no reason to listen
The whole night through for an oddity

Of movement, sound or colder silence
Than greets me every minute of the waking day

Awaiting some coming new catastrophe

Jane Penland Hoover
May 16, 2008

just one more for this week...

Call me crazy

Call me crazy,
but
I have this fear
that
Mary Hart’s legs are overinsured,
my flight has the pilot who’s incredibly bored,
my wife serves me papers saying
“you shouldn’t have snored”,
or maybe
I’m just being silly

Call me crazy,
but
I have this sense
of impending doom,
of starting my car
and hearing a “boom”,
that Michael Jackson
didn’t come from the womb,
or maybe
I’m just paranoid

Call me crazy,
but
I have this dream
where
I book a hotel without any rooms,
all future weddings only have grooms,
airlines make money with new flying brooms
Or maybe
I’m just out of touch…
with reality

SHARKS

No matter how I did implore
She lingered on the edge of the shore
As I drifted out some more
To a slow rolling wave.

I realize she really did try
But she'd only ever get ankle-high
Before the thoughts of sharks would terrify
And her courage would cave.

Yet though she refused to be live-bait
You c