October Coffeehouse

So Monday, October 15, 2018 was our monthly coffeehouse, and that was interesting to say the least! The theme was “Under the Red Sky/dark fantasies”. All the poets on program and those that signed up were all great. I also read some poems, and I think one of them was equally liked and disliked. For those of you that didn’t attend Coffeehouse, I’m including my poems that I read. 

The first poem is titled “Red”, and I’m not exactly sure what made me write it. But please do enjoy it!

Red

The sky looks like a pulsing heart,
pulled fresh from someone’s chest.
The pink clouds pass slowly, appearing to be forever stuck.

Below the bright red sky, chaos ensues.
Blood spills.
Heads roll.
Death rules.

Humans attack each other on the streets.
Siblings turn against siblings.
Wife against husband.
Father against son.
Homes are ruined, forever stained with red.

The red sky weeps red tears.
The moon gives the world a red tint.

Everything is red.
The ground is soaked with the blood.
The grass is no longer green on the other side –
It’s red.

Now, the second piece is titled “Monster”. This is piece that probably received mixed reactions from the crowd, but I still enjoy it and find it… amusing? It’s up to you to determine. Also, there’s tad bit of gore involved, so you’ve been warned!

Monster

The monster doesn’t live under the bed.
The monster doesn’t live in his basement.
Or in his attic.
Or in his closet.

The monster is freely moving.
He comes and goes.
He steals the screams of children and adults alike.
He takes the form of his greatest nightmares,
and makes it so real, he considers gouging out his own eyes.

He can’t handle the sight.
The smell.
The sounds.
His body shakes and trembles.
The monster stalks closer.

“You’ll never escape me, Johnny.”
“Yes, Papa.”

Blood coats the walls.
Mama’s head is bashed open, her brains become the new carpet.
The smell of her rotting flesh perfumes the air.
Her life essence drips from the head of the hammer.

“She tried to escape, Papa.”
“Good, Johnny. You’re learning.”

Johnny was the monster.
Papa was the monster.
And they’ll make you into a monster too.

That “Johnny.. Yes Papa” thing was a complete coincidence. I’ve never actually watched those videos, but those were the names that I picked while typing. Oops.

Author: Morgan Crosby

The girl from D'Iberville is a really dull girl. She locks herself up in her room, content to spend her time reading and occasionally writing. She loves to read little YA romances and sometimes finds herself with books about history. The main thing motivating her writing is her overactive imagination and the strange dreams that plague her sleep. Her works also stem from what she has heard from music, conversations, or when half asleep. Crazed killers, haunted mirrors, and murderous siblings seem to be part of her stories in some way, but they always start off in her dreams. She started writing when she was in middle school, but had been telling stories since she was little. View all posts by Morgan Crosby