The nonchalant haunt

Does this ring a bell, or how can you tell?

The nonchalant haunt

Just up the street, a structure stands,

Untouched for years by human hands.

The house on the hill

Brings many a chill,

As ev’ry night owl understands.

The peak-ed roof bears barb-ed teeth.

Three prickly pines lurk underneath.

Reality swoons,

As keening wind tunes.

The boldest their own wits bequeath.

The strongest sense no difference brings,

For every breeze gives shingles wings.

With trembles acute,

The solemn salute,

As sneakers suddenly sprout springs.

Some say weird wonders have appeared,

Or apparitions ill-revered.

A fast flash of light

Or creak in the night

Confirm what others long have feared.

One vacant house in any range

Elicits stories weird and strange.

Though nobody’s home,

Still, rumors may roam

Enough to bring our paths to change.

c2016 by Linda Ann Nickerson

This poem was posted in response to these prompts:

Meme Express: “night owl”

Write 31 Days: “different reality”

31 Days of Poetry and Writing: “house on the hill”

Writer’s Workshop: “change”

OctPoWriMo: “sharp” – “prickly,” “barbed,” “peaked,” “acute,” and “keen”

#OctPoWriMo

#BeWoW

Image/s:

Adapted from Pixabay public domain photo

31 Days logo – created by this user,

including public domain artwork.

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