There are dark places Where the mind dares to wander Endlessly seeking  Lurking in shadow Monsters, real and imagined Flee the touch of Light

About Sue Vincent

Sue Vincent is a Yorkshire-born writer and one of the Directors of The Silent Eye, a modern Mystery School. She writes alone and with Stuart France, exploring ancient myths, the mysterious landscape of Albion and the inner journey of the soul. Find out more at France and Vincent. She is owned by a small dog who also blogs. Follow her at and on Twitter @SCVincent. Find her books on Goodreads and follow her on Amazon worldwide to find out about new releases and offers. Email:
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17 Responses to Monsters

  1. Ali Isaac says:

    Yeuch! I know its unreasonable, but no other creature freaks me out like a spider!


  2. Dale says:



  3. Eileen says:

    What sort of spider is that? Not furry enough to be a tarantula, but looks big! They eat fried tarantula’s in Cambodia, also red ants as seasoning. Hmmmm. Think I’ll pass on those delicacies. 🙂


  4. jenanita01 says:

    From Ani, the adorable dog … to… a spider? What are you like?


  5. *shivers* Ick to spiders, but two thumbs up for the Haiku. ❤ ❤ ❤


  6. I’m going to reblog this, but add to it one of my poems titled, can you guess? “Monsters” 😀


  7. Reblogged this on Barbarian Writer and commented:
    This is my version of “Monsters” ope you enjoy both mine and this from Sue:


    Monsters are real to an extent, it seems,
    But they mainly stick to really bad dreams.
    At times, however, a feeling I get
    That one may be lurking in the shadows yet.
    On a foggy night that fills me with dread,
    I think I feel persons long since dead.
    They creep through the night and whisper to me;
    They tap on my shoulder and laugh with glee.
    I feel the icy cold fingers grip me tight
    And not want to let up for the rest of the night.
    Footsteps behind me make me increase my pace;
    In the window’s reflection, I see a dead face.
    I hear spectral laughter, my heartbeat increases,
    And fear makes me sweat, and want to go to pieces.
    I feel the small hairs on the back of my neck
    Prickle and stand up like sailors on a deck.
    The air turns cold all the sudden it seems,
    And then I hear blood curdling screams
    Of people who’ve been taken before their time
    And search for whomever committed the crime.

    (c) 2010 by John T. M. Herres


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