Fear by elizfrat

Whilst raking through some of my old writing books I came across a poem I wrote in secondary school when I was 13 years old, which I thought may fit this month’s writing prompt.  It was January and coming up to Burns Night and we were asked by our English teacher to come up with a poem inspired by Robert Burns, where we were to try to use some made up words.  Bearing in mind this piece  is now 27 years old and Tam O’ Shanter it most certainly isn’t, I hope it still entertains 🙂



I quibbed and fleetered ‘cross the moor,

the moon had long since taken cover;

the dark intensified the gloom

and passed a shiver down my spine

‘Twas then I stumbled on a sight

enough for skin to crawl and cringle,

a shape much darker than the night

was cindling right in front myne eyes

My fear grew even greater now

for ‘twas a demon formed like man

An’ round his gruki figure low

were skeletons of ghastly dead

The shape looked up and stared at me

My blood turned cold, my skin went pale

The scene was such I gave a crie

And then I rin – rin like the wind

Skitling and scootling, ritling and rootling,

critling and crootling, I rin like the wind

The wind went whistling through my hair

My feet weren’t getting anywhere

The demon and his boney army

came clattering after, trying to harm me

I could hear them getting closer

I could feel them getting near

I could sense their growing anger

Help me please, I’m full of fear!

Skitling and scootling, ritling and rootling,

critling and crootling, I rin like the wind

At last the town had come in sight

A little hope replaced the fear

I saw the safety in the light

and so my feet went skitling on

Skitling and scootling, ritling and rootling,

critling and crootling, I rin like the wind

If only I could make the town

the demon would not follow me

And so I rin on homeward bound

and still the haunts came clottering on

I made it; they could chase no more

I heard the demon shout and roar

In case you think this was not true,

just remember, I did warn you!

(c) Elizabeth Frattaroli

ASSISI BY NORMAN MACCAIG – Your Favourite poem

Here’s something I added to http://poetreecreations.org earlier today. I hope you enjoy the poem as much as I do.


I studied this poem for my ‘Higher’ English exam at school in Scotland over 20 years ago and it has always stayed with me.  The first few lines are heartbreakingly descriptive and set the scene beautifully to enable the final verse to bring the message home in some of the most poignant writing I have read 

CHURCHBBBBBBBBBThe dwarf with his hands on backwards
sat, slumped like a half-filled sack
on tiny twisted legs from which
sawdust might run,
outside the three tiers of churches built
in honour of St Francis, brother
of the poor, talker with birds, over whom
he had the advantage
of not being dead yet

A priest explained
how clever it was of Giotto
to make his frescoes tell stories
that would reveal to the illiterate the goodness
of God and the suffering
of His Son. I understood
the explanation and
the cleverness.

A rush of…

View original post 74 more words