The Un-haunted House

The Un haunted House short poem

Photo by Antony Dovgal

The cook was in the kitchen
The gardener trimming vines

I went down to the cellar
To fetch a case of wine

I came back to the parlor
And much to my surprise

There stood Master Pennbrook
Right before my eyes

He was looking shabby
He did not look his best

Ten long years have gone by
Since we laid him to his rest

I was scared shitless
Just to say the least

What can you say to someone?
Who has been ten long years deceased

Err…how … how are you doing sir
I managed to spurt out

Well I have had better days
He said without a doubt

I’ll tell you why I came here
I cannot stay for long

There’s something going on here
Something’s very wrong

I was murdered by my wife
She put an end to me

I must make someone aware
To set my spirit free

Whoa is me for I loved her
But it was for my fortune that she cared

She poisoned my glass of sherry
And the life that we had shared

Now that I have told you
Do what you think is best

I will haunt this house no longer
Now my weary soul can rest!

Just like that he disappeared
And he never did return

They found Mrs. Pennbrook
In the wine cellar

The night the house was burned!

Rate the poem
1 Star2 Stars3 Stars4 Stars5 Stars (1 votes, average: 3.00 out of 5)
We are posting your rating...

Have something to say about the poem?

Poems you will love

Give your feedback / review for the poem

Be the First to Comment & Review poem!

Notify of

White House

White House short poem

It was a rape of a city. Go ahead. I still speak the old phrases with back pain. And let fly the silence in beautiful emptiness of a swollen heart. On pain of anonymity I wanted to clear my name

Jake’s House

Jakes House short poem

There was a man whose name was Jake Who had a house upon the lake Every morning he would wake And for breakfast have a piece of cake He had a private fishing hole; He always used a long cane

The Glass House

The Glass House short poem

Not yet, the courage will wait for the curtain to fall, will then disappear in awakening; the crucial thing was the love of absence the scythe of eclipsed moon. Suspense hangs from the tall image in slow turn of thighs

House Of Sin

House Of Sin long poem

A grand old mansion on a hill The stately manor stands there still In the darkness of the night Throughout the window came a light On the veranda I did creep To glowing window for a peek To filthy pane