There's a poem inside everybody. It doesn't have to rhyme. Often, it's simply a matter of a short story being compressed further even than what defines 'short', placing each sentence - maybe even word - on it's own, lonely, storytelling line. This will include mostly my own poems, but you want me to include one of your poems feel free to let me know.
Ink black skies painted by dusk
Lit by the sparkling sequins
Only step out into it if you must
For it is something you will only seek once
Splashes of paint cover the page
Paper getting drenched in a fit of pure rage
Crafting a future of silence and dread
Life sewn together by needle and thread
Can you tell what I'm talking about
The time that fills us with nerves and doubt
It's night time and it's always the same
Where the horrors come out to play their game
I may make a story based on this.
Creep to the edge of the room
Creak open the door
Just be careful where you step
Mind the things on the floor
Tiptoe along the hallway--
CREAK! What have I done?
I'm in trouble now.
That's not good.
I'm such a fool.
The next evening I will try again
But I won't make the same mistake.
I'm searching for the sweet goods
My mother did bake.
I know where the creaky floorboard is now,
Treading over the plank of wood
Must be quiet as I go down
Like a good child always should.
Hunting in the kitchen
In the 1-in-the-morning dark
Amongst the old patches of lichen,
Listening out, I can't even hear a single lark.
Where's the jar?
It can't be far.
Oh yes, now I know where the cookies are!
I grab the jar with a gleam in my eye
Licking my lips as I go
Run out the door and into the night
Away, with the cookies I go!