The story is simple

The art is absurd

the subject is something

I’ve never have heard

I would never think

to eat lunch in a box

and there’s no way I’m sharing

my lunch with a fox

It doesn’t make sense

To eat lunch in the rain

Although I’d be cool

to eat lunch on a train

And why would a train track

just suddenly stop

with everyone hitting

the sea with a plop

The boat is now sinking

but nobody cares

because of the question

that hangs in the air

DO YOU LIKE GREEN EGGS AND HAM?

if not then you’ll be pestered

by that Sam-I-Am

Bring me your Unwanteds

Your Undesirables

Your Rejects.

I will love them.

I will cherish them.

They are still human to me,

Even if your heart is cold

And your mind willfully numb

To who they are as people.

I will listen to them,

Understand them,

Love them.

They are not trash.

They are not disposable.

They are human

And I will treat them as such.

Butter side up

Be you wrong?

Be you right?

This side of the wall

Butter side up, flexes its might

The other side though,

Where folks look the same

The Crier runs through the town

You can hear him from here

Yelling BUTTER SIDE DOWN

We squabble and spat

Not over this, over that

But butter that’s better

Be it up be it down

We build bombs

Better bombs, over butter

So we shelter in fear

Our bombs always near

Alas, they have theirs too

So we’ll eat our butter

(side up of course)

And peek through the shutters

We know they can see us too

The young, caught in a malstorm

of dark fear, cold nights,

horror creeping

between the cracks of humanity's soul,

searching out an eternal meal of harrowing pain,

for the spider always searches out its prey.

Fear the night,

fear the day,

fear, this very second.

The clown from hell,

once in his sight,

shall never leave you alone.

IT can be banished, never destroyed,

and IT will return

when the young have grown,

for fear feels no pain.

Fear lives to cause sorrow,

in the midnight madness of your mind.

Without a Guide, they wander

Wailing soft sad tones into the howling wind.

Light comes and lights their way,

The rising orange sun tasked with collecting them.

I lived near a cemetery once,

And heard the lost souls wander towards the light.

in a veiled world

i am light like a feather

disembodied

lightening in a bottle

everything here is alive with madness

wild walls and chairs chatter

like wise cracking gangsters

always sporting for a fight

blood tulips cry and sing

rise and wither

and rise again

loop dancers move from rhythms of light

there are many kingdoms here

in a broken terrain of night

an obsidian ash sky howls

and we are shut in

to a starless and opaque sky

behind an impassable slate black gate

the ground a curse

all teeth and rocks

bones and weeping flesh

vampires live here

like clans

all blood porphyria

their mouths a beautiful rust

a tempting visage

half seduction, half terror

needled fingered hematologists

prepare our dinner

her name

Mercy

all body candy

tattooed with a snake anus

her clitoris pierced

with rose paved sparkles

and nipples

stabbed with bat shaped studs

nurses sharpen knives

while quack doctors

tend to

little plastic dolls

blood bathers

with crossed femurs

in hospitals beds

she

a naked lunch

sumptuous

and willing betrothal

in a pearl satin gown

black lips glossed

hair red and purple

thighs and belly trussed

nipples scorched and punctured

from incensed flames, teeth and ravaging kisses

eaten with panicked jaws

her cunt torrid

a gushing river banquet

of blood black jam

chained and strapped

legs stirruped wide

feet silky glisten

for tongues and kisses

a candle light ritual

as she is copulated

by both sexes

and fed upon

Mercy

laughing like a loon

screaming

eat the feast

you lovely beasts

and half devoured

emerges

a blood perfume delirium

she all

writhing wet mouth drools

saliva like diamonds and pomegranates

back arched

withered from a blistering frenzy

her eyes a white glaring tempest

gone vacant

her mouth like licorice slur

gaping

frozen in a ghastly shriek

her belly nectar

oozing

as the very last of her

a rattled blood moon

surrendered

her remains

wolfed down

in the

house

of

Dragool

.......

inspried by Bram Stokers Dracular

The Fellowship of the Ring, companions join together to sing.

To sing in times of glory; to sing in times of loss, to sing for what matters and all the costs.

Frail Frodo gains his strength, hesitantly leading the way.

Around the corner, around the bend, wandering around to reach the end.

Not lost but determined.

Not ready but weary.

One Ring to destroy, all the fighters to deploy.

With Sam, Pippin, and Merry too.

True friends always come through.

When times are hard and the air is cold, you can bet they will continue marching on.

Be it the giants, orks, or Caradhras; nothing will stop the true friendship.

But alas in due time the fellowship will fall but everyone keeps holding on.

Holding on to desperation and hope, to wade through the dimming world.

He comes at dawn.

A last meal.

Last sleep.

A last prayer.

Last words.

It’s dawn. He came.

A last glare.

Last walk.

A last grimace.

Last breath.

The sudden drop pushed away all thoughts of the Hangman.

My latest eclectic poetry collection,

With numerous topics from deep introspection.

Chock full of verse,

Some pithy and terse,

But mostly tangential in every direction.

#poetry #limerick #amwriting #humor #challenge