Sandy was a chocoholic,
The worst I've ever seen!
If she didn't eat some daily,
She'd become crazy mean!
It didn't matter what kind it was,
Ice cream, cake, pie or candy,
As long as it was chocolate,
Sandy was fine and dandy!
Then one day the unthinkable happened,
To the chocolate loving miss,
While eating her favorite candy,
She choked on a chocolate kiss!
"Death by chocolate," the coroner concluded,
As to the cause of Sandy's death.
At least she died doing what she loved,
Eating chocolate til her last breath.
11/21/11 for Natalie the Rogue Rhymer's
"Die a fun Death" contest
Morning light fills in the details
hidden by last night's new moon.
His pillow bears no dent, seems colder
than the draft that she needs to find
and fix, soon, before winter sets in.
It means going into the workshop,
poking through sticky, old drawers,
a territory that was never truly hers.
She must find the caulking gun and try
not to stare at that festooned hat,
the once well-cared for fishing gear
robed in cobwebs, a calendar unturned,
bowling trophies, an empty chair,
one model schooner never finished.
She pours a mug of coffee, though she
prefers tea, slowly steeped in a proper
pot, loose leaf oolong, nicely cozied.
His mug is too large, too practical, too grey,
and her small hand is more familiar with
English bone china, roses and ribbons,
the romantic pattern of their days.
There is a slight dip in the kitchen floor
as though he is still standing by the stove,
as though the tiles hold onto him, too.
Thirty years of omelets, his way-
polish sausage, spanish onion,
over cooked, over salted.
She expects to hear
the whisk, his voice, laughter.
Weekends they'd shop at the market,
Farm fresh eggs, he'd said, were best,
worth the trip and he'd indulge her
love of something sweet or
surprise her with marmalade,
clover honey in tiny jars.
She opens the fridge door, takes out the
cream and settles for toast with jam,
thinks about canceling his subscription
to Sports Illustrated, Rod and Reel,
but decides to wait until tomorrow.
She sees the egg carton, reads:
brown. free run. flax fed.
Some chickens just have it good,
he'd said. Oh, he'd said that often.
She stills and her shell breaks
as she notes the best before date...
Two months have passed since
her world expired.
When I think of the plight that children face all over the world
I just want to cry
Hunger starts and ends their everyday
As many of us continue to waste away
The scraps that we toss could save a child’s life
I’ll tell you the human race is nothing nice
We have no problem spending trillions on war
As children starve to death outside a millionaires store
They put locks on the dumpsters to keep them out
To greedy to give what they are throwing out
I watched a show just the other day
That showed Children just wasting away
Right there in their mothers arms
As I ate my giant bowl of lucky charms
Pirates raiding off the Somalia Coast
Because their children’s eyes are hollow as a ghost
If my Children were starving these words are true
Captain Hook wouldn’t hold a light to you know who
I think in the overhaul scheme of wrong and right
Mankind in general has lost all sight
Could you imagine kissing your child’s last breath?
The rich get richer as they starve to death
So as you all tuck your kids into bed tonight
Kids all over the world will lose their fight
They will simply lie down and die
To hungry to fight to weak to cry
Shelters that feed the Hungry are in every
town, when was the last time that you gave
something. No person is any greater than the
depth of their compassion. To give is to receive
for there is no greater blessing in this life. Keep
what you need and give the rest and the Lord will
make sure you never run out. God Bless, MJ
Written for Sami's contest
was taking a bath on hills.
Trees were waiting
for the curtains to rise.
Scented stars would make
giant scars on the clouds,
I would make peace with the sky.
Lids of human greed were laden
with golden dust, I was hoisting the skull.
Of a virgin god who did not
want to live for the blotched up creation.
The decline was obvious. Truth
had refused to climb
on the sky-blue, salted peaks of springs.
Body had arrived,
mourners quietly wailing.
Gouged eyes could not decipher
the script on the halved pyramid.
Sun was sucking the clay.
Dust covered crawled like worms, had no concern
Found on ground ripened apple’s bitter juice
Digging in gluttony without discern
Dark heart in matter chooses wrong produce
Climb from trunk to branches long journey true
Building without rest to sleep in cocoon
While feeding on nourishment from fruit grew
Rise from sleep to sail high sky like balloon
Head hung low, I walk the street-
Timid to feel the hangman's loss-
Every step on my blistered feet-
Takes me closer to, the Christian cross-
With every second, my soul does exhaust-
Heat-ridden cheeks from tears I cry-
Hide my eyes my shame is discreet-
Explain to me God, why must I die?
You say the hunger game I did cheat-
I see on that hangman's rope your hands across-
How close I was to starvation beat-
Why must I die for naught but sauce-
On bread instead of my usual moss-
I hope you see my little child cry-
Although to you unjust is a treat-
Hold him God on the day he will die-
With my head hung low, I walk the street-
My family will feel the hangman;s loss-
No more will I walk upon these blistered feet-
Family go, live your life by the Christian Cross-
For my soul is tired, don't let your life exhaust-
My dear sweet loved ones there is no need to cry-
No more reason for you to stand all so discreet-
I am happy at last, on the day that I die-
I will live the rest of my life upon a Christian's Cross-
These murderers relax themselves on their own lie-
In a few short moments I won't feel anymore loss-
I will lift up my head and all so proudly I will die-
TO THE FACTORY
TO THE SLAUGHTER
TO THE TABLE
INTO THE GREEDY MOUTHS
GOODBYE LAMBS, PIGS AND COWS
Heaven's Rainbow Bridge
green grass and blue skys
fresh water and food to eat
no hunger--no pain
dear friends wait beyond
prismatic spectrumed colours
heaven's rainbow bridge
In 1994, William N. Britton wrote the , "Legend of Rainbow Bridge". It is a hope filled story of where all (pets) "special friends" go when they leave this earth. It's a place of "beautiful meadows, grassy hills...fresh spring water...plenty of their favorite food to eat...others to play with...". That place is called "Rainbow Bridge" and it is where they wait until we get there, "just this side of Heaven", so we may go in together. db
He already knows something is wrong, but he doesn't know what or where. He studies my direction hard, but I'm just a clump of dead wood. A mosquito lands under my eye. Oh, the torture! Don't twitch, Caleb ... don't you dare twitch! Forty yards now ... not quite close enough for a sure kill ... closer now ... thirty yards. I wait for him to turn his head away from me, and raise my bow. But I can't draw, not yet. He's looking at me again. A squirrel catches his attention for a moment ... just enough ... and I slowly draw back. The wood of my longbow creaks a bit at its limit, and his eyes dart to me. No, clever old buck ... I'm just the wind in a tree. He's nervous, but I can't loose the arrow while he's looking at me. He'll dodge it for sure. My fingers ache ... white as dead flesh under the pressure I'm holding back. He looks away, and my arrow flies. The twang is enough warning for him to duck ... he's so fast! But I'm crafty too, and I knew he would duck, so I aimed low. The arrow enters behind his front shoulder, passing through his heart and out the other side. Still, he runs for nearly four hundred yards before his legs give out and he falls. His last breaths are leaving him when I reach the scene, and I mercifully put an end to it with a well placed knife blade. I go to my knees beside him and stroke his coat, in awe of the creature before me. I thank him for his death and meat. I didn't enjoy killing him, not for a moment, but I'm hungry ... and that's the way of it. His blood tastes metallic and hot as I take a bite of his freshly stopped heart, like my ancestors did. I run bloody fingers across my eye, so I might wear his mark and remember his sacrifice. And while I pack his body out to be taken home and shared, to give life back, the other animals will know who I am and what I came for. I am the hunter, neither wasteful nor cruel. I know what feeds my body, and where the life comes from. I saw the life before it was given, and took it as well. One day my own death will come, and the worms will hunt me, giving me back to the plants. Deer will pass, and I pray that I might feed them, just as they have fed me. I am the hunter.
It was the Southern French window blowing open
he came in the night no word spoken
The eyes so sensual and piercing me as if nothing matters
he is all I think of now as each day I grow weaker
I will soon die unsure of my fate
my life I will give to him a offering I ask him to take
This man so desirable with dark eyes and hair
even if he is not a man but a beast
I no longer care I submit to the last drop of blood
As I lay with a cotton white gown in a locked room
I throw my rope of Garlic far to be seen
Nothing can stop this now longing and lustful
feeling like I'm in a forever dream
I wait for him too enter
I wait for him
willing to die
I wait losing my Religion
The Vampires offering am I
" For That Archaic Poets contest " Shanity Rain