The sly full old wigget rageful and warned
Of any child on Halloween day born
Forlorn tis told of these blackland tards
The evil eye each blackish child thus born
Beware-beware-the blackland tards
How these but look upon a child’s innocence face
Besieged to become impaled as stone-frozen in place
Yet the haggard old wigget is credence for our dismay
Thus before dark can children safely play
Beware-beware-the blackland tards
For the blackland tards are hungry you see
We who are the prey must the darkness flee
Flee the shadows of questionable clandestinity
Safe in thy bed-covers above one’s head-thou art privy
Beware-beware-the blackland tards
But at last take care-venture ye nay from thy light
For seizing the curious they will give thee deathful fright
Doth the blackland tards doth lerk in wait
A dredful death and a meal you make
Beware-beware- the blackland tards
Mark A. Goodson
written for the Halloween contest
September 28, 2012
The grass is a pale yellow
The sky groans above it
The children play on the grass
And their feet crunch on the grass
Like snow in the winter-time
And I envy the Scottish, the Irish.
The plow rusts in the soil
The companion of labour and toil
Lies encased in the muck of
The Blackland Prairie.
The lifeless form steering the John Deere
Probably drunk on cheap bitter beer
Pilots the monster through forest
Driving Pan and the Satyrs away
And this is only another day
Of destruction on the prairie.
And Suburbia is built
On top of God's earth, and false names,
Deceitful names, are given to the editions:
Woodcreek, Sunny Peak, Deer Leap
Where the creek is dry
The sun refuses to shine
And the deer is extinct.
The wind cuts like a razor
Through the few trees that remain.
The people drive their cars
While their children sit inside,
Playing their video games, seeing stars
Their brains already dead.
And the rain does not come
Because of man's greed, and
Off the highway to Hell
Lies a young sapling, full of
Promise, waiting to live,
Then stripped from the earth by
The jaws of the yellow monster.
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