Stray ghouls are just zombie shrunken heads
being voodoo capitalist misled
Ricochet fishing for the ocean blue,
deep pocket dollars:
The green algae money
buried at the ethical wavy,
graveyard bottom
Hollow days come every pointless, peon payday,
as creditors delight
in debt shopping their widow maker wares
The pillaging, high priestess of bloodsport pleasure
lay many burglar, prey desires bosom bare
Inorganic idols ... phallic-shaped things;
moral mettle melts
at first grove, sacrificial trigger offering
Heated cries coming from
empty vow chambers
Crosshair eyes scope the killing view
Snuff the stitched mouths ...
get paid by the aged, smoking barrel
Follow the lemming violent trail,
collect the stained spent shells
Empty chambers got an earth bed full,
many died in the throes of hate
Envy green hearts using their lead tools,
leaving death marks —
Bullet holes in the picked pocket of fools
I tried my hand at a magic trick,
it was supposed to make others sick,
so while the blood was flowing
I knew I would need sewing...
Can someone stitch an artery, quick?
Debbie Guzzi
Contest Name
For Love of Language
Cricket-Rounders
A new bloodsport in the town,
We call it Cricket-Rounders,
The bowler runs up to the pitch, (22 yard run)
And the bouncer surely crowds ya, (rising ball gets ya)
A cricket ball as hard as iron,
At a hundred miles an hour,
If it gets you in the head,
On ya grave we put the flowers,
So ya better wear head protectors,
Good gloves upon ya hands , (broke fingers)
Borrow Joel Garner from the West Indies yes, (world champ bowler, cricket)
He’d bowl ya outa the grand stand.
When ya run tween the bases, keep ya eyes upon the flic,
The ball is coming to knock ya down , with bruises bloody quick, (knock down yer out)
If ya hit the ball over the fence it’s a bloody six,
And to the boundary only four, so eat your weety bix, (3 strikes yer out)
11 men a side till they’re bowled or caught/knocked out,
Bruises are good for heroes, yes no bloody doubt,
A world wide game it is to be, a war on the field of battle,
Don’t forget to duck your head for sure,
Or yer brain might start to rattle…
Cricket bat or baseball bat for the batter. … Pad up…
Don Johnson invention 3-nov-11
Bloodsport
~~~~~~~~~
Children of the darkness
Massing with the waxing swell of our mistress Luna
As the canines elongate prenatal sight sees it
An unsuspecting naked city
Their feasting ground where many foolish herd beast
stalk the night as hunters ignorant of near lifesend
As the living shadows with burning nocturnal eyes
writhe and approach hunger is all consuming
Simpleton fools unclean in spirit and the flesh
This peril is never seen or heard, by would be killers
Judged and found wanting by the true nightstalkers
Hell bound and damned
A bloodless carcass left for the rodentia brethren
This gathering horde consume a wasted morsel
but it’s just an appetizer there’s much more to come
With the nights waxing, well before dawn they revel
in yet another unholy tantric blood feast
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