Now listen to what I tell you,
it’s something you all need to learn,
of a creature who walks in daylight,
where vampires sizzle and burn.
You’ll know them by their complexion,
all are tanned, some darkened by the light,
their teeth are freakishly even,
and lord how they do love to fight!
There’s no magic to their methods,
just their accursed technology,
knives, flamethrowers, and all those guns,
shooting things at high velocity.
They take the garlic that kills us,
and they eat it, they think it’s great!
If you really get them pissed off
they rampage and exterminate.
You wonder why so few of us
can be found when the sun goes down?
These daywalkers will dig us up
and stake our bodies to the ground!
But worst of all is how they feed,
it’s so savage it will stop your breath,
they don’t feed on blood to survive,
they cut up and eat your very flesh!
Leaving nothing but bones behind,
and sometimes they take even those,
I’ve seen them crack the bones open
and slurp out the very marrow!
They even turn the night to day,
use their tools to see your body heat,
I swear you must beware the humans,
to them we are nothing but meat…
Categories:
flamethrowers, fun, horror, humanity, humor,
Form: Rhyme
There was no clear move.
Flamethrowers were on the way-
and I was looking,
backward.
A fragile truce with the
clouds. They had abandoned-
the sky and were wringing-
the neck of mountains.
Compromising with the painted lips
of winter, my secret was out.
I was shivering in the crowd
of moon-gazers.
Satish Verma
Categories:
flamethrowers, art,
Form: ABC
Something horrible happened seven years ago.
My town was terrorized by my evil scarecrow.
My scarecrow was the victim of a witch's curse.
It took me over a year to get the spell reversed.
My scarecrow ate all of the crows in my crops.
My scarecrow was blood thirsty and didn't stop.
It started killing people, it even bit off my father's head.
My dad stumbled around for a minute and fell over dead.
People shot it and used flamethrowers but it wasn't even phased.
It killed three hundred people during its blood thirsty craze.
I stopped it with a passage that I found in a voodoo book.
I spoke the incantation and that was all it took.
It was great when I stopped it in its tracks.
But the victims it killed can't be brought back.
If you have a scarecrow, you'd better stay awake.
While you sleep, you may be the first victim that it takes.
(THIS IS A FICTIONAL POEM.)
Categories:
flamethrowers, death, on writing and
Form: Rhyme