Frankenstein Poems

Stitches

Shelley wove us a tale of a monster more a man
A fleshy beast without, a broken heart within
Created in hubris and sin
Stitched together and broken
Again and again.

Frayed and tattered
Unraveled and splintered
Brittle and battered
Bled out and injured

Held together by needle and thread
Less alive and more or less dead
A patchwork man, soulless and cold
Unmended scars numbers untold

I

Frankenstein 1818

Frankenstein 1818
 A long time ago, there was a creepy guy from 1818.
 He stood very tall in green.
 The author Mary Shelley told the story.
 Way back then it was gorry.
 To create a creature.
 Held up in a castle not to be bothered.
 A scientific experiment.
 With lightning for evidence.
 A race to

Frankenstein Butterfly

Butterfly, 'tis plain to see 
we are enchanted, so, with thee.
You inspire us to write poetry.

"You are beautiful", I say and sigh. 
That we love you, it's no wonder why.
Yet, when I see the way you fly,

I ask, "is too much nectar like wine?"
You do not fly in a straight line,
my dear insectoid Frankenstein.

Ghost of Frankenstein

    Horror-stricken and
struggling in pools of cold sweat…  
     ghost of Frankenstein

The Ghost of Frankenstein

It’s hubris, I suppose, down in my soul,
To think the ends will justify all means.
And thinking that all rules are drab and dull
I end up being blown to smithereens.

But truly I know what is for the best!
Thus, whispers little demons in my ears.
Consider it a type of sacred quest
And follow your own heart and not

The Ghost of Frankenstein - Things to Come

You’d recreate a military hero?
Macarthur, maybe? Nimitz? Pershing? Sherman?
Or would you choose a leader from the past?
Suppose you went for Mussolini – Nero –
(I can’t remember what they called that German):
but stuff like this is happening today -
(the things that they can do with DNA!)
One rumour is, we’re getting Ethel Merman!
You’d vote for Conway Twitty?

Frankenstein, or Just The Monster

I feel nothing, and everything.
An empty echo.
Trapped, screaming but yawning.
I go unheard.

There is a spark, 
A promise of reanimation
In endless pools of blue.

I can die and live
A thousand lifetimes
In an interlocked gaze…

But what happens
When the jolt 
No longer
Reanimates
The dead.

Frankenstein Sinatra

You’ve really done it this time Frank.
You’ve made the worst mess ever seen -
A monster, hideous and rank,
A disaster, vile and obscene.
For yourself, what d’ya have to say? 
Well, says Frank, “I did it my way”.

Frankenstein or His Monster?

We know the dire story of Jekyll and Hyde
Where a man’s potion made his nature divide.
In real life, it’s not easy to separate
Ourselves like eggs and potatoes on a plate.
If man is made in God’s image, then it’s fate
That God has some evil, and men replicate.
Everyone, everywhere, has a bit of both -
There’s evil in

My Electric Caress

I never trashed my convictions
She told me what I wanted to hear
To conceal and concede 
People say take 2nd place
I can't watch a player take my roll
Settle for atrophic friend
happy to be at the beginning of the book called  If I had a wish
Was I head over or over my head who knew
Did I

Happy Valloween!

Roses are red, goblins are green
Just like my buddy, Frankenstein
Well, it’s February fourteenth
And I don’t have a valentine
So let’s declare it Valloween
And now, my love, won’t you be mine?

Frankenstein's Monster

Take the dead;
use their parts
to make a wretch,
this morbid art—
Frankenstein, Frankenstein!
You are to blame
for the deadness
in your heart.

Great scientists
applaud you,
what— because you
play a god!
Frankenstein, Frankenstein!
Broad paths
are better
left untrod.

Look in the mirror;
See the true beast!
You are the nightmare
stealing your sleep!
Oh, Frankenstein;
The self is the
monster that haunts
you—haunts me.

Welcome To the Club Frankenstein

On Halloween beneath the full moon
Both the Wolfman and Dracula drools
The fun will begin when the Witches drop in
It's another night out with the Ghouls

You'll find a host of dancing Demons
Followed by Ghosts and Goblins galore
There'll be flesh to dine at Club Frankenstein
You just pick what you want off the floor

All the drinks comes straight

The Wrath of Frankenstein

It was the eve of Halloween,
In a mansion on Haunted Hills.
The yearly gathering of Ghouls,
For poker and a couple of chills.

The Mummy was first to arrive,
Then the Wolfman and Frankenstein.
All were guests of Count Dracula,
Who offered each a glass of wine.

They all sat down at the table,
A game of stud poker began.
The Count drew a

Inner Frankenstein

They call me the poetic master
a genius storyteller
writing poetry
channels the inner Frankenstein in me
with a simple press of a key
in each rhyme and stanza:

I can craft a lucid love story
into a dynamic Romeo and Juliet tale!

I can craft a smooth nature poem
into an oil painting of figurative language!

I can craft a facile poem of Bahamian

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