Long Off her head Poems
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I grabbed my steel machete and chopped off her head.
She is dead now, she is dead now, she is cement dead.
My first husband slept through it, I can hear him snore.
I got my boss, I can get you too, I say, my imagination full of gore.
My hazel eyes pop open and I realize I have done it again.
I kill my boss nightly, in my dream world, surely this is a sin.
But she deserves it, I think. My latest review was mean.
She is haughty and stuck up, fancies herself a queen.
During the day at work I pretend I like this arrogant woman a lot.
I fawn and grovel, pretending she is not Kansas City's biggest snot.
Today she was talking college words way above my head again.
I visualized myself cutting her measly throat, surely this is a sin.
Are you with me? She haughtily asked as she graphed.
I saw the ornamental sword on the wall and I laughed.
Seeing her head rolling around on the floor helped me a lot.
I cannot wait to see what I do in my dream tonight to the snot.
A magical faerie horse pranced on my window sill.
Waking me up when she whispered “Hey Bill”.
Purple with sheer happiness, she ate pickles dill.
She told me this immediately, then ate her fill.
I did not even know those pickles were there I said.
She laughed so hard her mane flew off her head.
Are you real? I asked her as I blinked from my bed.
Or have I died? Am I a spirit or kind of dead?
The magical faerie horse comes nightly now.
She prances around; her shows are a wow.
She still calls me Bill, which seems rather odd.
And sometimes she brings me her cat, Ole Clod.
Ole Clod is a terror, who calls me Luke.
He is a mouse-chaser, whom you cannot rebuke.
You can try to ignore him but he’ll claw you up.
He usually arrives after a late chili sup.
I was breathing brick mad.
Fire truck kick off the side of a cliff bad.
My face was fury full.
There was no hiding it.
I was infuriated,
Wishing I had a machete or a sword.
Slicing off her head, or her hand
Might have been a bit of satisfaction.
I had been way too good to her.
I spent the day thinking how ungrateful she is.
Thinking how embarrassing it is to be this betrayed.
Wondering how I could make her pay, and in a mean way.
I was banshee-screaming, crying, wailing, sailing mad.
I threw things around, cut things up, and sliced up wallpaper.
Nothing was safe. I was in full revenge girl mode.
Wailing and keening did not help. I was breathing brick mad.
Written Feb. 10, 2019
Sponsor: Nina Parmenter
Contest: Capture the Emotion
Thunderous is the sound of Black
darkening the sky and
booming with a loud crack
Soothing is the sound of Green
leaves dancing in the breeze
and making one feel serene
Loud is the sound of Red
blood streaming from someone
screaming off her head
Silence is the sound of Blue
in a clear sunny sky which is
very tranquillizing too
Crunchy is the sound of White
icy snow lying on the ground
creating a beautiful sight
Mellow is the sound of Yellow
leaves sighing in the breeze
while falling to the earth below
Babbling is the sound of Colourless
water flowing in a rippling brook
on a ground filled with bumpiness
Boisterous is the sound of Crimson
rage from an angry mob
who pay no heed to reason
Whispering is the sound of Pink
flushed skin of sensuality
with an aphrodisiac drink
Pompous is the sound of Purple
representing royalty and
other aristocratic people
Mr Wiz, Munchkin Land
Be so kind to lend a hand...
Cartwheeling cottage? how daft is that
Landed quite safely, all level and flat
Some midget fellow said, who else heard that
I think ‘Wicked Westie’ might just have gone splat
Tin men and lions and blokes full of straw
Red shoes and rainbows and bricks on the floor
Witches determined to lay down the law
Little dog yapping and blue birds galore
Lion so scared he’s effectively tame
Geezer wants ticker inside his tin frame
The chap with a head full of straw wants a brain
Dorothy wants to go home... shame
Old men and wizards, one and the same
Thinks Dottie’s plight is a bit of a game
hidden away in a small secret room
Tells her, ‘Go forth and fetch me a broom’
But Dot knows a half decent witch from up north
This tale’s full of witches and she’s third or fourth
With witches from east and west done up like kippers
The North witch gives Dottie the west witch’s slippers
Dimwit companions, each a good fellow
Prancing about on a road painted yellow
Keep Dottie safe from that nasty grim reaper
Present to the wizard the requisite sweeper
And lo, he's impressed and he loudly applauds her
But this dodgy wizard’s a bit of a fraudster
Spouts loads of stuff about going home soon
But then he clears off in his hot air balloon
The lion got brave and the scarecrow got clever
The tin man’s new heart might well beat forever
Ain’t no pleasing Dottie, she can’t go home, never
Them slippers, said Northy, click em together
So she clicked them together, those slippers in red
There’s no place like home she repeatedly said
Sounds like she might have been right off her head
But then she wakes up and shes home in her bed
And so, Mr Wiz, this may be remiss
But what do you think...
Could you film this?
16 November 2018
Teacher sey mi stupid
I wonder if a hol' a gun to her head she would still think I am stupid?
Because I don't come from upper St. Andrew mi nuh have the right to a good education?
Yuh label mi stupid and handicap
Where is the hope for me
My father don't sit in parliament so I am not good enough to become someone
My parents a foot soldier them nuh drive nuh Benz
So stupid is all I am
Teacher sey she a go kill mi in seven day
Life unfair... if I said that...I would be in jail
Shake mi head ...call mi gang fi lick off her head yuh hear sey mi wicked
Life unfair
Yuh never hear when she sey she a go kill mi
Stupid...handicap...that how you all see me
Then when I pick up a gun then society ask ....why my yout'?
Because you label me stupid.
You never expect anything of me
I never got a chance
If you don't expect nothing of me, who will Miss?
Stupid...Handicap that's how you see me
That's all you see in me
No hope for me
So when I rob and kill just remember you made me what I am
That's all you expect of me
Where is my role model
You cant be the person I want to become
If stupid is all you see in me
how can you expect more from me
If stupid is all you see
Then you don't see me
PORTRAIT OF MURDER
How can one human being
Take another one’s life,
Now they are dead,
Seconds ago they were alive!
Bludgeoned to death,
With a hammer or crowbar,
Body dumped in a river
By a waterfall, quite far,
Suffocated and Strangled
With an old electric cord and
Plastic bag by the roadside,
Help, murder she cried,
But,there was nowhere to hide!
I so wish I was able to invent,
Something that could prevent,
These insensible crimes,
These blood thirsty killers,
(I think I’ve watched too many,
TV thrillers).
Or otherwise,
Throw these inhumane monsters
To animals in a zoo,
The animals won’t starve, for there
Are certainly more than a few!
Please come quick said a frantic
Voice on the nine one, one phone
Wants to kill me, has already shown
Me the knife,
Hurry, Hurry he’s about to take my life,
Then the line goes dead,
Did he cut off her head……………….
If someone killed my sister, wife or brother,
Or perhaps my daughter son or mother,
I would seek these people or person out,
Without a shadow of a doubt,
They would have to pay,
In kind, as the Old Testament does say,
And Eye for an Eye, and a
Tooth for a tooth,
And this I swear would be the
Absolute truth!
Of course if I caught him,
I could let him loose,
As he was a reputed killer,
The crowds would have ready
His noose!
Murderers, Rapists, Paedophiles
And the like, have a black soul,
They are evil,
And only create chaos and upheaval.
Recently a friend’s mother
Was strangled for a wristwatch,
I am angry
Disgusted and sad, hope I never
Hear of another!
Bang the gavel. Bang it again.
It's Judgment Day for my children.
Bang the gavel. Bang it again.
I sit on my Throne, a figure on High
To pronounce Judgment from my seat in the sky.
It's Judgment Day for my children. They tremble before me.
I sit on my Throne, a figure on High.
Three sons and a daughter down on their knees. Begging for mercy.
It's Judgment Day. Bang the gavel. Bang it again.
The first defendant arises. My only daughter.
She kneels before me, head bowed, hands clasped. Begging for mercy.
She recites her litany of offenses against me.
Should I cut off her head or merely sever her knee?
Now my first son, a strongman, comes to his feet
Massive muscles trembling before me
He cut me off hard at age thirty-six
Not a phone call or test, not even a card
I ponder whether I should burn him to death in a tub of pig lard.
Let him beg for mercy.
My last two sons stand up together. They're good boys, respectful,
kind to me and kind to my wife.
There's no doubt in my mind that I'll be sparing their life
It's Judgment Day for my children. They tremble before Me.
I sit on my Throne, a figure on High.
I call my daugher to the bench: "What do you have to say
in your defense, miserable wench?"
She breaks down in tears that melt down her years. Before me stands
a mere lass of nine.
"I'm so sorry, Dad," she whimpers. "I treated you like dirt," she simpers.
"Off with her head," I shout, proclaiming her sentence.
I sit on my Throne, a figure on High.
******************
But I am not God. I have no gavel to bang nor Throne to sit on
Neither am I any figure on High.
My judgment is flawed, as are my decisions
All of them models of judicial imprecision
Only one thing I know and I know that thing only:
God, the True Judge, requires us only
To act justly, love mercy, and walk humbly before Him.
So, my just action will be
to love mercy and walk humbly:
"Come back, my daughter.
Return, my son.
I forgive you completely!
~ Can you forgive me?"
June 28, 2018