HAUNTED HOUSE
Introduce you to Monty the mouse
Dwells in a haunted old house
many nights lies awake
thinks his life is at stake
These fears he's unable to douse
WARTY AND GNARLY
An old fellow who's warty and gnarly
Sings and sounds like Bob Marley
he's into reggae
a guitar he does play
Long ago he was baptised as Charlie
ROCK AND ROLLER
Betty's an old rock and roller
She walks with babe in a stroller
sometimes she will run
babes thinks it's much fun
Takes the dog with a lead on a collar
HOLD UP
Simon's a really fart smeller
But he once held up a bank teller
many years on the run
always armed with a gun
Ten years in a prison life's below stellar
Clad in mud, olive-brown, warts and slime,
Across the lawn, a slow, squat, toxic blight,
Dinner-plate menace, poisonous glands
The warty invader takes all our time,
Flesh-webbed feet in the dead of night—
Spreading fast over native lands.
Nothing stops them, not native nor hound,
We watch them, the curse,
All of the toads.
In thousands now on the ground,
Worse.
Ole warty toad,
on mossy road
where secrets bode
For man to learn,
and wisdom earn
from leafy fern
Where you hold court,
and make your sport
safe from retort
I must amuse,
'tis no such ruse
lest I refuse
A fool I've been,
frantic again
like Mother Hen
Too loud to hear,
now you are near
your secrets dear.
Winner first place: Any Living Thing, Charles Messina (Sponsor) 4/19/26
The Warty Toad swells
as I stomp by his hiding.
Zap! He eats a fly!
Winner 8th place: 1459 New Poem contest, Brian Strand (4/03/26)
WITCHES
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Whispers coil in chimney smoke,
Waning moon's thin silver cloak,
Weeds cling to graveyard stone,
Withered hands on bony knuckles,
Warty bumps and elongated nose,
Wax drips from candles slow on their alters, black.
Woven spells on midnight's breath—
Within every warty frog or toad
that you encounter on the road,
a hidden prince sleeping, lies,
though his tongue just catches flies;
and if I can persuade you this,
I suggest you give me a kiss.
He took an oath beneath the chandelier palace,
tongue lapping at furtive moth wings.
A crown of collectible bottle caps
balanced on his warty brow.
Lilith bowed as he passed,
her petals muttering oaths.
Tadpoles formed a scepter’s ascendency,
guiding his webbed ascent.
In the court of cattails and reeds,
he declared dominion over ripples.
Bullfrogs drummed a royal cadence,
while dragonflies danced in tribute.
But power is an annoying fly,
buzzing just beyond reach.
A heron’s aperture loomed large,
eyes shined with hunger.
Final words stung in the chasm:
“Long live the king.”
Then muted,
as the throne sank beneath the reeds.
The oligarchy but an orgy
We’ve never kissed a toad so warty
Hoping for a prince
Puckered with a wince
While they make the sieg heil sporty
***
Some old guy on a park bench
looks like Jesus,
if Jesus had lived to be some old guy.
I'm old, not really, really old
but I look older than that guy on the bench.
From his coat pocket
he scatters crumbs among the pigeons.
The birds are diseased, they got warty stumps for legs.
I know what stumps look like; seen way too many.
He looks at me and winks.
I don't think he's gay; don't care anyway.
I think he can read my mind,
because he just laughs and laughs
as if I had just told the best damn joke ever.
The pigeons rise up and fly away.
It's a beautiful sight,
sunlight speaks through their wing feathers.
Every one of them sick birds is beautiful.
I’m so caught-up in the moment
I forget about disease or stumps.
I still don’t get the joke - never will, I guess.
An late ebony night with trembling notes
gurgling sounds from moist throats
Where pickled cucumbers shrink in a jar
a lost night, no glow of heaven's stars
A multitude of creepy and muttering ghosts
haunts houses and churches to find their hosts
With rubber muscles and warty feet
imagine crawling down the cobblestone street
Whether you come or you leave, death smells close
Do not feel guilty it was just your time I suppose
Their shadows, with the evil hand of chance
never be tempted to join the dance
Wicked aged woman,
wreaking harm with cauldron,
warty nose, crafty eyes;
Wisdom sees through dark guise!
When riding purple broom,
wild crone cackles at moon.
Warblers on crimson skies.
Trouble, trouble stirs the wind
ghastly ghosts rise and ascend
warty toads croak
vile spells are spoke
witches’ covens evil intend
Burbling, gurgling cauldron hot
with purple vein, red blood clot
virgins hopeful eyes
fear and dread belies
throw them in and stir the pot
Screeching, screaming banshee songs
garish ghouls with pointy prongs
mulish mummies
reeking rummies
to evil spirits the night belongs
Trembling, tremoring witches fear
townsfolk are coming too near
sticks and stones
fire bemoans
the end becoming too clear
Freaking, shrieking their cry drums
slicing the air with its thrums
unwilling to face
they cut to the chase
quickly flee to save their bums
Though I'm ugly and I'm old,
And I'm fat and I'm bald,
And I'm grey and I'm cold;
I've still a story to be told …
I've never been a handsome prince
As far as I can tell;
Unless I lost my memory
During a witch’s evil spell!
I started my spawned life in a pond,
In that valley, there beyond,
I haven't always been a 'toad-in-the-hole',
I was once, a cute tadpole,
Hmmmn … those were the days.
I'm a source of fear for superstitious folk
The hapless butt of many a joke,
I'm not endearing, or the least bit cute,
With all the charm of a hob-nail-boot.
I’m not a worshiper of the sun,
My warty skin preferring it dank,
So I make my home in a shaded hole,
In a man-made stone hedge, or a bank.
You might think that I'm between
A rock and a hard place,
That I've got my back to the wall,
But it's me that's never worked,
Paid tax or had a mortgage,
And never had to go to school!
Once we shared
the same swizzle stick and paper plate,
ate the casserole no one else wanted,
but then there were the toads.
The Atlantic flushed, hands were washed,
the toads stayed to be reasons why.
I filled a storage unit with them,
at night I hear their forlorn croaking.
I’m hoping they'll evolve,
become less noxious.
You kept your toads also,
and wrote to say,
their warty appearance began to improve
the moment I left.
lost warty, watery words in horizons, coastal lost worthless, warm words shine~
4/5/21
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. ©2021
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