“Blood Baths”
by Positive Mark
It’s the battle hymn of the furious,
birthed and composed in the bold minds of the curious.
Blood baths are luxurious.
Trendsetters
carving out grooves for the bed wetters.
Howling at moons, sharpening spoons on their lead fetters.
It’s cold out front, and backlashes sting.
Desensitized by the gospels you sing.
You wail.
You admonish them to stop.
Old prayers sent to Heaven for a new cosmic slop.
Case files opened on a day of judgement.
Those who did it to ‘em, and all those who loved it.
Battle hymns are raised to release the spirit.
Aerosolized blood gets mixed in with the lyrics.
Why are you here?
What were you told?
Scare to die now, or scared to grow old?
Live for salvation or die for the loot?
Kneel for the reaper or shoot?
War
War is real
It’s bad for your health
They send you to death
And embellish their wealth
War is necessary
The propagandists rev you
Til you hate the scum
Who have families like you
Sister, wife and mum.
You’ll fight for freedom
While you do as your told
The blood in your veins
Becomes icy cold.
Your name on a monument
Your wife touches the letters
Your kids cry at night
Becoming bed wetters
War is real
A trench full of ghosts
A bomblet of agony
Turns your skin into toast.
David Cox 19/01/24
A “fat psychic” is a “four chin teller”
A yukker from my extensive comedy cellar
Where my funnies lie
With my barbiturate supply
Joshing in case some people are bed wetters
Take the word “TRUMP”, reverse it and change two letters
You get “SMURK” sorry couldn't come up with anything better
Not appropriate for a sitting prez
But it's free speech the constitution sez
He's changing a lot of peeps into a bunch of bed wetters
Politics are run by children who've never growed up
Cry for their Mommies if they don't get their sippy cup
Us common folk could do better
Than these bunch of bed-wetters
Time to start over with a brand new bunch of coconuts
A “fat psychic” is a “four chin teller”
A yukker from my extensive comedy cellar
Where my funnies lie
With my barbiturate supply
Joshing in case some people are bed wetters
Politics are run by children who've never growed up
Cry for their Mommies if they don't get their sippy cup
Us common folk could do better
Than these bunch of bed-wetters
Time to start over with a brand new bunch of coconuts
Politics are run by children who've never growed up
Still cry for their Mommies if they don't get their sippy cup
Us common folk could do better
Than these bunch of bed-wetters
Time to start over with a brand new bunch of coconuts
Take the word “TRUMP”, reverse it and change a few letters
You get “PERVURT” sorry couldn't come up with anything better
Not appropriate for a shitting prez
But it's free speech the constitution sez
It's changing a lot of yankees into a bunch of bed wetters
MARRIAGES
Governor Gerry Brown marries Amanda Rice
She becomes Amanda Brown-Rice - look!
David Soul and Marguerita Cook? She’s become a Soul-Cook
Stephen Fry and Amanda Fish -- the Fry-Fish couple - nice!
One of the Brothers Grimm married a girl called Betsy Reaper
Soon she was a Grimm-Reaper to be seen.
He’s Mr. Black. She’s Ms green, now turned Black-Green,
A close friend of John Windows-Peeper.
Going round to visit the Bird-Trappers tonight?
No honey, thought I’d pop in and see the Trouser-Wetters.
……………………………………………………………………………………………………………..
NOTE
All these unusual surnames really exist and many more besides; and the
trend to double-barreling names sometimes does produce funny results .
Demons can not always be slain,
In attempts to make life better.
Sometimes, the greatest "go getter"
Answers to the call of the pain.
Pain always separates the sane
People from being eye wetters,
Or from people whose death letter
Is the only thing that remains.
Not all people get back their groove.
This fact can not be debated.
Mentally, people try to move
Each issue that was created.
Now, this evidence clearly proves
That life was meant to be hated.
RETURN TO NEIGHBORHOOD III
Where kids had the run-o’-the-place
Noisy
Dirty
Smelly brats
In-and-out
Everywhere!
Like a shot!
There was imagination.
Games ad lib
A terrible wonderful use of neighborhood
An awful rollicking use of the day
Where a poor aproned mom must scrub and scrub
The tub on Saturday nights
No begging a child to go to bed
Hell! He fell asleep at the dinner table
There were bed-wetters
Nose pickers
Clothesline-tent revealings
All secret explorations not even the adult will
admit to
I blush in shame for just a minute or two
Oh I fit so furtively so sweaty red-faced young
Give me the world you live in;
through blood,
I have found it to be mine,
and all that is in it,
can be mine as well.
Gift to me the day
and the sun that lights it;
the moon and all its claimed nights,
its nights drowned in the dreams of bed-wetters,
those can be yours.
Bring me the stars
and the planets made from rock,
so that I may hurl them into the creeks
and watch as they skip off,
out of sight,
far off into the untouched depths of my world.
Bring me all that you know,
all that you want and wish for,
bring me all this,
and bring me vanities so true,
the heart of man would reject them...
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