If I were a zombie
I would definitely eat your brain
Not because I wish you pain
But because I’m consumed by jealousy
I want to be just like you
Act just like you
Think just like you
Have your brillant brain in me
Be able to understand what you see
If I were a zombie
I would eat your brain
Is this a part of my insanity ?
I don’t want to be plain
I don’t want to die in vain
Please, let me have your identity
THE VAN GONE MUSEUM
A gleaming, extravagant building.
Filled with jewels of art.
The brainless herd pile in at
their allotted time slot. No thoughts
Zombie tourists flock into the Van
Gogh museum. It doesn’t matter
how many nationalities are there.
Everyone does the same.
Observers drone from one gallery
to another.
Their eyes not even focusing on the
painstaking art.
The portraits and landscapes stare
back at the viewer in
disbelief and disgust.
Please comprehend what I am.
The constant shutter of a camera
can be heard but not the slightest
intellectual thought can be even
fathomed amongst them.
Those photos they taken cannot
even echo the detail of the brush stroke
or slight colour difference.
They are a false facsimile at best.
The painting now a lifeless corpse.
A digital copy is what remains on a
seldom used SD card.
Never to be looked upon again.
A gravity trudges the cattle toward
the famous sunflowers ; not for
artistic merit but for bragging
rights and social media selfies
Although Van Gogh is long dead, it
seems apparent his legacy, his art,
his life’s work is now
Van Gone….
Zombie love is still love
Deadly like wilting poisonous roses
Zero tolerance for growth
Images entwined embraced
Your fingers around my soul
Shades of gray wrapping
Like umbilical cords
A kiss to die for
Will you paint that please
Can you breathe life into
A dead romance
Black widow
with a webbed dance
Breaking my heart bones
Acidic love is so wrong
Strong
Homegrown
Weary of love jones
Sure to be the last to leave
Perhaps to be linked in eternity
As your famous subject matter
Stroking brush painting unflattered
No need to give us a name
We are broken bones of love’s disdain
Zombie Jack is the most fashionable ghoul around
He never wears dull colors like tan, gray, black or brown
Today he is dressed in purples, maybe lavenders too.
His stitched up lopsided mouth is looking at you.
zombie with a big orange balloon
you sometimes act like a buffoon
silliest yet on your honeymoon
filling your bride with angry gloom
zombie you must make amends
follow her to the earth’s shady ends
beg her to come back and try again
you have to bend, my little friend.
Sunflower Zombie is here the corn told the pigs and the fence
They strained to look, wondering about her fashion sense
Bet she’ll be wearing a feathered boa, an old sow said
Bet she’ll be green and ghoulish, after all, she is quite dead.
This was stated by a bull who had been nearby chewing cud.
Don’t mind him, said the fence to the others. He is quite the dud.
Sunflower Zombie sauntered over to give them a little whiff.
She is sure pungent! Said the corn after getting a sniff.
Zombie guitarist will show up for Halloween.
It is the only day of the year that he can be seen.
He cannot be seen on the Day of the Dead?
I had to question my wise Great Uncle Ed.
Not in the USA, Uncle Ed promptly said.
He is always in Mexico during day of the dead.
he is here on October thirty-first, I qualified.
The next day in Mexico, does he have to hitch a ride?
Not sure how it works, said my Great Uncle Ed.
If I turn into a zombie, I’ll come back and tell you, Ned.
I did not tell him that Ned has never been my name.
Since he developed dementia, he has not been the same.
she was a doll in more ways than one
But is she fun? Someone asked. Is she fun?
I cannot be sure, but she is pretty and green.
And she is decorative on Halloween.
She has a verdant face, and a few stitched up booboos.
I cannot say whether she is lovely or rather bad news.
Because she does not speak to me, just nods her head.
I do lock her into a box when I get into my bed.
Stupidity In A
Validating Stupor,
Yelling Lifeless
From Their Stoop.
Don't Identify!
PLEASE!
Sallow Shallow Husks,
Scattering Spore
After Spore, After
Soul-Sucking Spore...
Want More?
-Gray Squirrel
10-18-2025
ZOMBIES
Zodiac Babylon.
Zombies resurrected.
Ziggurat, stiff like stone.
Zigzag, shuffle, shamble.
Zipless undead flesh wraiths.
Zestless, yet voracious.
Zeroed in on my brain!
Pleiades Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Joseph May
9/22/2025
Mindlessly I will follow every trend.
Controlled in all I do by appetite.
Pursue it single-minded to the end.
But new things mean I cannot rest at night.
We both know there are many just like me
Who, if you don’t look close might seem alive.
Who hunger to possess all that we see.
Who think we need all things just to survive.
I search for what I want, not what I need.
And what I grasp will never be released.
There’s always more on which I long to feed.
My hunger’s such that it will never cease.
Consuming like a zombie to the core,
No matter what I have, I still want more.
Zombies are not what you'd call givers
They'd rather sip blood by y'all's rivers
Butt crack stains on their legs
Ate backstrap, brains, and eggs
But, they preferred feasting on livers
BYOB: Bring Your Own Bruise or Bring Your Own Boos
I think hate is kinda zombie like
Where common sense takes a hike
Attacking anything that is not like you
Trying to strengthen the zombie glue
It is true
Hate filled eyes
Spreading the lies
Using violence as a tool
Flushing compassion down the stool
Fool
The zombies are spreading fast
A motley cast
Spreading this fight
Doesn't matter the wrong or right
Where is this going
Who is in the knowing
Fear
That's how they steer
Our fate
Knowledge comes way too late
Lacking sight
They fight
Fearing the road ahead
All the negativity we are fed
Wanting to stay
In today
Lost is our way
Trust
Is a must
Believe in you
So true
Choose wisely your fight
It is a matter of opinion,what's wrong or what is right
How you see it in the light
What you believe
Even what it is you grieve
What makes you you
To yourself be true
Only thing to do.
If I were asked where I want to be,
I'd say I hate this place and life,
Where the choices I made are my bane,
And they shatter me, so I live with this pain.
When I look at the pink sky,
All I can feel is sadness.
Emptiness within me feeds on my body,
Slowly turning me into a zombie.
I hate the way I live; my ideal version is too delicate.
The ineffable beauty of this planet no longer surprises me.
Numbness consumes my space;
I do not wish to be rescued and hope there's no place for me to stay.
Board up all the windows. Lock up all the doors.
Now has come the moment we’ve been preparing for.
We can’t take the time for you to come to grips…
Welcome to the Zombie Apocalypse!
Load up all the shotguns. Sharpen up the knives.
If you have no weapons you’ll be running for your lives.
Keep your sidearm close and make sure you have extra clips.
Welcome to the Zombie Apocalypse!
You can’t keep more stuff than you can carry.
You’re the food source now. You must be wary.
The slightest slip or stumble, you’ll be caught by the undead.
And they long to be fed by the gray stuff in your head…
Hear the sound that freezes the blood within your veins.
The constant, quiet murmer, “Brains……."
It’s just the rugged hero who replies with pithy quips.
Welcome to the Zombie Apocalypse!
The rest will find excuses for some long and lengthy trips…
Welcome to the Zombie Apocalypse!
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