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Tuesday, 7 October 2014

Zombie Reunion

Down by the graveyard,
There’s a radiation spill.
Here comes aunt Matilda,
And here comes Uncle Bill.

There’s Bobby-Joe the Second,
The Third and then the First.
They’re comin’ up together,
Though they never shared a hearse.

Now Great-Grandma Belinda-Sue
Is beatin’ Auntie Bess.
They never could see eye-to-eye,
And never will, I guess.

Cousin Bob and cousin Jill
Are draggin’ cousin Jack
They’re gonna chuck him in his grave,
Cause they don’t want him back.

Great-grandpappy Johnny-Earl
Is digging up his dad.
He’s thinking still about the will;
He’s dead but hopping mad.

Yes, several generations
Are coming home tonight.
Oh, all of my relations
are fixin’ for a fight!

While livin’ they were crazy;
Now dead they’re just plain mean.
It’s a family reunion
Like this town has never seen!

Mama's got the hatchet,
And pappa's got the gun.
Our zombie family's on the way;
There ain't nowhere to run.

We'll hammer down the windows
And barricade the hall.
They can't be coming here tonight;
We just can't feed them all!

Home Sweet Zombie Apocalypse

The windows are boarded,
The rations are hoarded,
The shotguns are loaded with care.

The door's double-barred,
And out in the yard,
The garden's protected by snares.

My room has a view,
And a rifle or two,
And axes beside the grenades;

Up here from my seat
I look down the street,
And watch the cadaver parades.

When neighbours out walking
Come calling and knocking,
They surely get shot in the head.

You may think it's rude,
But that's what you do
When your neighbours are turning up dead.

Tuesday, 15 July 2014

The Lost Kite

It tugged and strained against my arm,
An eager thing, alive.
It fluttered in its thrumming frame
To swing, and soar, and strive.

It had to try; it had to flee;
I felt it in my hand.
It had to feel how it would fly
Unburdened of the land.

With scarce a thought, I barely knew,
My hand gave up its grip.
It ceased to cling as it was taught
and let the tether slip.

The creature spun and, like a hawk,
Cut up toward the sky.
Its colours flashed into the sun
And spiraled from my eye.

My feet, it seemed, had risen up,
Just inches from the grass.
I rose within a blinking dream,
and let the moment pass.

Then down I came to earth again,
With nothing in my hand.
The world around was just the same
Where I was left to stand,

Except that I no longer hold
My tether to the sun.
No longer can I pull the sky
Behind me as I run.

But still I see there's something else
To hold that's just as fine,
For like the kite, my hand is free,
Untethered from that line.

Friday, 27 June 2014

Storm

If you find you're afraid of the thunder, my dear,
then I'll be brave for you.
I'll be a bold fella, unfold my umbrella
to shield you and save you
and say to you, dear,
that there's nothing in thunder to fear.

And if I am far away from here
on the distant side of the storm,
I'll jump from the hump of a cumulus cloud
into the wind that whips at the prow
of my ship with umbrellas for sails.

I'll whirl around a tornado's eye
and skip across the thundering sky
to fly where you lie in the gales,
and faster than rain on the pattering pane,
unfurl my umbrellas, my dear,
and lift you with ease on a summery breeze
to carry you far from here,
far from your wondering,
fretful and thundering,
far from the sundering rain.

Saturday, 8 February 2014

Lucinda Met a Zombie Man

Lucinda met a zombie man;
She vowed she’d be his bride.
A bride!  A bride!  At last, a bride!
What difference if her groom had died;
She knew his loving, milky eyes
Saw only what’s inside.

She knew he didn’t mind her limp,
Her crooked teeth or lazy eye.
Her tangled hair flew everywhere,
Her zombie man, though, didn't care.
And what’s a wart or twenty-two;
Her zombie man, he looked right through.
His love was simple, pure and true.

A wedding cake and pink champagne!
A cake and pink champagne!
Lucinda knew, oh yes, she knew,
Her zombie love, he loved her true;
He loved her for her brain.


Wednesday, 2 October 2013

Kitchen Sink

I’m afraid to use the faucet, 
Though I really need a drink. 
The water might run past my cup 
And make the kitchen sink.


Monday, 2 September 2013

Back to School

With binders and rulers and pens,
September has risen again.
The binders are binding,
The rulers are ruling,
The pens are confining,
The summer is cooling;
It's time to go schooling, my friends.
We're booked and we're bagged;
We're all of us tagged
And never untagged again.
Keep running, keep chasing,
Keep writing, erasing;
We're in it to finish, my friends:
We're gonna to get out;
We'll figure it out
With binders and rulers and pens.

Tuesday, 25 June 2013

Zombies Came to Class Today

Zombies came to class today
To find some brains to eat.
They gathered round our teacher
For a tasty brainy treat.

They smacked their lips and zombie-drooled
And clutched his clever  head,
But sniffed his ears and licked his skull,
And came for us instead.

Tuesday, 18 June 2013

Zombie Land

Early in the morning 
When the sun's a zombie gray.
I wear my zombie costume
And start my zombie day.

I follow other zombie-kids
Who drag their zombie feet,
And zombie-walk along the road
To where the zombies meet.

There may be other living kids 
Within the zombie hordes,
But they're too scared to show themselves 
Before our zombie lords.

I stick my body stiff and bent 
Upon my zombie chair
And freeze my eyeballs forward
In a zombie-stricken stare.

And when the slouching zombie-kids
Undroop or lurch around,
I raise my hand and zombie-groan,
Then sit without a sound.

I sit and dream of summer days
Beneath a swelling sun.
I dream that I am free to play
In fellowship and fun.

But here I fear I'll lose my brain
Within this zombie hell.
Oh please, before I go insane,
Please ring the recess bell!

Hugry

You're hugry? What's hugry?
You're HUNGRY, I say!
Why must you insist
That you're hugry today?

For child, I'm afraid
That isn't a word.
You're missing an N;
Your word is absurd!

Stop this at once!
Let go of me, please!
Stop this embracing
And loosen this squeeze!

A hug is not food!
A hug cannot feed,
And hugging is not
An imperative need!

And still you persist
And beam as you do,
While closing your eyes
And squeezing me blue.

Well, this I'll admit:
That hugging is nice,
And living without it
Just wouldn't suffice.

But I'd go a month,
For certain a week,
A day is no problem
If hugless and bleak.

And now you have finished,
Released me at last,
Finally left your
Embracing repast.

That's good!...yet not quite...
Oh, this will not do!
For now it appears
That I'm hugry too.

Tuesday, 28 May 2013

The Promise

Biting's fun,
I like to pinch,
I like it when I make you flinch.

Then you shout,
and say, "That's bad!
You're a naughty no-good lad!"

"Biting's wrong,
And pinching stings.
Promise not to do these things!"

Yes, I see,
You're right, I say.
I will not hurt in any way.

Cross my heart
And hope to die,
Stick a needle in my eye.

Thursday, 13 December 2012

There are Zombies in the Schoolyard


There are zombies in the schoolyard;
There are zombies in the park.
There are zombies in the daylight;
There are zombies in the dark.

There are zombies in the boulevards
And zombies in the lanes.
The zombies limping through the school
Have eaten all the brains.

There are zombies in the barber shop
And zombies at the gym.
The butcher is a zombie now;
He's selling human limbs.

There are zombies in the shopping mall
And zombies in the road.
The zombies in the restaurants
Eat waiter a la mode.

There are zombies in the garden;
There are zombies on the lawn.
There are zombies in the houses,
And the neighbours are all gone.

There are zombies at the chimneys;
There are zombies climbing walls:
The zombie Mrs. Rosencrantz
Gets deader when she falls.

There are zombies in the basement;
There are zombies on the roof.
My sister is a zombie now;
She's still a smelly goof.

There are zombies in the attic
And underneath the floor.
My zombie-dad is growling,
But not about my chores!

There are zombies in the hallway,
And zombies at my door.
I don't think I'll be writing
About zombies anymore...

Saturday, 13 October 2012

Writing Lines

If I could make my teacher take detention and do lines,
I’d make her copy out these words one hundred thousand times:
“I will not give detention and I will not lose my cool;
I will not make you write out lines for hours after school.

And when she's finished writing this one hundred thousand times,
She'll learn that kids don’t learn a thing from writing all these lines.

Monday, 19 March 2012

The Gurgler

My mother says, “Beware! Beware!
For surely there’s an angry bear!”
My brother says the wolves will growl
When they’re too close to howl.
But there’s no creature in the wood
Who scares me like the Gurgler could.
My father says, “There’s no such beast!”
And isn’t frightened in the least.
He strides right down the slippery rocks
And climbs up on the Gurgler’s dock
And hangs his big and meaty feet
To let the greedy Gurgler eat.
He’s lucky he ain’t lost ‘em! Well,
I’m sure it’s cause they REALLY SMELL!
I bet by now you know this creep
Who wallows in the water’s deep,
Who when the water level’s right
Slithers in the dark of night
To hide beneath your cottage dock
And gurgle round the slimy rocks.
I’m sure you’ve waded in the lake
And felt his twiggy fingers take
A pinch of your big toe to feel
If there’s enough to make a meal.
Or maybe as you’ve pulled and strained
To clamber on the dock again,
You’ve missed your step and swung beneath
And kicked you legs in dreadful grief
And felt the clammy, muddy gunk
That settles on the Gurgler’s trunk.
I’m told there is but one sure way
To make the Gurgler go away:
You have to find that one bright place
That glimmers back the sun’s bright face
Upon the glassy rippling lake,
And in an orange bucket take
Pail-fulls of the shining stuff.
And when you think you have enough,
Quickly, quickly take it back
And pour it down the narrow cracks
Between the boards upon the dock.
In seconds it’ll start to rock
And splash about the lake until
You feel like you’re about to spill.
Then all will quickly fall quite still,
And you will know that you have killed
The Gurgler 'neath the dock.

Wednesday, 23 November 2011

A Cure for School

I've boarded the bus;
my brother has not.
He's sick and at home,
but look what I've got.

This tonic will cure you
of school and its pains.
The trick's in the stuff
this concoction contains:

Some sweat from my brother,
the spit from his sneeze
the phlegm from his hanky,
the snot on his sleeve,

Stirred-up together
in bottles to sell--
One sip and I promise
You're feeling unwell.

Tuesday, 4 October 2011

Report Card

This letter's fantastic; it flashes and flares.
It's Ferris wheels flying around at the fair.
It's fireflies flickering far in the fields.
It's feeling the fish on the fishing rod reel.
It's families feasting in festival fun,
Flowers and friendship and favours we've done.
See all the fabulous things it can be?
So why are you frowning and fuming at me?
F is for fearful, forget and forgive.
Be fair and forbearing and let your kid live!

Skipping to Daisies and Grass

Out of the town and into the sun;
The withering walls forgotten and done.
     I'm breathing the wind-light at last
     And skipping to daisies and grass,
            My friends,
     I'm skipping to daisies and grass.

The prodigal daisies unbend to the sun,
The grasses are chasing the breezes in fun,
     The breezes are rippling past,
     And I'm wading through daisies and grass,
            My friends,
     I'm wading through daisies and grass.

The flowers and fields escape to the sky,
Rising above where the meadowlarks fly.
     The clouds unfurl as they pass--
     And I'm running up daisies and grass,
            My friends,
     I'm running up daisies and grass.

The grasses are sighing their songs to the sun,
Who folds them and holds them where fears are undone
     And dreamers can leap up at last,
     I'm bounding up daisies and grass,
            My friends,
     I'm bounding up daisies and grass.

While down in the town, the people are small--
The church and its steeple, the court and Town Hall,
     The school with its teachers, and you all in class.
     I'm flying with daisies and grass,
            My friends,
     I'm flying with daisies and grass.

My Brother's a Zombie!

I just can't deny it,
Can no longer hide it,
My brother's a zombie for sure.
The proof is quite clear;
They've turned him, I fear,
And it's sad cause there isn't a cure.

He's turning fifteen,
His toenails are green,
He's got spots all over his face.
He's lanky and grey,
Cause he hides from the day
And his hair is all over the place.

When trying to play
He wanders away,
Dragging his feet like they're lead.
When I throw him the ball
He just lets it fall,
Or it bounces right off of his head.

He can't really walk,
And he can't really talk,
He's immune to what mom and dad say.
When asked to do chores,
He looks at the floors,
Then grunts as he shuffles away.

And look at his room!
The dusty old tomb,
Where pizzas and hamburgers rot;
Who but the dead
Could sleep in a bed
That smells like a sock-stewing pot.

Yes, it's perfectly clear,
It's certain, I fear.
The proof is infallibly plain.
What proves it the most
Is he's dumb as a post
Cause zombies have eaten his brain.                                              

Like this poem?  Try these ones: Zombies Came To Class One Day,  Zombie LandThere are Zombies in the Schoolyard, and Lucinda Met a Zombie Man.

Monday, 3 October 2011

El Dorado

There’s a place we kids all dream about,
But never ever see;
A land of play and plenty
Where we’d really like to be.
And maybe when we’re free from school,
We’ll find a way to fly
To this schoolyard El Dorado
Just below the schoolyard sky.

I’m sure you once have dreamed of it,
And in your dreamy nights
You’ve seen a field of tennis balls,
Of frisbees and of kites,
Way up on the schoolhouse roof,
Where flying toys are blown
To this schoolyard El Dorado
That we’ve never ever known.

Just think of all the years gone by!
Just think of all the games!
Just think of all the toys that fly!
Just think of all their names:
The rubber-banded-rocket-ship,
The boomerang, the plane,
They’ve flown to El Dorado
And there they still remain.

I tell you, I will go one day:
To El Dorado’s heights.
And see the fields of tennis balls
Of frisbees and of kites.
And looking up, you’ll see me there,
Against the schoolyard clouds
In a schoolyard El Dorado
Where us kids are not allowed.

I’ll fill the sky with toys that fly;
I’ll throw them to the ground.
They’ll gladly land in open hands,
Like gold, they’ll tumble down.
And all will know that long ago
One kid once made his way
To the schoolyard El Dorado,
Where it's always Saturday.

Tuesday, 12 July 2011

My Own Time

I'm sick of meticulous poetry
That's carefully crafted, composed,
Respectably rhythmed and properly rhymed,
Logically structured and tickety-timed,
Where roses and shepherds repose.

No, I'll find my own time,
my own rhythm,
my own rhyme.
Catch the beat.
Watch my feet.
This poem knows;
it sows, it grows
its own kinda rose.