From the author:

From the Author:

I will not introduce myself.
I will not ask "How do?"
I will not wave, I will not bow,
Or shake a hand with you.

For I am not polite, my friend;
I have no social grace.
Like you, I have no manners,
And I never learned my place.

Instead I'll write a poem
And I'll put myself in verse,
And if you like the sound of me,
Well, THEN we might converse.

So read a line or two of me,
Or don't, if it's a chore,
But since you've read fifteen of me
I bet you'll read one more.

Click here to contact the author
(...or don't...he doesn't really trust emails from children. They can be sticky).

Tuesday, 7 October 2014

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 all of your neighbours are dead.

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