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A Gravedigger's Apprentice: Ch 1Old Man Sutters
Dragging the corpse of a full grown man was awkward. Even in life, the beer-bloated Mr. Sutters hadn't been fond of moving, and apparently not even death could change his ways. The cocooned body made a horrible slithering sound as the unwrapped feet scraped the frozen ground, and Horatio was reminded why he hated his job. In warmer months, Sir would help him carry the corpse and the shovel, but alas; Sir’s arthritis thrived in cold weather, leaving him useless and Horatio dragging the fat body alone using his own, disproportionately slim weight. The clouds that occasionally drifted over the half-moon didn’t help either.
Sir was grinning at him, Horatio could see, Sir’s long yellow teeth glinting gold in the light cast from the lantern he held in his craggy hands. “Don’ hurry now, sonny, but the doc
Song of the ProcrastinatorTomorrow I will clean the car
and the doors.
Tomorrow I will scrub the sink
wipe the walls
and mop the floors.
Tomorrow I will pair the socks
fold the laundry,
scrub the sinks.
After that, I'll sit and think
of the pretty things
that gladly gleam
from my attentive care.
But tomorrow is tomorrow.
Today, I just don't care.
An Outdoor Tennis ClassIt was a half amusing, half annoying conversation.
The students' words were bawdy and dull, each comment delivered sharply, as if the words hadn't been used thousands of times before. Each quip connected with the ever present snow.
But the snow was dull too. There were no trees to catch it, no scenery to frame it, and the landscape looked more or less the same as it did during the summer.
Winter was white. Summer was brown.
It was the only real change.
That, and the cold, which the students were swearing loudly about, as if their hot tongues could melt the frozen wasteland they cursed.
UniformConstricted by a status quo?
The only woe is he who quotes
the slighted soul who quipped:
The Rain fell UpIt was a blustery, gusty day,
storm clouds dark and dreary,
a perfect time to loaf away
but the rain
Human heads reclined,
water pooled along the blue
and no one had a single guess
as to what to do.
Scientists confounded and
as to why the precious water
away from earth had flew.
Would it stay exalted,
pooling in the air,
continue casting webbed light
from the atmosphere?
An astronaut in space said
the earth looked like a laugh,
a spinning, churning tub
with too much bubble bath.
And when his ship returned to earth...
The Crab who Caught the Dragon's EggThe Crab who Caught the Dragon’s Egg
How the Oyster got its Pearl
Way back when, in the Great Green Ocean, there lived Crab.
He was just like crabs today, dear. He had two black and beady eyes that glared and stared and a red scabby shell that never polished clean. He was especially proud of his big, red claw that he snapped at the things he didn't like. Crab didn't like anything.
Crab snapped his big red claw at the Great Green Ocean and hid under a rock.
Crab liked his rock. It was just as ugly as him and it was a beautiful source of complaints. “Just look at my rock,” he would say. “It’s so hard and ugly. I hate it very much.” If any creature suggested he move, he snapped his big, red claw at them because they infringed on his right to complain. We all know of people li
How to Eat SpaghettiEnjoy your spaghetti when no one is watching.
Red sauce and noodles
sliding slick through your lips
and you're happy.
For restaurants and friends rarely take kind
to garlicky sauce, steaming and soupish
licked from chins
(not wasted on napkins!)
with tubish noodles wound around
and around and round
still falling off!
Silly and slimish,
it is oozing food made for closed doors
and messy tables.
Spaghetti is best when no one is watching.
The Existentialism of a Dead FishI hold a dead fish.
The same shape as a live fish.
But it doesn't smell like fish.
It smells like corn.
The diet of a live fish.
Which makes it a dead fish.
The live fish was lifeless.
The live fish was doomed to a plate.
The dead fish is doomed to a plate.
I hold the dead fish.
I didn't hold the live fish.
I couldn't look the live fish in the eyes.
Or could I?
But the dead fish has no eyes.
It has no head.
I cut it, bake it.
I eat it.
I ate the dead fish.
Or was it the live fish?
Because the live fish was dead as corn.
The corn it ate.
The corn it smells like.
The Critique of a HypocriteYour criticism makes onions cry.
It embitters cucumbers, vegetable dry,
immature, kicking kittens and
short sheeting beds.
Your criticism turns blue into red
skipping purple entirely,
missing whole the spectrum.
Because your criticism hates color.
as it picks at scabs, leaving scars
banging its head on our life to say:
So we nod.
And swallow your criticism,
coughing it up when you're not watching.
the truth about growing up
1. It's easier when you don't think.
1. It starts early,
on a cloudy day when you recall
the 'childhood memories' of
two summers ago,
that's when you start your backslide into
2. On the bright side
you won't notice this until you're
good and ripe in age,
so maybe it doesn't matter
3. That tightness in your chest?
The feeling that you're not ready
to take on the rest of your life; it
4. It stews in the pit of your stomach
makes you doubt,
but there will be days when you look back
on the mountains you climbed -
the raging rivers you crossed -
and you'll have a sneaking suspicion you were
more prepared than you thought.
5. There's nothing like your own bed.
6. Laundry will never smell right
without mom's sweat and tears.
But you still have to separate lights from darks,
keep the zippers pulled tight
and the buttons unhooked.
7. There is comfort in your parents' presence.
8. Things change
the future gnaws and rips
Stranger's funeralUnder the clouds
Under the rain
Staring at the coffin
At a stranger's funeral
We're all alone
Feeling the storm
But not the pain
For he's but a stranger
And the graves around us
Are just there
Keeping us company
During this empty moment
LullabyHush, my baby,
Be still, don't cry.
Lay with me
A little while.
Close your eyes,
Slow your breath.
Hear your heart
Inside your chest?
Your heart is strong,
It guides you well.
Be sure to listen
To what it tells.
I hear him now,
Outside the room.
It won't be long,
He'll find us soon.
Now close your eyes,
Slow your breath,
And rest your head
Upon my chest.
CarolineYou loved the fire
of rogues -
imperfect men who shot up
the endings of the day
and drank down
too much beauty.
And like one of them,
you bellied with rebellion,
felt his tense seed
toil where women
and craved his notoriety.
Poor girl -
his verses won the day
and the call of words
was too fickle a lover
for any constant star.
Don't blame yourself -
are more attractive
and all poets are
AliveA ray of hope shines during the
Long restless hours
I keep enduring the task of
Vanquishing the darkness with the
Energy from the depths of my soul
things to tell you before i leave for collegeto mrs hatcher:
i promise that one day i will write that poem you asked me for
(the only thing you ever asked me for)
and i will finally tell you that you deserve
so much more.
to mr. walker:
i promise that i will not pity you.
i promise that i will not envy you.
i promise that you will always be part of my forget-me-nots and marigolds.
i promise to always be grateful.
i promise to be careful.
i promise to be crazy.
i promise that i will remember what it feels like to be needed
and what it feels like to let someone who needs you down.
i promise that i will never resent you for asking for help
and that i will always be there when you do.
i promise that even sixty years from now,
i will not be surprised to find a letter from you in my mailbox.
i promise to always remember what it felt like to be young and crazy with you,
how scared and lonely we were.
i will remember that we both survived it,
and that we'll survive this, too.
WishCardLet the rays of the sun
Bring happiness and light into your house,
Let the sun bring you lovely gifts.
Let your heart's music free,
Let your smile to light up your face.
I wish you happiness and joy.
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