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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.
MaskShe wears a mask like it’s nothing.
Sometimes I forget it was made by demons.
I forget there’s a person living behind it.
Raspy Hill"I don't quite feel like myself."
I haven't for a while now.
My mind seems displaced,
Like it's wandered too far away.
"I've been having strange dreams lately."
Images of strange creatures dance in my sleep.
I don't know them but I know they are malicious.
What do they want?
"But now you're here and I'll make you feel right at home."
My saviour, my protector.
You'll guard me from this evil.
"Welcome to Raspy Hill."
This is my hell.
And you'll join me.
I'll make sure of it.
"Enjoy your stay."
Roses and barbed wireThe beauty of the roses
Right there for me to see
So colorful and vibrant
A sight to behold
But I can't get any closer
A fence surrounds them
Keeping them safe
Keeping me away
Away from their colors
Away from their scent
Trapped in this grey world of mine
Behind the barbed wire fence
Where Lover's Dream DarklyFor it is not a fable; — that which bleeds..
And her soul may whisper obsidian,
— But I am the sea of Darkness she craves
O’ long I hath bathed in these ravenous winds,
Watching shadows weep across river’s dreary
Upon nightscapes that plunder our souls —
A bouquet of crimson shall enchant thy lips;
Where slowly we fade into requiem
Drink me naked in the abyss of hungry wolves
Among demons and insanity, I thrust and fall
Ravaged, eons of lust spill from mine eyes,
And behold the Forests sing of murder!
In a sombre kiss, we shall undress the skies
Time will yield to the treasures of melancholy
I covet thee, unto this blood-filled Moon
O’ thou art beautiful decay upon my skin,
A ghostly visage dripping wanton & darkly ..
We are Lover’s haunting deaths lullaby;
Assassins brooding in a bewailing fairy-tale
She is mystic poison; & elixir immortale
Seek you me, in the mystique of necromancy
For I am the dream of Serpents fea
Sweet darknessDarkness, my dear
Darkness, my element
With your cold embrace
And keep me hidden
Hiden from the world
Hidden from my past
You are my ally
You are my friend
The only one I can trust
Vanquish the light
And cast your shadow
All over this world
the taste of your tongue
the warmth of your hand
the empty promises
the harm you've done
and i remember
to burn every trace
that remains with me.
Time As It IsAnd I asked Time how it was on this glorious Monday. It simply replied:
"I am here for you now, but I will not wait for you.
Even if you fall behind, I remain in your field of view.
You can keep up with me, but you cannot catch up to me.
For once I have left, I am gone for eternity.
Nor can you leave me behind, or go back to change me.
For I am the keeper of aging, no matter how thick the tree.
Therefore, I plea to thee:
Do your work now, get it done, and then return to me
when the time is right.
For I will accept you, take you in, and guide into
the brightest light.
Then, and only then, I will call you friend.
One that truly has stayed completely to the end."
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