May You Rest In Peace

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Come,

Take a leap,

And fall asleep,

Enter Dream Land,

Where reality can’t hurt,

But fantasy can……….

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Destination: Dream Land,

It’s a second reality,

That hides behind the mask of sleep,

It’s a mixed-up mess,

With Sweet Dreams and Nightmares,

And of course,

We’ve all been there.

 

Smiling merrily,

All of us go voluntarily,

Once we’re tucked in,

And headed off towards Slumber,

One comes for us,

Then we come back,

Either rested or distressed.

 

But even when you’re far away,

You are here to stay,

Your mind has gone some place,

And there,

It your body cannot chase.

 

It’s so funny,

This thing called Sleep,

Every night you journey there,

Wondering if Dreams await,

Or if you’ll come face to face,

With yet another Nightmare.

 

A lucky break,

An escape,

From day-to-day idiocy,

At least that’s what you hope to find,

When you reach the place,

Where Nightmares and Dreams collide.

 

But when you drift off,

You may be disturbed,

By mysterious entities,

That tend to catch you unawares,

And the only avenue of escape,

Is to wake up scared.

 

This state of going dormant,

It’s really quite important,

So try not to feel dread,

Just because you may encounter,

Someone or thing who’s been long dead.

 

No don’t try to fight it,

For if you hesitate,

You may make the Nightmares mad,

And so be met with hostility,

Rather than tranquility.

 

By all means,

Tonight you might see Monsters,

Creeping up from below stairs,

Yet also lurks,

The possibility of Good Fortune,

Sending you Dreams of fuzzy bears.

 

There’s a fifty-fifty chance,

You could Dream of fun or romance,

So relax,

And hope all remains okay,

When you hit the hay.

 

 

 

 

 

 

October Pests

Forget what you’ve heard,

About “nothing is stirring”,

There are things everywhere,

And a lot more than a mouse,

For this isn’t Christmas,

It’s Halloween,

And batshit things are everywhere,

Both seen and unseen.

 

Cute pumpkins in windows,

Are just for distraction,

Little do you know,

These things could star in a story about Booville,

Rather than Whoville.

 

Don’t dare do anything,

At six of the clock,

That’s the Devil’s Hour,

And his servants are out,

To seek and devour.

 

The well-kept graveyard behind Main,

Where granddaddy lies,

It has come alive,

With Unearthly Spies,

Known to the masses as ghosts,

They are making the decision,

Of who or what to haunt most.

 

Tread carefully,

If you’ve gone up the mountain,

For an early-season ski,

There’s ghouls behind,

Each pine tree,

Waiting to trip you up,

And bring you for,

Their contribution to,

The Halloween Creature’s Potluck.

 

It’s a season where many,

Like to make a funny,

Dressing to give friends and kids scares,

That will raise their hairs,

But there are some out there,

That don’t quite mix,

With these fun-spirited humans,

Beware of their tricks,

For if you fall prey to their bait,

You’ll have one god-awful fate.

 

On Halloween Night,

If you choose not to stay,

Indoors where you,

Have a prayer at staying safe,

I beg you to keep away,

From that corner where Sixth,

Meets up with the meadow,

Surrounded by a wall of bricks,

For it’s here that gathers,

Each Halloween,

A big bunch of cadavers,

All are unhappy to have met,

An untimely end,

And trust me when I tell you,

You don’t want to cause them,

To become any madder,

As they’ll not hesitate,

To unleash their fury,

On anyone,

Whether they’re covered in skin or are furry.

Aloha, Autumn!

I have no favorite season at all,

But right now,

My season of choice is Fall,

And here she is,

So let’s all give her welcome,

With a bow.

 

It’s been hot as hell,

So  much so,

That I was sorely tempted,

To immerse myself,

Deep inside a well,

But now Fall’s taken over,

And brought us temperatures,

Significantly lower.

 

Yes Fall,

Has finally come to call,

Bringing pumpkin treats,

And kicking out,

Summer’s heat.

 

Summer seemed a never-ending heatwave,

And we all but boiled alive,

But thank God for Fall,

It saw to it,

That we got revived.

 

Five minutes outside,

Would produce a farmer’s tan,

Most unattractive,

On any of us humans,

Thanks you Fall,

For fixing this,

Here now,

Let me blow,

You a little kiss.

 

Fall,

Is the weather’s perfect spot,

It won’t be cold,

And it won’t get hot,

There’ll be no rains,

To flood and make mud,

At the moment Fall,

Is my best bud.

 

 

 

We Frustrate Me

Nothing but distaste,

For the human race,

When further I think on it,

The more the hate,

Picks up the pace.

 

They strive to thrive,

Headfirst they dive,

Into normalcy,

Also known as crazy,

And what a waste,

It’s not as though,

They’re leaving alive.

 

Flitting about here and there,

And most don’t care,

About a thing,

Unless it’s theirs,

And even then,

It’s hard for some,

Not to act like scum.

 

The other day,

I was at the store,

Everyone was there,

Rich and poor,

Saints and whores,

As well as everything between,

After looking high,

And looking low,

They all had,

One thing in common though,

They all needed something,

Their money couldn’t buy.

 

I’m sick of dealing,

With them and their issues,

There’s the alcoholics,

And there’s the apostolics,

Some are even diabolical,

I wonder,

When the fuck,

Did this psycho mix,

Become typical?

 

Let me tell you,

The whole lot is fuct,

If they keep waiting around,

For a run of good luck,

We each make or break our own fortune,

No one is immune,

Now quit looking so god-damn forlorn,

And go grab a new life,

By the horns.

 

Are you wondering when,

I’ll make my point?

There isn’t one,

Yet this wasn’t written,

Just for the fun.

 

 

 

The Damned Union

A match made in Hell,

Right from the start,

Like a failed piece of art,

Thrown away,

On a clearance cart.

 

A match made in Hell,

But it was on sale,

And both were buying,

So blinded by a bargain,

Neither could tell,

That the other was lying.

 

A match made in Hell,

It started out well,

But it’ll never work,

Not when both parties,

Are so berserk.

 

A match made in Hell,

They say you never can tell,

But others knew,

How it would end,

Long before it was through.

 

A match made in Hell,

And they can’t change that,

No matter how much,

They bitch and yell.

 

A match made in Hell,

Doomed before,

It ever fell,

No way to win,

Despite the fun it’s sometimes been.

 

A match made in Hell,

What was supposed to be bliss,

Feels more like,

Being locked in a cell.

 

A match made in Hell,

No one wanted to sell,

But when it’s over it’s over,

It’ll never turn back,

Into a sunny field of clover.

 

A match made in Hell,

Regardless of being the ball’s belle,

Evidently,

That one wasn’t worth having,

And had to be sent packing.

 

A match made in Hell,

Left ugly and split,

Chewed up and spit out,

Like old and broken sea shells,

Washed ashore,

In the ocean’s swells.

 

A match made in Hell,

Where nothing happy dwells,

They thought it would taste sweet,

Like caramel,

Turns out it’s rotten,

And it’d be best forgotten.

 

 

 

He’s Nothing To Worry About

Hello out there,

To those who care,

Let me please introduce,

Master Bruce,

The celebrated ghost,

With a unique flair,

For inflicting Scare.

 

He is just typical,

For one of his kind,

What is above average though,

Is his mind,

But yea,

As far as looks go,

He is kind of wispy,

And white as new fallen snow.

 

Not old at all,

As he was young when he took,

That fatal fall,

Yet he feels older than dirt,

For it’s been a hundred years and more,

Since he went out,

With one last painful roar.

 

Now death is not usually lonely,

But when you are left to hover,

And cannot cross over,

To those shores called Glory,

You will discover,

It is a different story.

 

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Some years past now,

There lived a marvelous up-and-coming gentleman,

Whose life seemed to come together,

With nary a hitch,

It made his fellows envious,

How he didn’t need to earn his chow,

By the sweat of his brow,

This privileged person,

Was of course,

Our Master Bruce.

 

There came an evening,

When he was but twenty-four,

That he felt a need,

To be out-of-doors,

And he decided to go for it,

Despite the nasty down-pour,

Happening out there.

 

He took precautions,

Wearing slicker and galoshes,

But nothing can compensate,

If it is your fate,

And the hour being late,

When he went to dodge that horseless carriage,

He could not see,

That the roadside there,

Had been washed away,

So here he tripped,

Landing on his knees,

Then another automobile came by,

And his body was clipped,

Just as he was rising.

 

He whooped in pain,

But the driver never heard it,

On account of the rain,

So he continued on,

And within minutes,

Bruce’s life here was gone.

 

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Key word there being ‘here’,

Because his body was done for,

But lo,

His spirit was stuck,

And never went anywhere.

 

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It took some time,

For him to see it was true,

He was now a part of the world,

In which he had never believed,

He’s now one of,

The paranormal crew.

 

He didn’t like it a bit,

And developed into something malevolent,

The things he did,

Were downright awful,

For instance,

When he made an engine fail,

And sent a car,

Over the rail.

 

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There came a time,

About 1949,

That the Nightmare King,

Caught wind of him,

And decided he would be an asset,

A perfect vessel,

To carry his Dreams Of Threats.

 

It was great,

For a time,

Delivering these Scares,

Being the cause,

Of raising hairs,

By giving people nightmares.

 

But he’s starting to see now,

Just how long eternity is,

And dishing out nightmares,

Has become to him,

So unimaginative.

 

He’s becoming restless,

And of late when it storms,

He’s been returning to the site,

That still fills him with spite.

 

Now without fail,

You can hear him wail,

While he paces,

Back and forth,

Slow and steady,

Like a snail.

 

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Now what’ll he do,

To fill the endless hours,

Of his afterlife?

Will he turn even more sour,

And try to possess,

Evil powers?

Dare we hope,

He will turn from strife,

And pick up something civil,

Such as playing the fife?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Now Wouldn’t That Be Brilliant

Imagine having the ability,

To become invisible,

With a clap of the hands,

Or the blow of a whistle,

What a pleasure it would be,

To get to do things,

Not otherwise permissible.

 

Certain situations,

Can get awfully sticky,

And to seem to fade out in a puff,

Would be a pretty convenient tricky.

 

Remaining hidden,

While being there unbidden,

Would be better than riches,

Even if it had some glitches.

 

Learning secrets,

Not meant for my ears,

Would be a priceless talent,

Maybe even enabling me,

To fuck with an event’s sequence.

 

I wonder,

In this situation,

Would strangers mistake me for a spirit?

If I were to walk in invisible,

Then reverse the spell,

And say an unexpected salutation?

 

How suitable it would be,

To be admitted for free,

Thanks to them not seeing,

The body that’s me,

And so they’d be,

Screwed out of a fee.

 

I dare say it would be,

Good practice for death,

At least that is so,

If you believe in becoming a presence,

After you’ve breathed your last breath.

 

Well I think that about covers it,

There’s no need to elaborate more on the subject,

By now you ought to get the picture,

Of how life could be richer,

And I suppose it will do me no good,

To speculate,

Of how wonderful it would be,

To possess this fine trait,

But I’d like it anyhow,

If I could make this happen,

Right here right now.