Death Knows No Bias

Death knows no bias, so big and small
No matter who, death takes them all
From the business man in fancy suit
To the homeless hobo, face dark with soot
Eeny Meeny Miny Mo
If it’s you, then you must go.



I Sometimes See Dead People

I sometimes see dead people

Oh yes I really do!

And if you look intently

You would see them too.


I see them at my work place

The malls and everywhere

They lurk in Government buildings

I see them when I go there.


Sometimes they try to trick you

And mess with your head

By pretending to be alive

While actually they are dead.


My sister and my cousin too

Are dead as door posts

I pretend I do not know

But I am on to them of course.


Yes,  I see dead people

I would never lie to you

And if you don’t believe me

You probably are dead too.



Author: ME












Dying Laughing

If I die laughing

at your humor,

is it murder?

If my joke

splits my side,

and I die,

is it suicide?


In a world so sick

where laughter is lost

Kill me at all cost

If not, I will fall

on my own sharp wit

and impale on it.


Murder or suicide?

Your joke

or mine?

Either would be fine.

Laughing like a clown

as I leave the world.

Goodbye all.







Boston Marathon 2013 ... Confronting Terror in...

Boston Marathon 2013 … Confronting Terror in Boston — Find ways to help (April 16, 2013 / 6 Iyar 5773) … (Photo credit: marsmet547)








Arms raised in triumph

as the finish line hurries to meet her.

“I did it!”  She screamed.  No sound.

Too winded.

She summons up the last bit

of energy for that last hustle

then boom!

The sound shatters the sanctity

of the moment.

She sits up.  Bruised and battered.

Body parts everywhere.

Blood splattered pavement.

No! She screamed.

Out loud.


The best day of her life

suddenly turned black.

Pain-filled screams

of the dead and dying.

And the hurt.

Finish line is inches away.

Her dream.  Her quest.


She must help.


Who did this?

What sick person

or persons?

International terrorism,

or home-grown?

Does it even matter?

So many questions.

No answers.

Shattered dreams.

Destroyed lives.

Only one question

Is relevant.



The Author.  April 16th 2013

Dedicated to everyone affected by the Boston Marathon Tragedy 2013


My Kingdom For A Poem

“My kingdom for a poem!”  He says,

“For I am dying soon.

Let it brighten my last days

As I hasten to my doom.

Describe in it the sun’s rays

And the beauty of the moon,

Then beckon death for me to come,

In your poem for my kingdom”.


By The Author.  April 8th 2013

Today’s prompt was writing in ottava rima so I decided to give it a shot.

Interview With The Dead. Pt.II

English: Logo from the television program The ...

English: Logo from the television program The Walking Dead (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

After I interviewed the Dead
Questions remained in my head
Was this thing even really true?
I gave a dead man an interview?
Did I make the whole thing up?
The thoughts kept coming, wouldn’t stop.

I needed to prove it was no dream
And things were indeed as they seemed
So off in search of The Dead I went
From grave to grave, I was hell-bent.
And then I saw him standing there
As if formed right out of thin air.

Hey you Dead fella, long time no see
I hope that you still remember me.
The last interview you and I had
Made me think I was raving mad
My friends and family all laughed at me
Interviewing The Dead?  What a loony!
So tell me mister, are you really dead?
Or just playing weird games with my head?

Buddy, you know that I am for real
No fake here.  I am the real deal.
Sorry your friends and family
Questioned your very sanity
You see I am a walking dead.
So let that sink into your head.

But…But how could this be so?
Explain to me. I want to know
Dead people just don’t walk around.
They stay buried within the ground.
How could you achieve this task?
Is what I really want to ask.

 I do belong deep in the earth
Covered in worms and stinky dirt
How I became a walking dead
I can’t decipher in my head.
So I just cannot explain to you
This zombie walking thing I do.

Well thank you anyhow, Zombie man
I wish that I could understand
But with my two eyes I could see
That indeed you are in front of me
This is my last goodbye to you
Many thanks for the interview.

Please say a prayer for my soul
That it might find rest in this hole
Tell your friends and family
That you are sane as sane could be
And you should write another blog too
Call in Interview With The Dead Part II.

When Heroes Fall – The Blade Runner



Up on a pedestal they stand,

Far above it all,

Then one day with a crash,

Our heroes they  fall.

How could it happen?

Such a great man was he.

No way he could have done it!

Please find him ‘not guilty’!

But alas, it is so,

Guilty as charged,

Even if the justice system

Let him stay at large.

Our God has fallen!

Committed a crime!

Now he’s just like us,

A humankind!

But he seemed so incapable

Of such a heinous act.

It’s just not like  him,

He could never attack.

Our heroes are human

Like you and like me.

They are also innocent

Until proven guilty.

But a crime was committed

And soon we will see.

Was our guy a real hero

Or just a forgery?

It’s worth sharing

Musings Of A Daddy

imagesMommy please don’t cry

Or even ask why

I had to die.

And please don’t be sad,

Not everyone’s bad,

No need to get mad.

*                    *                *

We were having fun

Then he came with his gun,

And we started to run.

But mommy it was too late,

For me and my classmates.

He had so much hate.

*                *                     *

He shot again and again

I felt the pain

And cried out in vain.

Then darkness brought sleep,

so sweet and deep

Please mommy, don’t weep.

*                  *                     *

We were practicing Away In A Manger

Never saw the stranger,

No time to yell Danger!

Mommy, I’m so sorry

That I left in a hurry

Please don’t worry.

*                   *                   *

Now I really must go,

But let Dad know

That I love him so.

Tell Grandpa goodbye

And remember, don’t cry

And don’t you ask why


View original post 35 more words

Escaping Mr. Death

I wrote this poem many years ago while bored at work


Death came knocking at my door

I watched him from a hole,

I felt his cold and icy stare

Deep down in my soul.

This was oh so very bad.

I was not ready yet.

Just couldn’t go this very day

With dreaded Mr. Death.

He raised his hand to knock once more,

Frowning impatiently.

Knock! knock! knock! knock!

He really wanted me!

I quickly searched around the room

For a place to hide.

Anywhere just to escape

The Grim Reaper outside.

Taking one last glance through the hole,

I saw but could not believe.

The Reaper looked straight at me

Then turned around to leave!

What a lucky man I was that day!

To have avoided death.

I had gotten another chance

To take another breath.


Goodbye Reaper!