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.
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 dreamt that my wife was a witch
A what?
A witch, you thought I said bitch?
On her broom she sat
Wearing her witch hat
While I fumbled with the damn light switch.
And then she cackled at me
Did what?
Cackled, as in laugh crazily
Then she scratched at her toes
with her long pointy nose
And had the nerve to still smile at me.
I reached up over the bed
Why for?
The light switch, it was close to my head
But I just couldn’t reach
And I heard her screech
A sound that filled me with dread.
So close I could smell her foul breath
Oh really?
Yes, I was ready for death
But as she pounced
I used every ounce
Of my strength and woke up in sweat.
So was your wife really a witch?
Say what?
A witch, you thought I said bitch?
Of course not, you dummy!
She was in bed right beside me
Now why would my wife be a witch?
Writer: ME. April. 22nd 2014
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
Is that a wrinkled skin I see?
Is that reflection really me?
What happened to my perfect teeth?
What’s that? Oh no crows feet!
I can barely make it up my stairs
(Pardon me, don’t mind my tears)
I used to be so young and spry
Now my bones are old and dried
And I know what’s coming next
One day I’ll say goodbye to sex.
My poor penis would take a dive
No libido no sex drive.
Oh well let the truth be told
I am indeed just getting old.
The writer. April 18th 2014
I over analyze nursery rhymes
like a detective at the scene of crimes
I sometimes wonder why Jack and Jill
Really went up that grassy hill
I hope it wasn’t against her will
And trust that she was on the pill.
*
Humpty Dumpty climbed up a wall
He asked for it, I meant the fall.
He got scrambled and that’s no joke
But was he organic? Did he have a yoke?
*
Why didn’t Old Mother Hubbard
Keep an inventory of her cupboard?
Then the crazy old bag would have known
That inside it she would find no bone
No reason to look, Mother Hubbard Dear,
Your F***ing cupboard is really bare!
*
Now who rocks a baby in a tree top?
If you do, then you should stop
You know what else I really think?
Maybe it’s time you see a shrink.
*
The gossipy old woman who swallowed a fly
Should have kept her mouth shut and she wouldn’t have died.
She had a big mouth, what else can I say?
I cannot put it any other way.
*
I also feel bad for little Jack Horner
Spending Christmas alone in a corner
He told himself he was a good boy
Then why a pie and not a toy?
*
What the hell is a hickory dock?
And what does is have to do with a clock?
Ok, ok, I’m really done,
Analyzing rhymes is not much fun.
***
Written by the writer April 15th 2014
There were two brothers
from Pakistan
Of human flesh they were
Big Fans.
With blood on their beards
These brothers looked weird
As they tear at flesh with their hands.
The brothers were never
In a hurry.
Even taking time
To add curry
People feared the worst
When they found missing corpse
And that’s when they started to worry.
Now they are both locked up
In jail
With no chance of posting
A bail.
With no bodies to eat
And no more dead meat
They sit and chew on their nails.
True story. Read it here
I’m going to write a book.
A book?
Yes a book.
A book about me.
About you?
Yes me.
It would sell in stores
Like Amazon
By the scores!
Yes, I should write a book
A recipe book?
No not that!
I can’t cook.
Then what?
About me!
Not about
A recipe!
I’m an author!
You Arthur?
No! An author!
Like a book writer!
Oh, I get it!
You are going to write
A book!
About you
And you can’t cook!
Ah! Finally!
While my hands rest
On your hips
I want to
Kiss your lips.
Feel your heartbeat
In your chest
As I caress
Your breasts.
I want to feel
Your body
As you lie
Right next to me.
I want to whisper
In your ear
Let you know
How much I care.
I want to say
My love is true
I want to make
Sweet love to you.
I don’t hate kids
Oh no, I don’t.
I’ll never say that
Oh no, I won’t!
Saying the word ‘hate’
Is not my thing
No matter the mood
That I am in.
I’m also a kid
Though I am grown
And even have three
Kids of my own
So I really love kids
Trust me I do,
The unlovable ones,
I love them too.
Related: I Hate Kids