Category Archives: poems

The Princess and the Beetle

There once was a Princess, who lived far away,
She was in love with a prince, so they eloped one day.
On the way to the church they received terrible news,
A dragon was terrorising, the prince had to choose.
“I’ll return my love,” to the princess he said,
“But first I must assure the menace is dead.”
The princess was huffed, her face so sour.
Couldn’t look at anyone, locked herself in a tower.
“I’ll wait right here till he returns to me,
Then we will be married, happy and free.”
The crow told her “It’s likely he’ll die.”
The princess grunted, stared into the distance with a sigh.
“You pesky bird, my prince is big and strong.
He’ll return with that dragon’s head before too long.”
The prince faced the dragon in a deadly fight.
He had torn out its tongue by the third night.
“Ah ha!” he cried “No enemy is too great for me!
I can return to my bride and let her see!”

“Wait you fool!” cried the evil witch.
“You killed my dragon, you son of a bitch!”
The prince drew his sword, the witch was too fast.
A spell was cast that was sure to last.
He was now a little beetle, 6 legs and all black.
Small and insignificant, he almost fell down a crack.
But he got his wish and found his lonely bride.
She was sat at a desk, so he climbed up her side.
“My princess! It’s me! Will you love me all the same?”
The princess couldn’t hear a single word he was saying.
She noticed the little bug, she smiled and she said
“What a horrid little creature!” and smashed the book over his head.
She often wondered what happened to her lover.
Had he forsaken her for another?
The guts of the man she took home to her mother
Were now splattered across the front of her book cover.


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Children of Wigan

We are the children of Wigan and though we may repent.  

He knows the sinners can’t be saved and all our prayers are spent.  

We are the children of Wigan, as such a saving saint.  

He embraces the most wicked souls and relieves us of our pains. 

Oh, we know, we know, we know we can’t be saved but truly repent and you’ll be in his embrace.   

We are the children of Wigan and now our time is here.   

He accepts us for our evil ways and strips us of our fear.   

We are the of Wigan and even if we die.  

Our saint will take us in his arms and raise us all up high.  

Oh, we know, we know, we know we can’t be saved but repent and you’ll be in his embrace.   


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The Fly and the Spider

The Fly buzzes to and Fro, unaware of the fate that waits.

Fluttering wings bringing it closer to the end.

Happily it streaks through the air.

Gallantly it flutters until it finds it can no more. Stuck, paralysed.

Caught tight in the unforeseen trap.

It sees its predator approach, powerless to stop her.

‘I’ve been waiting for you’ she hisses. ‘I’m positively famished!’

Remnants of the moth still cling to the fine strings.

But it is the fly that is tonight’s delight.

All eight legs tremble in eager anticipation.

It has been a fine life the fly has had.

Seen so many things, been many places.

Now it has come to an abrupt and rather sticky end.

Death approaches in the form of the horrific arachnid.

Good night little fly, time to go.


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This Place

Run child as fast as your feet will carry you.

Don’t pause for a breath or stop to tie your shoe.

You can look around, cry for help if you like,

But this is one time the monster will strike.

You can run deep into the forest, you can hide in the dark,

But we will always find you, for you have the mark.

 

You will never survive; you’ve already begun to rot,

You can gather wood, set camp just like daddy taught.

It all seems so fruitless now, so close to the end,

When a monster lurks behind every bend.

Our paths are made from the bones of the others,

Somewhere waiting for them are weeping mothers

 

You will discover as they did, there is no way out,

Burst your little lungs trying to scream and shout.

Just listen please,

To the noise of the trees.

They will warn you of what lurks in every inch of this place.

Creatures waiting to snatch you, all eager for a taste.

They won’t wait long, for they are hungry indeed.

Only the blood of a child will fulfil their greed,

All roads lead to the same place in the end.

We all go without a coin, a care or a friend,

So look up child and see what lies in wait.

Thank you little child, for taking the bait.


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I am The Boss

Don’t make me say it twice.  

It is The Boss’s rules and She does not play nice.  

When you make Her react, She’s going to have your testicles in a vice.  

I can see them now trying to run away like poisoned mice.  

Force Her to react and She’ll take it all away.  

You won’t see the light of another day.  

Him! And him! Yes, and him too. 

Hang him. Cut him. Drown that one in wine.  

Sitting that one on Buzzkill will do just fine. 

Him! And him! Yes, that one as well. He’s the worst one I’ve met.  

All those terrible things he did, did he think we’d forget?  

Gut him. Cook him. Throw that one to the frost.  

Just take that one’s head because he knows he’s lost.   

It’s no surprise you’re condemned. I did try to warn you.  

That one’s going straight to the depths. Look what you’ve made me do. 

That one! And that one! I want that one too.  

That skinny one cowering in the corner? I suppose he’ll have to do.  

Bring me his head and his liver for a stew.  

I want them in pieces. This is no dream. 

I want to them to suffer. I want them to scream.  

Him! And Him. That one looks at a loss.  

You will all be reminded I AM THE BOSS! 


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Abandoned Places

Into the world of imagination you delve. 
The glow of the computer screen drawing you nearer, 
Picking out the words letter by letter, 
Each click released into the air like a virus.  
 
At the entrance to imagination lies a warning etched in stone.  
Do not venture too far or you may not return. 
The world looks different watching from within the mind.  
All the same sights but with a hazy yellow glow. 
 
The streets you walked once familiar, now strange.  
The same objects you spied many times before, now odd.  
Those faces you have known, every wrinkle, every scar.  
Now their eyes glare with suspicion.  
 
Take a chance, walk those silent alleys once more. 
Your imagination will never fully clear.  
Fill the empty windows with images of your own.  
Let the birds sing with a song of your own composition. 
 
Fill the lonely streets with whatever you please. 
The laughter of children or the cries of pain perhaps? 
There are no rules in the land of imagination, 
No morals to govern the comings and goings. 
 
Be free to express your deepest desires.  
Don’t be shy to shed a tear.  
Grit your teeth, relieve your frustration.  
For when the computer screen blinks into darkness, the streets are abandoned once more. 


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The man who would not die

There once was a man who many despised.
They wanted to rid of him but it took twenty tries.
They shot him, they stabbed him, and they buried him in sand,
But he would always return, alive and grand.
They cut out his tongue and gouged out his eyes,
But on the stroke of midnight he would always rise.
They even immured him into the thickest wall,
But on the following night they could still hear his call.
They lost their patience, they had no hope,
So they sealed him in a box, tied up with rope.
The box was covered with heavy cement,
There would be no returning for this nefarious gent.
They were able to relax, sleep sound in their beds,
Until a troubling thought entered their heads,
What if their precautions weren’t enough?
What if their treatment could be more rough?
For the rest of their days they waited in fear,
Flinched at every little sound they could hear,
He would come back and they would hear him cry,
For he was the man who would not die.


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