This is the poem that refused to stay dead
it clawed its way out of my head.
The words struggled and scrambled for the light,
pressed together in a shambolic incoherent half-life.
A poem eager to escape the shallow grave of my brain
a rhyme I thought I’d buried and would never see again.
This is the poem that came back from the dead
that has no heart or spirit left.
Verses that have no right to exist
an unliving, unloved family of misfits.
Constantly struggling just too even breathe
yet unwilling to die despite being so ill-conceived.
This is the poem that should have stayed dead
it shouldn’t live, it should be six feet under instead.
With no obituary pinned to a church noticeboard
no wreathes of roses and no time and place to mourn.
It will be buried tonight in another dark corner of my mind
and I hope that this poem will now quietly lay down and die.
A scaryish poem to celebrate Halloween from the Skaggy archive.
Don’t Pick on me just because I’m Dead
You might call me a zombie or label me one of the living dead,
But in this P.C. day and age I would prefer to be called instead.
Something like terminally disadvantaged or living but impaired,
It would be nice if you could do this, to show me that you care!
So as I stagger towards you with my arms outstretched,
Please don’t try to shoot me, in fact it would be better yet.
If you put away your gun and we’ll have a word or two,
I have so much to tell you from my undead point of view!
I can speak properly you know I just like to grunt and groan,
And I can resist the urge to rip the flesh from your bones
So why don’t we have a chat about something that‘s fun?
How about my embarrassment of being an undead person?
My shameful story begins before I was a zombie you know
Way before the cruel hand of fate dealt me this nasty blow.
When I was alive I used to go to bars and argue with my mates,
That there was no hell or heaven with its pearly gates.
Once your dead you stay that way, I was sure that was the truth,
But now after dying I have found that I am unliving proof
Of the opposite of my argument I thought true I’d claimed.
So I hope I don’t see my old friends, I might just die of shame
However as if that wasn’t bad enough (as if things could get worse
Than stumbling around a victim of this terrible undead curse.
Is that people now call me a flesh-eating barbarian
How I wish I could tell them that I used to be a vegetarian!