Halloween Poems

30 okt 2011 1 kommentar

av Karina Rose Mahan in Uncategorized

Tonight a friend and I are having a fantastic Halloween night. One of our activities was writing spontaneous, bad, ironic and wonderful poetry. We chose 5 categories for poems, 5 random words that HAD to be included in each poem. We put on a Halloween song, and by the end of each song, one poem had to be finished. Here is the result:

1. Vampire Love

Words: Marriage, Hermitship, Flamboyancy, Grateful, Included

Karina

Hermitship is a synonym

for how our love will be.

Grateful you’re dead

that means forever you and me

I love your diamond skin

Flamboyancy included

I’m … waiting

for our irrevocable marriage.

Myriam

After my hermitship, I went for her hand in marriage.

Marriage to ensure that she would always be mine,

Blushing and grateful for it.

Marriage to her neck would be mine

Whenever I pleased (included, but not limited to her wonderful juicy artery)

but she declined my hand

said no, sweet as a virgin

said she’d been seduced

by a stable hand, charming in his flamboyancy

my vision turned red

no more could I see

so I killed them both

and never again did I pledge my soul to another

2. Being a Mummy

Words: Plague, Leaved, Vast, Installation, Mutually

Karina

My body’s an installation

with a great obligation

To plague those leaved

With my vast chest heaved

bandaged

mutually painful

for you and me

Myriam

The plague took me

The plague took you

The plague took us all

an installation on the

way to more, to more improved

To vast perfection

A dream shattered, forced,

gone terribly wrong

So here we stand

surrounded by gravestones and leaved willows

mutually mummiable

3. Brain Craving

Words: Die (noun, like “dice”), economically, stereo, cut, bullet

Karina

It’s hardly risky,

the game I play

A roll of the die

And I’ll gladly put a bullet in my …

well, If I had such a thing

I want it, crave it, need it

Yet economically it’s an impossibility.

Already had to cut my budget

Damn stereo

But soon, one day, those sweet, grey fat folds will be engulfed by me.

Myriam

Breath is no longer rationed

Not something to be thought of economically

The die rises

falls

The probability of us all biting the bullet inches ever higher.

No quiet, this steady rumble tumbling and

rough-housing its way through your body

Cutting through the silence,

if there ever was one

Our yell is one, stereo

A single cry shared by many

Our lust for brains unites us

Only this, and nothing more.

4. How to Die

Words: Postmaster, Acidic, Conniving, Upstage, Margarita

Karina

Hello all.

I’m the Postmaster,

and I want to tell you how to die.

Step 1: Mix your margarita with poison

’till it becomes acidic

Step 2: Maybe give it to your conniving wife

who’s always plotting for your alimony

Step 3: Upstage your neighbors’ Halloween decorations by doing Step 1 and 2 on the front lawn.

Myriam

Maybe a free fall, this time round?

From the Eiffel Towner,

Statue of Liberty

Something classy, anyhow

Maybe a margarita in a smoky bar somewhere south

with a beautiful woman’s smile turning acidic

across the table in front of you

May simply a fit of rage

A bullet to the brain

Nothing more conniving than this

Maybe a serial killer apprentice

A learner of the old ways

the ways of Jack the Ripper, Albert Fish

Trying to upstage Charles Manson because he

wasn’t hugged enough as a child

Or maybe a simple, swinging rope will be your downfall

Your failures cutting into

Your throat as you dangle

(She forgot Postmaster!)

5. Why I like Cemeteries

Words: Lumberjack, Interrogative, Squishy, Grist, Beautifying

Karina

The squishy lumberjack once told me:

Anna, Anna

Don’t go near the cemetery across the street.

Live near the dead and you will become them.

His tone so interrogative

I ignored him

Went across the street

Disobeyed

The taste in my mouth

was like grist

traveling down my throat.

Beautifying the death

within

That came out

Every time

I walked across

the street.

Myriam

This beautification is

All thanks to my mother

Abandonment is most poetic in a graveyard

Her last words to me, before she disappeared

out the gate and out of my life.

I live here, on grist and gruel

Learning obituaries with a hand stuck down my pants

This is not the the place for normalcy

For the squishy, cozy, apple pie life

This is the place for raping cross-dressing lumberjacks

Meeting interrogative stares

by constable women and

giving them flecked grins

This is no place for normalcy

This graveyard is a place for the living.