National Poetry Writing Month/NaPoWriMo 2017 – 08/04/17

 

Off We Go to the Circus

 

Polished Spam beneath a cloud of hay,

full of grubby dollar bills, shit and piss,

gargling garbage, stinking like a drain

grabbing at pussies and licking his lips.

 

Full of grubby dollar bills, shit and piss,

he’s made of bacon, baking up hate,

grabbing at pussies and licking his lips,

sweating primal musk in your cornflakes.

 

He’s made of bacon, baking up hate,

swaggering about, bragging about his,

sweating primal musk in your cornflakes,

rubbing greasepaint straight on to his tits.

 

Swaggering about, bragging about his,

gargling garbage, stinking like a drain,

rubbing greasepaint straight on to his tits

polished Spam beneath a cloud of hay.

 

 

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National Poetry Writing Month/NaPoWriMo 2017 – 05/04/17

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The man with the yellow hair approached the cave with caution, crouched and creeping, scheming a solution to the problem of possession. The lizard men, purple skinned and feathered sat or stood, some laughing, others dancing, all guarding the object of his affection, a solid oak box bound with brass fittings. The air was thick with the stench of lizard men together; a dense, musky funk that stung the nostrils and clouded his thoughts

the sword of the stone

    calls your inner warrior

to bathe in their blood

He stood, holding aloft his wicked curved blade and shining shield and charged the nearest lizard man, catching him unawares with a cut across the throat. A club crashed down beside him as he wheeled on his heels and clattered another with his shield before back flipping away, firing a flaming arrow at the peak of his flight through bone as he caught a wicked club blow to the chest that knocked him backwards, down into dust and darkness…

awaken saviour!

                  the Princess needs her hero,

       your name is foretold

 

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