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  • My memory is not what it used to be
    It comes back in riddles and rhymes
    Im trying to use my memory to see
    My past glories and powerful times.

    I have memories of trips you have taken
    And people who you thought of as friends
    Some memories that will be forsaken
    And some from those beliefs or trends.

    As i sit here trying to remember it all
    I try to recall those days in the park
    When he gathered 2 of every animal
    And then loaded them up on the ark.

    The things you did with water and bread
    Where a symbol of power that we held
    The water you tuned into a powerful red
    Was for rumours of me to be dispelled.

    The frogs and insects and animals spells
    Was just to make sure they would listen
    Then you sent a few more of my ugly hells
    In the hope it would end all mankinds sin.

    The locusts where a big mistake i admit
    Those blighters took us both by surprise
    We only wanted a small portion to hit
    But they rose up and blacked out the skies.

    So a darkness was the last trick for me
    And i made it so it would last for 3 days
    But the darkness was the last thing to see
    Because thats when my memory fades.

    The world i created was a sight to behold
    My memories of those times are so good
    But when humanity set out to be so bold
    So my memories where not in the mood.
    https://i.imgur.com/fkCywRV.gif

    Comment



    • scary-halloween-backgrounds.jpg

      An Ode to Halloween.

      The moon is blood red, the night is pitch dark,
      The wind it is a'howling.
      The cat will screech, the dog will bark,
      And the wolf at the door is growling.

      "Oh, what is going on ?" you cry,
      "The world is going mad",
      Lock your windows and bar your doors
      And hide your eyes from the bad.

      While ghouls and goblins walk the streets,
      Demons and devils are a'fouling
      The air that we breathe is no longer sweet
      And the vampires are a'prowling.

      All Hallows Eve and the witches ride out,
      On their broomsticks they take to the air,
      Broken toothed hags ridden with gout,
      Luring the innocent into their lair.

      Like a child you hide, sucking your thumbs,
      Your mind is naught but a fear filled fog,
      For Something Wicked This Way Comes,
      And her name is... Nanny Ogg.
      sigpic

      Comment




      • imagesxdfh.jpg

        An Ode to A Witches Cosmetic Regime


        Eye of newt and tongue of toad
        Fang of snake picked off the road
        Fungus from a dead mans toe
        Finger from a vanquished foe
        All these things this Witch will take up
        To make a potion for my make-up
        It does not mean that I am bad
        It's just that I have seen that ad...


        "Because I'm worth it."
        sigpic

        Comment







        • A Witch for Halloween




          First I put on my scary wig,
          Pop in my false fangs, make sure that they're big,
          Then with a flourish, pop in my glass eye,
          Screw on my peg-leg, and then dance a jig.


          Slap on the make up, slap it on thick,
          Bright green foundation, it looks really sick,
          On my chin is a wart, all knobbly with hairs,
          And on my lips goes the blood-red lipstick.


          File down my nails 'til they look like sharp claws,
          They will come in right handy for scratching on doors,
          Polish my broomstick until it does shine,
          When they see me fly over, on the floor drops their jaws.


          All Hallows Eve, and it's always a slog,
          To make me so ugly that even the dog
          Hides under the bed until I am gone,
          For there's nothing so scary as Halloween Nanny Ogg.

          sigpic

          Comment









          • An Ode to a Vegetarian Vampire.




            I'm a Vegetarian Vampire and I really must explain
            That drinking blood is not my style, it really is a pain,
            And afterwards there always is such a bleeding mess,
            It's really not my cup of tea I really must confess.


            Don't get me wrong, I still have needs that I really have to sate,
            So if you think you're safe with me, then for you it's all too late,
            It's not a fact of life but death, there are no ifs or buts,
            I'll never nibble on your neck, but I'll gladly nom your nuts !


            sigpic

            Comment










            • An Ode to an Orange Monster


              The Vampire's out of his coffin
              The Witch dusts off her broom,
              Papa Docs' top hat is doffing
              To the lambent gleam of the moon.

              The Ghouls are ready for chomping
              Down on the flesh of the dead,
              Frankensteins gonna be stomping
              on the broken skull in your head.

              The Banshees, they are a'wailing
              their cries send a chill through your bones,
              The Ghost Pirates they are a'sailing
              From the locker of Davy Jones.

              But the scariest monster of all
              Is the evil and horrible pumpkin,
              With orange skin of a football
              That goes by the name of the Trumpkin.

              sigpic

              Comment


              • 1.jpg


                Song of the Moon




                When the moon rides high across the sky
                And the werewolves prowl and the vampires fly
                When the ghouls and goblins roam the street
                And the witches cry "When shall we three meet"
                When the banshees' wails shiver your spine
                And the zombies rise, on brains to dine
                When you're being poked by a poltergeist
                When Spring Heeled Jack has sliced and diced
                His wicked way around the town
                And Hellish demons drag you down
                When the bats and beasties come out to play
                Then hide your eyes, it's Halloween today.

                sigpic

                Comment


                • Halloween
                  Hollowbean
                  The spaces in between
                  Know what I mean?
                  Digging the scene
                  Gravediggers scream as zombies dance
                  A dance that leaves you in a ghoulish trance
                  Scroo all that romance
                  A werewolf wanders softly through the moors

                  Comment


                  • Originally posted by Mozoid View Post
                    Halloween
                    Hollowbean
                    The spaces in between
                    Know what I mean?
                    Digging the scene
                    Gravediggers scream as zombies dance
                    A dance that leaves you in a ghoulish trance
                    Scroo all that romance
                    A werewolf wanders softly through the moors

                    Hi Mozoid, I must say you have an interesting way
                    of structuring your poetry, it's very reminiscent of
                    those psychedelic drug fuelled poets from the
                    1960's
                    sigpic

                    Comment


                    • The word for word is word.

                      Drug fuelled
                      Drug muled
                      Rug pulled
                      60's high
                      Sixties lie
                      Sitting high
                      Fuelled on life
                      Structures fly
                      Reminiscences die
                      Interesting way
                      I must say
                      Digging my grave
                      Every day!

                      Comment


                      • Originally posted by Mozoid View Post
                        Drug fuelled
                        Drug muled
                        Rug pulled
                        60's high
                        Sixties lie
                        Sitting high
                        Fuelled on life
                        Structures fly
                        Reminiscences die
                        Interesting way
                        I must say
                        Digging my grave
                        Every day!

                        lol, loving it. Right, i have to have a crack at the Mozoid style then:

                        Strange colours
                        When im high
                        Whacky shapes
                        Come to pry
                        Gears in head
                        Up and down
                        Manic laughter
                        Before the drown
                        Life not real
                        When not done
                        Take my tabs
                        To up the fun
                        Slow and fast
                        Into the night
                        Days go by
                        Until true sight.
                        https://i.imgur.com/fkCywRV.gif

                        Comment


                        • ​NO HOPE IN DOPE

                          COLORED LIGHTS
                          TWINKLING BRIGHT
                          SPINNING AROUND
                          MAKING THAT SOUND
                          ALMOST A BEAT
                          FEEL THEIR HEAT
                          HOT TO TOUCH
                          DON'T FEEL MUCH
                          MIND IS NUMB
                          LOOK AT MY THUMB
                          FLOATING ON AIR
                          WITHOUT A CARE
                          COMING DOWN SOON
                          SAID MAN IN MOON



                          Comment


                          • Blue moon blues

                            The moon in man
                            waning gibbous
                            waxing needed
                            bare faced cheek
                            pock marked by craters
                            passing wind, carries notes on the breeze
                            bum notes that make you cough and wheeze
                            a shooting star, a flash in the...
                            Pan
                            under twinkling soul studded skies
                            cloven hoof
                            aloof
                            does a little dance
                            plays a tune on his piccolo
                            as above, so below.

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