X-RHYMES - Hello Poetry

THE WITHERED WITCH AND HER HENCHMAN a withered witch had her own crone at whom she'd ***** and nag and moan to make life cursed for her henchman since best for worst had been her plan a sweet old broad to untrained eye mean overlord to her old guy and what you'd hear come from their yard was less old dear more prison guard she'd yell and bray, she'd give commands which he'd obey with ancient hands and quite forlorn by circumstance he'd mow the lawn and plant the plants then paint the shed and prune the rose then **** the bed and man the hose make straight the edge and feed the birds and trim the hedge - all on her word then quick to state he'd done it wrong she'd cry 'not straight, you took too long, in the wrong place, too deep, won't sprout' right in his face, day in, day out no word was heard from there one day no strife was stirred, no fresh affray what kind of game could her placate? the answer came a tad too late in pools of red they found her laid stuck in her head - a garden ***** with him suspended from a tree life self-ended...peacefully he'd left a note of what occurred and what he wrote, his final word 'that's one task that I know for sure she won't ask me to do once more' one quick aside that's wise to tell is when they died both went to Hell where she's displeased with his last choice and he's still teased by her shrill voice.

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5d ago

May 29, 2026 at 11:04 AM UTC

THE WITHERED WITCH AND HER HENCHMAN

THE WITHERED WITCH AND HER HENCHMAN a withered witch had her own crone at whom she'd ***** and nag and moan to make life cursed for her henchman since best for worst had been her plan a sweet old broad to untrained eye mean overlord to her old guy and what you'd hear come from their yard was less old dear more prison guard she'd yell and bray, she'd give commands which he'd obey with ancient hands and quite forlorn by circumstance he'd mow the lawn and plant the plants then paint the shed and prune the rose then **** the bed and man the hose make straight the edge and feed the birds and trim the hedge - all on her word then quick to state he'd done it wrong she'd cry 'not straight, you took too long, in the wrong place, too deep, won't sprout' right in his face, day in, day out no word was heard from there one day no strife was stirred, no fresh affray what kind of game could her placate? the answer came a tad too late in pools of red they found her laid stuck in her head - a garden ***** with him suspended from a tree life self-ended...peacefully he'd left a note of what occurred and what he wrote, his final word 'that's one task that I know for sure she won't ask me to do once more' one quick aside that's wise to tell is when they died both went to Hell where she's displeased with his last choice and he's still teased by her shrill voice.

37

Work-Death Balance Working late, Tom on his own that Friday afternoon - quite contented, office drone - but that would change quite soon when a ringing in his ear a tickling at his neck signalled something Tom might fear could be there if he'd check temperature began to fall and static charged the air goosebumps formed so white and small beneath Tom's standing hair missives pinned to notice boards seemed bothered by a wind then where all his files were stored a ghost appeared and grinned spellbound by this spooky scene for which work had not trained Tom from pink turned sickly green then all his colour drained the ghost in chains, dusty locks and to a shroud confined gestured vaguely at the clock and then unbound its mind "you have no home to go to? nothing you’d rather do? got nobody who loves you? the bars ran out of brew? next time when you hear the chime of five leave work aside or end up in overtime like I did when I died." suddenly Tom's mouth was dry his voice had shrunk to none arguments unwise to try so put his coat straight on and mimed like he was yawning hand raised to gaping jaw said "See you Monday morning" and ran straight for the door.

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May 25

May 25, 2026 at 11:08 AM UTC

WORK-DEATH BALANCE

Work-Death Balance Working late, Tom on his own that Friday afternoon - quite contented, office drone - but that would change quite soon when a ringing in his ear a tickling at his neck signalled something Tom might fear could be there if he'd check temperature began to fall and static charged the air goosebumps formed so white and small beneath Tom's standing hair missives pinned to notice boards seemed bothered by a wind then where all his files were stored a ghost appeared and grinned spellbound by this spooky scene for which work had not trained Tom from pink turned sickly green then all his colour drained the ghost in chains, dusty locks and to a shroud confined gestured vaguely at the clock and then unbound its mind "you have no home to go to? nothing you’d rather do? got nobody who loves you? the bars ran out of brew? next time when you hear the chime of five leave work aside or end up in overtime like I did when I died." suddenly Tom's mouth was dry his voice had shrunk to none arguments unwise to try so put his coat straight on and mimed like he was yawning hand raised to gaping jaw said "See you Monday morning" and ran straight for the door.

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TOO CLOSE TO CALL which one of us died? I hear myself moan while I sit at your side and you drink on your own which one of us left? who left who behind? whose heart more bereft? this plays on my mind who drinks 'til they fall and ***** overdosed will walk into walls? I can't I'm a ghost you only lost me but made me your all so who ceased to be? it's too close to call when all's done and said our one tragic flaw we're both of us dead let's call it a draw.

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May 21

May 21, 2026 at 7:11 PM UTC

TOO CLOSE TO CALL

TOO CLOSE TO CALL which one of us died? I hear myself moan while I sit at your side and you drink on your own which one of us left? who left who behind? whose heart more bereft? this plays on my mind who drinks 'til they fall and ***** overdosed will walk into walls? I can't I'm a ghost you only lost me but made me your all so who ceased to be? it's too close to call when all's done and said our one tragic flaw we're both of us dead let's call it a draw.

22

Who Died Again? the bed sheets shroud the sleeping face that missed Tom's wakeup call still sunken in the pillowcase from dreams they'd yet to fall a magic spell withheld his breath the room in pregnant pause the rosy smell of sudden death and closed and opened doors the bandage blankets, body bound implied this wound would heal but frequencies re-tuned, Tom found to channels far less real like daytime television Tom says "You still in bed?" a silent, frank admission 'i'm dead', nobody said Tom's universe from then looked new degraded, not surpassed been split in two then bent askew, much darker and less vast unless instead the mind had lied for it's own pity's sake implied those left behind had died and then supplied a fake well if that true one might assume he'd find more death beds laid if Tom should ever leave that room is this how ghosts are made? so who went where and who stayed here remained unverified and left Tom feeling less than clear which one of them had died

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Apr 7

Apr 7, 2026 at 6:11 PM UTC

WHO DIED AGAIN?

Who Died Again? the bed sheets shroud the sleeping face that missed Tom's wakeup call still sunken in the pillowcase from dreams they'd yet to fall a magic spell withheld his breath the room in pregnant pause the rosy smell of sudden death and closed and opened doors the bandage blankets, body bound implied this wound would heal but frequencies re-tuned, Tom found to channels far less real like daytime television Tom says "You still in bed?" a silent, frank admission 'i'm dead', nobody said Tom's universe from then looked new degraded, not surpassed been split in two then bent askew, much darker and less vast unless instead the mind had lied for it's own pity's sake implied those left behind had died and then supplied a fake well if that true one might assume he'd find more death beds laid if Tom should ever leave that room is this how ghosts are made? so who went where and who stayed here remained unverified and left Tom feeling less than clear which one of them had died

33

the ground began to freeze when the day was almost done and the bony fingered trees poked a sky of half-ripe plum I shivered, coughed and sneezed and knew that spring would come but in Januarys like these I can live without the sun.

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Jan 22, 2025

Jan 22, 2025 at 4:51 PM UTC

JANUARY

the ground began to freeze when the day was almost done and the bony fingered trees poked a sky of half-ripe plum I shivered, coughed and sneezed and knew that spring would come but in Januarys like these I can live without the sun.

8

just past darkest, in pre-dawn where only ghosts belong somnambulist stood on the lawn in lonely morn birdsong up high a sky of dark blue slate and smudged by moonlit chalk inquired why, so soon, too late he’d judged it wise to walk he’d missed the gold at set of sun the cloak of night long fell and kissed by cold, feet wet and numb been woke under this spell in bare feet, naked and alone his toes caressed the grass had rare, sweet, sacred things unknown disposed themselves to pass? if not then how had this occurred - just slept-walked down the stairs? alfresco now, from slumber stirred and crept out unawares? no light did switch, no latch did lift, no dead bolt did he slide what nightmare glitch cast him adrift and led him on this ride? to understand why he’d been drawn he leaned upon the fence and scanned the hills ahead, forlorn but gleaned no ounce of sense his thoughts parlayed a trick was played a kind of waking dream for sport that bade him walk or wade the mind’s unconscious stream but when coerced the mist did clear on tracks once shaded black how he’d traversed from there to here - the facts cascaded back he’d climbed in bed to get some rest a touch before nightfall an aching head and tight of chest that much he could recall he’d said “I’ll live, not really ill -benign, not far from norm I’m fed up with this winter chill but fine, on par, just warm” then pulled the sheets ‘til tightly wrapped to burn that fever out but lulled from sleep, felt shoulder tapped he turned as if to shout a djinn or sprite was in the room beside him, floating there it’s skin so white it lit the gloom supplied him quite a scare and tall and thin, half out, half in each limb a branch of birch with pointy chin and wicked grin the grim of some dark church he couldn’t deal with that right then so lay to face the wall in time he’d steal a look again or maybe not at all “I’ll save my view from things untrue and hocus-pocus lies that see-through, voodoo, bug-a-boo made by unfocussed eyes.” since that’s the way he dealt with things and had done all his life downplay, delay the woes it brings he’d shun, defer all strife with problems near, beset by fear he’d sit them out and wait his steer was clear, why interfere? commit them unto fate you might expect fiends from beyond that form of fevered head won’t interject, reply, respond - but here’s what this one said “Why, don’t be shy, deny your eye or will me to wink out divert, decry, dismiss, defy I’ll still be here, don’t doubt concerns you spurn when trouble stirs you never make a stand your court adjourns, your head inters wherever you find sand but think on this, somnambulist who sleeps all through his day ignorant bliss by case dismissed won’t keep my kiss at bay Death, the darkest, endless black says nigh it’s time to pay somnambulist get off your back or die right where you lay.” what happened then remained occult but hindsight left implied the whys and whens and end result was in the night - he’d died a skipped heat beat, forgotten breath then pale and stiff and cold beneath the sheet, begotten death the tale at last was told unless, undressed he’d thought to rise impressed by Death’s dark voice duress he guessed might make him wise if pressed with that stark choice to Heaven’s bliss, to Hell to roast or on Earth still to dwell somnambulist or new born ghost? the birthing morn would tell.

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Oct 20, 2024

Oct 20, 2024 at 3:03 PM UTC

THE SOMNAMBULIST

just past darkest, in pre-dawn where only ghosts belong somnambulist stood on the lawn in lonely morn birdsong up high a sky of dark blue slate and smudged by moonlit chalk inquired why, so soon, too late he’d judged it wise to walk he’d missed the gold at set of sun the cloak of night long fell and kissed by cold, feet wet and numb been woke under this spell in bare feet, naked and alone his toes caressed the grass had rare, sweet, sacred things unknown disposed themselves to pass? if not then how had this occurred - just slept-walked down the stairs? alfresco now, from slumber stirred and crept out unawares? no light did switch, no latch did lift, no dead bolt did he slide what nightmare glitch cast him adrift and led him on this ride? to understand why he’d been drawn he leaned upon the fence and scanned the hills ahead, forlorn but gleaned no ounce of sense his thoughts parlayed a trick was played a kind of waking dream for sport that bade him walk or wade the mind’s unconscious stream but when coerced the mist did clear on tracks once shaded black how he’d traversed from there to here - the facts cascaded back he’d climbed in bed to get some rest a touch before nightfall an aching head and tight of chest that much he could recall he’d said “I’ll live, not really ill -benign, not far from norm I’m fed up with this winter chill but fine, on par, just warm” then pulled the sheets ‘til tightly wrapped to burn that fever out but lulled from sleep, felt shoulder tapped he turned as if to shout a djinn or sprite was in the room beside him, floating there it’s skin so white it lit the gloom supplied him quite a scare and tall and thin, half out, half in each limb a branch of birch with pointy chin and wicked grin the grim of some dark church he couldn’t deal with that right then so lay to face the wall in time he’d steal a look again or maybe not at all “I’ll save my view from things untrue and hocus-pocus lies that see-through, voodoo, bug-a-boo made by unfocussed eyes.” since that’s the way he dealt with things and had done all his life downplay, delay the woes it brings he’d shun, defer all strife with problems near, beset by fear he’d sit them out and wait his steer was clear, why interfere? commit them unto fate you might expect fiends from beyond that form of fevered head won’t interject, reply, respond - but here’s what this one said “Why, don’t be shy, deny your eye or will me to wink out divert, decry, dismiss, defy I’ll still be here, don’t doubt concerns you spurn when trouble stirs you never make a stand your court adjourns, your head inters wherever you find sand but think on this, somnambulist who sleeps all through his day ignorant bliss by case dismissed won’t keep my kiss at bay Death, the darkest, endless black says nigh it’s time to pay somnambulist get off your back or die right where you lay.” what happened then remained occult but hindsight left implied the whys and whens and end result was in the night - he’d died a skipped heat beat, forgotten breath then pale and stiff and cold beneath the sheet, begotten death the tale at last was told unless, undressed he’d thought to rise impressed by Death’s dark voice duress he guessed might make him wise if pressed with that stark choice to Heaven’s bliss, to Hell to roast or on Earth still to dwell somnambulist or new born ghost? the birthing morn would tell.

108

watching Where Eagles Dare just ahead of Yuletide came a bang from upstairs while the snow fell outside was that you, bro, up there was it something you tried just to make me aware of the moment you died? was that you, bro? was your cigarette stink by our old Christmas tree? did you make its lights blink and that bauble fall free? did you want me to think you were right there with me? that you'd severed the link from your human debris? is that true, bro? then an unconscious stream brought a nice note of grace in a bar, just a dream where we had an embrace and the overall theme I recall, from your face you're still part of our team lost in time, Lost in Space I miss you, bro I said 'drop me a clue next time, easily found should you ever pass through let me know you're inbound' he said 'I always do but it can't be profound there'll be some subtle cue so you'll know I'm around' don't say boo, bro.

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Aug 18, 2024

Aug 18, 2024 at 7:17 AM UTC

Was That You, Bro?

watching Where Eagles Dare just ahead of Yuletide came a bang from upstairs while the snow fell outside was that you, bro, up there was it something you tried just to make me aware of the moment you died? was that you, bro? was your cigarette stink by our old Christmas tree? did you make its lights blink and that bauble fall free? did you want me to think you were right there with me? that you'd severed the link from your human debris? is that true, bro? then an unconscious stream brought a nice note of grace in a bar, just a dream where we had an embrace and the overall theme I recall, from your face you're still part of our team lost in time, Lost in Space I miss you, bro I said 'drop me a clue next time, easily found should you ever pass through let me know you're inbound' he said 'I always do but it can't be profound there'll be some subtle cue so you'll know I'm around' don't say boo, bro.

36

once a man had a thought that he voiced in a crowd and it made the air taut thinking was not allowed with the mind of a hive they all turned on their friend and that last thought alive soon they brought to an end then with knives and with forks on his carcass they fed just like ravenous hawks only leaving his head and the ones who came late as they chewed on his brain found the thoughts that they ate made them feel less insane now the thinker is gone but the seed he'd sown grew so his thought still lives on in the minds of a few so the ending now nears with the fable complete and a moral appears -that you are what you eat.

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Aug 9, 2024

Aug 9, 2024 at 11:40 AM UTC

YOU ARE WHAT YOU EAT

once a man had a thought that he voiced in a crowd and it made the air taut thinking was not allowed with the mind of a hive they all turned on their friend and that last thought alive soon they brought to an end then with knives and with forks on his carcass they fed just like ravenous hawks only leaving his head and the ones who came late as they chewed on his brain found the thoughts that they ate made them feel less insane now the thinker is gone but the seed he'd sown grew so his thought still lives on in the minds of a few so the ending now nears with the fable complete and a moral appears -that you are what you eat.

24

it's not about the cost, i heard it once explained it's not about what's lost it's all about what's gained and things will always change in life's unfolding game so soon enough the strange becomes the same old same scenario case worst is opportunity although of course at first that's often hard to see.

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May 24, 2024

May 24, 2024 at 8:28 AM UTC

LOSS REDUCTION

it's not about the cost, i heard it once explained it's not about what's lost it's all about what's gained and things will always change in life's unfolding game so soon enough the strange becomes the same old same scenario case worst is opportunity although of course at first that's often hard to see.

12

the sound of the chime of some town hall clock announced it was time for head to meet block no order belayed no reprieve supplied as justice delayed was justice denied so set to the task he had his head bowed the swing of an axe the gasp of the crowd decision so made and sentence then passed his head was displayed so lessons would last but once on the stake his eyes opened wide they saw him awake he hadn’t quite died and pouring with gore in scarlet red drips from jaw to the floor came words from his lips “I lived for so long a life just like any seen right become wrong things turn on a penny so this is no shock it's mostly my lot my neck's been on blocks much more than it's not so my head's been lost more often than once and if this the cost well, here’s my response" and then from the street his torso did rise made death obsolete much to their surprise they took to their feet with yells, screams and cries and beat a retreat averting their eyes so nobody saw him take his head down and fix it once more then walk out of town it took quite some pluck to go to that length and some called it luck while others said strength but now it’s the case that he lives afar his head still in place above a deep scar reminder he could have died on that day and one day he would but not when they say.

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May 16, 2024

May 16, 2024 at 6:26 PM UTC

HEAD ON A BLOCK

the sound of the chime of some town hall clock announced it was time for head to meet block no order belayed no reprieve supplied as justice delayed was justice denied so set to the task he had his head bowed the swing of an axe the gasp of the crowd decision so made and sentence then passed his head was displayed so lessons would last but once on the stake his eyes opened wide they saw him awake he hadn’t quite died and pouring with gore in scarlet red drips from jaw to the floor came words from his lips “I lived for so long a life just like any seen right become wrong things turn on a penny so this is no shock it's mostly my lot my neck's been on blocks much more than it's not so my head's been lost more often than once and if this the cost well, here’s my response" and then from the street his torso did rise made death obsolete much to their surprise they took to their feet with yells, screams and cries and beat a retreat averting their eyes so nobody saw him take his head down and fix it once more then walk out of town it took quite some pluck to go to that length and some called it luck while others said strength but now it’s the case that he lives afar his head still in place above a deep scar reminder he could have died on that day and one day he would but not when they say.

60