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Amanda Woolley Jul 2016
Mr Peeler, Mr Peeler, why do you creep into my room at night,
and feed nightmares into my brain to give me such a fright?
Didnt your mommy ever tell you its naughty
to scare a little girl like me?

Mr Peeler, Mr Peeler, why do you hide in the shadows of my room
and why is there a stench of doom?
Why, once you've pulled my eyelids from my face,
do you run away as if you are in disgrace?

Mr Peeler why, with my eyelids did you make pretty butterflies
once you had ripped them from my eyes?
Why mr peeler did you have to be so cruel
and never let me sleep at all?

Okay so when i originally wrote this poem it was because i couldnt sleep very well and i had just remembered a grizzly tales for gruesome kids episode i once saw. (for those who dont know what grizzly tales for gruesome kids is, its a cartoon that aimed to scare children into being good by saying stuff like if you refuse to go to sleep mr peeler will come and rip off your eyelids because he thinks you dont need them.) . Out of all the characters I saw on grizzly tales for gruesome kids I liked Mr Peeler the best. Which leads me nicely back to my poem. I wrote this as if I was a little child who didnt want to go bed so Mr Peeler ripped off her eyelids. Let me no what you think, also i'd be interested in knowing who else has heard of Mr Peeler before now.
Jimmy King Apr 2015
For almost two years we’ve been sitting on a conveyor belt
Heading straight for the potato peeler, which will
Slice right through our thickened skins and puncture our vitals;
A cold cruel machine designed to sit
In industrial kitchens
Waiting for Sodexo’s next batch.

But we—
We’re from the farmer’s market and we are not
Four inches in diameter and six inches in length.
We are clunky. We are knobbled. We are
Purpleyellow and we are waterysweet.
We are not
Iowabland or a poem of rhyming couplets, yeah
We are free verse and we

Had *** because we’re friends.
Or maybe because
We love each other
In one way or another.
Or maybe because we’re lost
Or maybe all of the above, yeah—I don’t know, I just know

The potato peeler won’t accept us for a second.
That mechanical grip, slicing slicing slicing,
A fumbling tumbling in countless browntowhite progression,
It won't accept
Our color, our flavor, our beautiful swirling eyes,
And for a while I didn't either.
But whether we have two more months on the belt or twenty years,
I know that our knobbled progression to nowhere
Will have been one of everywhere.
Thomas Campbell Jan 2017
Oh what I’d give...
What I’d give to write within
A book whose every page is made
From smooth banana skin

The texture firm but fair,
This I long to feel
Beneath my pen which glides
Over yellow, fleshy peel

Guiding, fixing clumsy script
To exceed its usual style
Putting pen to banana
Puts to my face a smile
anyone else love writing on bananas?