Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Seven Nielsen Oct 2021
Vlad's favorite soup
was half-done meat
eyeballs and skin slabs
and fingers and feet

he loved to ****
on the sockets and bones
and chew on the ears
and noses of crones

eyelids were good
on bread made with blood
but only if pureed
to look just like mud
A humble Halloween offering.
Seven Nielsen Oct 2021
Tears abandon
on the way
mark each heartfelt
yesterday
Seven Nielsen Sep 2021
Wishes
suspended
in a filmy lacquer
like a child's secret utterance
set
  in
       invisible
                  liquid-hope
                         ­        based on nothing at all
are like blemishes in an otherwise perfect diamond

How, in a lugubrious world
     hanging
     by
     a
     single
     extruded
     wire
     of
     tenuous
     mercy
can there be
mines beneath shallow graves
dug by slaves with crossed fingers
and frightening visions
of those thousand-foot-deep-burial-wells
drilled into the forehead of the world
     in fake-searching
              of a new
                        and magic
                                        element
           ­                                         to brag-mix
into toothpaste or 'new and improved' Brylcreem
  (now formulated for your pets and guaranteed to make a difference)

                                             PLEASE NOTE:
A child's wish or question should be disqualified due to the lack
of subtext and connived distortion to fashion the desired answer
                                                or result

The space between burial plots
is reserved to bury the mental oozings
of wishers and questioners
and the ceremonies are to be torchlit processions
                                               marching
                                            back
       ­                                 into
                           ­               rotting
                                          ­      cemeteries
                                      near darkened woods
                                 on the edge of civilizations
              where truth sleeps in the above-mentioned shallow graves

There are caves and mines below,
                                                      you know
                 encroached and heavily toothed
                 with stalactites
                 and stalagmites
                 of stalac-rights
                 and stalag-wrongs
                 of revivalist lies
                 gurgling up in groundseepage
                 of blackened deceit
                 fought with limp-wristed efforts
                 by attempting reasoning
                 and pale blue innocence
                 which always clouds up the lovely prejudice in play

Do wishes petrify
or just hold very still under glass
to not frighten the proctors
or their undeveloped wards
                                                  in hoards
                                                          ­      on field trips?

The secret to making wishes come true is hidden in the puzzle:

                    K         R          O          W

                    R                   ­                 O
                                     UOY
                    O                                    R

 ­                   W         O           R          K

                     unscramble and despair

The current judges always remain unmoved
                                 unimpressed
                      uncaring
and refuse to blow out the candles
until the day that someone judges THEM
in all prejudice and bias of the mind
of good and proper scale bearers
and compromised judges

What might the answer be
when a foolish soul, surrounded in questions, asks,
"Does anyone have change for a parent?
It seems I only have a single father to my name."

"I have two career choices in the arts, so I can break him."
           is the reply
"No,"
            answeres the hopeful.
"I need four erroneous opinions to fit into his ear
or the machinery doesn't grind to a halt.
Doesn't anyone have the proper change?"

It looks like someone always sits on the low end
of the teeter-totter of wishes

Won't anyone play with me?
I wish someone would
I need contra-ballast
Somebody?
Somebody?
Anybody?

                    ­               Is everyone here made of stone?
Seven Nielsen Aug 2021
A tear comes with each poem
    written on the earth

Even with a happy tone
     a tear comes with each poem
Seven Nielsen Aug 2021
Snow whispers as it falls
gently filling mountain halls
Does it ever speak or see
as it crowns the autumn tree?

Snow whispers as it flies
when it dots the feathered skies
Can you hear its soulful cries?
for it weeps when spring arrives
Seven Nielsen Aug 2021
Like me -
I'm alone

Like me -
I'm ignored

Like me -
I'm sad

Like me -
I'm rich

Oh,
NOW you like me?
Seven Nielsen Aug 2021
on the charted floor of souls
fire heats twelve iron bowls
rafters echo devil screams
arms and legs hang from the beams

roast the skin with castor seeds
hair of crone and spice of weeds
stir and mix the flesh and blood
till the supper looks like mud

splintered skulls of fresh-chopped heads
each laid out on nightshade beds
plates of bone and knives of steel
sharpened for the midnight meal

who will choose the honored seats?
who will serve the roasted meats?
who will **** the sockets dry?
who will live, and who will die?

if you serve the master's will
every wish of his fulfill
if you heed the master's call
he might eat you last of all
Next page