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Only the moonslice
once a Pacman Bobbysands
understands.

Wintervistas vitrify
from the outside.
Likewise, ectoentad encroached
the psychosocial frostbite,
the conveyorbelt of qualia
the pushupbra of propaganda;
bruited snooty God omnipresent daddy of all NIMBYs.
All that incoming removed distal news
kibed me into a thalidopus monk.

Zampa di elefante on the keyboard,
decayed beyond a criticalsituation.

Samsara spider, laughingbuddha abdomen
that Doctoroctopus's docker's omelette ambertrapt.  

Octo-Atropos did achopof
mooredlimbs problimbs chitterlimbs, left an
acolousbido, anthropomorphic monocled *******
l/ Baronvonstrucker's dastardly costard,
an empirinik ball of no bearing.

Bittersweetly breathing Thing-
addams in pilliwinks,
nullified l/ a wiseman w/out Wikileaks.

Vitruvius De-
milo ,who struts l/ an armoire,
falls l/ a stone.

Petit legume puce w/ bourgeois bruises
in a black lagoon benefits backroom.

Analogue saprobe
21st Century Life firewalled
l/ Fritzl's tamagotchi.

Hamlet in his equivocastraitjacket,
yet also inarticulate.

I'm not going anywhere in this condition;
I can't stay l/ this.
Not even some strong stump of headless elanvital
am I. The point, the point is squeamish.
a darling in Derry
by the River Foyle
in bogside slid into harry
soon this gable marked toil
and this countess came sporadic
though many were that romantic
while their seven gates said no g8
Londonderry UK
Jwala Kay Jul 2016
Ira
When I love, I exist.

However, when my love is not welcome, I don't cease to stand a fight. I demand where I invest. But I have my ego tuned to know when it's not worth any struggle anymore.
**** boy, you lifted me up and spurned all those butterflies with your touch of lips, and now you are nowhere when I need you the most. I should be able to understand that. Be it that you are simply a coward and that I was blinded or that's denial from my side, maybe. Denial of the evidence of love not being able to carve the same in you. I should have been awake. Awake when your lies mesmerized and dosed me with the temporary pleasure. Now my skin is thick. It had the temperature riot. I may not forget the pain and cry from time to time but I will learn to survive all those li'l heartaches that kills me soft. I will move on. I will smile and greet another stranger. I will win in love and life.

Say peace (ira).
There once was a man named Beowulf
Who was fiercer than a demon or werewolf
Except that he had a flaw
A dragon made him mortally sore
This prologue is prophetic
To the ending of this epic
So I’ll tell you more


Beowulf made his mind up at twenty-three
He would race his friend to swim across the sea
But fighting many sea monsters is quite trial
Beowulf only caught up in the final mile


Poor Beowulf, fierce as a werewolf
His equal would be hard to find
Though Breca nearly beat him
He managed to defeat him
But he would make up his mind


Beowulf made his mind up in his head
He would battle Grendel until one was dead
But even though his strength could cause a lot of harm
Beowulf only severed Grendel’s left arm



Poor Beowulf, fierce as a werewolf
His equal would be hard to find
Though Grendel he had saddened
Beowulf wasn’t gladdened
And he would make up his mind


Beowulf made his mind up then and there
He’d **** Grendel’s mother in her watery lair
Although the angry tarn-hag had put up a fight
Both monsters were beheaded that very night


Poor Beowulf, fierce as a werewolf
His equal would be hard to find
He took a child and mother
Like Cain had killed his brother
But he had made up his mind



Beowulf made his mind up when he was old
To slay a raging dragon of whom he’d been told
But Beowulf couldn’t deal with the dragon’s fire
And he was later burned atop a funeral pyre


Poor Beowulf, fierce as a werewolf
His equal would be hard to find
He once was a great hero
And now his worth is zero
But he would make up his mind
A parody song/poem I wrote a couple of years ago when studying the Beowulf epic.
Ira Dawson Jun 2014
The leaves wither
                                        in the way


                                                            I watched you fade
Ira Dawson May 2014
Can you hear me?
The monster waited outside of my bedroom door.
My body pressed against the floor.
Looking, waiting for someone to save me.

The silence slices through the air.
Mommy didn’t try to scare him away this time.
I felt my heart beat in my ears
and felt his nails caress my hair.

What makes you happy? Why is this happening?
My screams trapped inside my pillow?
My eyes red from tears?
Are you thriving from my fear?

All the King’s horsemen are dead.
The next day, I made my bed like terror never lived.
Tucked in my blankets and fluffed my pillows
erasing the memories of last night’s shadows.
Co-Written by Brittany Spaulding and Ira Dawson

— The End —