#bluebell
Farmer Tom, fell on times hard,
Needing to feed the animals because
Scrawny
Emaciated
Anorexic
Animals wouldn't get much.
So on the black market, cheap feed
"Not For Human Consumption"
That was good enough
For farmer Tom.
He thought he would try it on the
Chickens first,
"Buck, Buck, Buck"
Scratching of fifty little feet,
Breakfast,
Lunch,
Dinner
They looked as before
"Plucky little egg laying machines"
Still hungry
Wait till morning my feathered friends.
Night set upon the surroundings
Farmer Tom
Woke,
Startled,
Confused
What the?? Slippers, dressing gown,
Shotgun loaded,
"Tip toe, tip toe tip toe"
"Bang"
"Mary mother of joseph"
"That dam dog and his toys"
"Ok safety on"
The yard was silent, except for
a noise faint but heard
"Buck, buck Aahhhhh"
Farmer tom curious of this noise
Listening with ears Focused
Came to a sight of horror
Chickens pecking
The eyes out of blue bell
Mooooooooooo,
Then cluck
Mooooooooooooooo,
Then cluck, Aahhhhhhhh,
Then misfortune,
"SNAP, CRUNCH"
As 42 feet turned,
Eyes red as crimson
Feathers matted, and that smell
Decaying cow as bell got up
"Moooooooooooo, Aahhhhhhhh, cluck,"
*"Father Jims tunic"
As Bell swayed towards farmer tom,
Little feet carried in the hole in bells gut,
"MOooooooooo"
"Cluck"
Mooooooooooo
"Cluck"
Farmer Tom ran for his dear life,
Past the chicken coop
Where blood soaked remains
Of those unlucky chickens, parts rancid
As the head of a chicken looks up as I run past,
Doors locked, windows too,
What the hell is that noise??
As a rancid chicken comes though the dogs door
"Kentucky this mother cluck, cluck err"
The last thing it did before I sent it too hell
Laid an egg, green and sour,
"What the hell was in that feed"
Out the back he ran, bag in hand
Zombie
Meat
Danger
Incineration is required,
"Zombie meat?? what the blue blazes"
As he runs to the house
Whoosh, above his head
As the house once home, erupts a fiery death ,
Tom see's Bell surrounded
By gents in suits
Moooo, Aahhhh, Cluck,
"Excuse me sirs"
"What the frigging heck is going on"
They fry bell on the spot, Mmm burger
"Snap out of it man"
As the chickens peck upon a suit
As he screams fallen to the ground
Pecked to death, but death just woke up.
Tom runs in slippers as they set upon the pecked man
"Tom keeps on running"
"Tom keeps on jogging"
"Tom keeps thinking I'm too old for this"
He hides in the old barn five miles away
Waits there for days too scared to come out
Then on the fifth day he treads carefully not to be seen
He sees a house, see's a coop and chickens
Cluck,
Cluck,
Mooooooo
All around is heard, as he runs a round
Bell is that you, you got more spots
*"Interesting"
The house as it was beter some how.
Too this day *Farmer Tom** tells tales,
To those who listen,
"The Night of the dead Cow and The Zombie Chickens"
And how the government blew his house up
And then built him a better one, hell I wouldn't moan now.
Jan 15, 2015
Jan 15, 2015 at 7:34 PM UTC
Since his death, Bluebell woods are black with pain
There is no comfort, nothing can be said
The silent forest shivers in the rain
Since his death, Bluebell woods are black with pain
Everyone asks if he was sick or sane
My dearest darling brother he is dead
Since his death, Bluebell woods are black with pain
There is no comfort, nothing can be said.
© M.L.Emmett
First published in The Mozzie Volume16, Issue 7, September 2008
Oct 26, 2014
Oct 26, 2014 at 8:52 AM UTC
(inspired by Robert Pinsky)
Morning sun on his face
steady motor murmur
vibrating the hose
Bluebells clamber
over the hill’s top -
nothing to remember
only the same engine noise
that keeps making the same sounds
under his head poised
and pulsing the same beat
no-one to say his name,
no need, no-one to praise him
only the engine’s voice - over
and over, running under him.
© M.L.Emmett
Jul 30, 2014
Jul 30, 2014 at 11:14 AM UTC
(inspired by Robert Pinsky)
Morning sun on his face
steady motor murmur
vibrating the hose
Bluebells clamber
over the hill’s top -
nothing to remember
only the same engine noise
that keeps making the same sounds
under his head poised
and pulsing the same beat
no-one to say his name,
no need, no-one to praise him
only the engine’s voice - over
and over, running under him.
© M.L.Emmett
Apr 25, 2016
Apr 25, 2016 at 7:48 AM UTC
Under the humid air
I sit, on my lofty rock and stare
as warm summer heat rises
I look toward the burning horizon
Butterflies dance by together,
enjoying the sultry August weather.
While nearby sprinklers twirl
and pinwheels whirl.
A breeze gently wisps across my skin
as birds fly by, weaving out and in.
Settling on a limb to rest and sing
before ruffling feathers and taking wing.
Bright with summer's flowers
Adorn my garden bower
with intoxicating smells
of magnolia, wisteria and bluebells
Some of August's simple treasures
brings the most delightful pleasures.
ALesiach © 07/26/2019
Jul 27, 2019
Jul 27, 2019 at 3:42 PM UTC