Sister and I loved to play, to run and twirl and roll in grass all day. Momma gets mad when we go too far but our yard is massive we live on a farm! Running on rolling fields of prairie, singing and laughing and acting merry, shot right through the tree line that marks our abode, slid across the rocks on Old Joser Road, saw an old lady who walked with crumpled toes and spoke too and listened too a pack of crows, plucking weeds and picking a thorny flower she called out to us that fateful hour;

  “Oh my and how lovely, two twins so cute! I had thought no one lived so far out here, away from the town and its charming cheer? Why don’t you come over and meet my pet crows and I’ll show you two a trick that nobody knows!”

  I leaned down to consult with sister you see, she being younger she’s littler than me, I told her to stay close while we watched the show, then we’d be off and away we’d go;

  “Okay old lady my name is Tim and this here’s Tam and this place you’re in, is our family farm and that guy in the field, well that’s our Dad, and if you mess with us he gets real mad, so no funny business in this game and we’ll be nice to you just the same.”

  “Agreed indeed you little man and I can’t wait to see you in my pan!”

  Now I had to think on this real hard. Did that mean something about being able to see or was she talking about eating me? No matter, no problems and boy those crows, did they sure put on some funny shows and acted like they had lots of smarts and seemed just like pets and warmed our hearts;

  “Thanks old lady we gotta go we’re almost late for dinner you know?”

  She moved too fast and came right up and pulled out an odd-looking wooden cup;

“Wait there dearies, not so quick, about that dinner and my sweet shtick, you see you owe me a trick too, two coins I’m asking there of you, you bring them up to my cabin on that hill and I’ll teach you some magic and give you a thrill!”

  “Okay lady!”

  I agreed as we ran, if we don’t get home soon it’s gonna be my can! ‘Cause I know my pops he’ll beat my **** and I’ll be sent upstairs with nothing to eat, so I told little sister to move those feet!

caesura

  Whisk you down the road of boiled toad, and singeing hair, of whispered things and fires' flare, of evil looks from open books, pigeon’s toes and a chicken gizzard, while around your legs it crawls and creeps, my hungry lizard that never sleeps! You gawk! You stare! My wrinkly-face, the dank rank air in my dingy place, the dusty shelves a-lined in books and creepy crawlies in every nook, cobwebs and spiders at every corner, piggies run squealing while the chickens banterer, ravens caw at strange green light from lantern but back to all those shadow corners where little bad things spy and salivate, thinking on what they had last ate, and there you are shaking, nervous, trembling; a porky little piece of meat and something we all want to eat!

  “Oh don’t be scared my little one, I’m kidding, teasing, just having fun. Hand me the coins I asked for earlier, when we crossed paths along Old Joser, draw near to me, come here, come a bit closer!”

  Be careful will I not to bare my teeth, or lick my lips or stare too deep, for one is easy, two a dangerous feat and I so want to have my little porky piece of meat! I stood on a ladder with little Tam on my shoulder, so she could see the *** as it smoked and it smoldered, I directed little Tim over there to a seat and he saw me lick my lips as I thought about their meat.

  “Aha ha ha ha ha!”

  I laughed out loud as I cast in the dust and the billows changed color and kiddies made a fuss, but then the sparkly things popped and shimmered in their eyes, while both of them let out marvelous sighs, bewildered, bemused and tricked by my lie, I threw Tammy in to my cauldron to die!

  “Nooooooo!”

  Little Tim, little Tim did he let me in and punished will he be for that little sin, I whispered a spell and took up my broom and zapped a hole in the floor out in the room, where Tim was running and dropped him in a hole, down a tunnel he went that saved his soul, for out he shot back on Old Joser Road, no wiser no worse for the trick I showed!

Now listen up children or this is your lot,

For I’m out there always lurking with my ***,

I’m always hungry and so are my crows,

We’ll eat you up all the way to your toes,

“Jimson and sassafras, morning glory, woodrose seed,”

“A ***** of my finger, lock of my hair, a thimble and tweed,”

“Two coins, a cauldron, my cunning and your breed,”

“Whenever I’m hungry that’s all that I need!”

insects sleep in dead trees
the dead trees still stand because they
have small guests to entertain

bugs are beautiful
even when they sting me
take little nips from my neck and ***

ants crawl five feet below
but they still make my forehead hot

bugs are beautiful
they do not **** anyone, bugs remind
me that I am alive in little bites

for them, I will
take my fever and put it in a shrine

i hate it when a ~haiku is forced upon me, but such
is the case, and it's not a case of dittoing out
a mechanical aspect of that body that's
known as vocabulary:
thus, suddenly, as if a ****, or
a reflex the tongue commanded
the entire body -
left-wing obstructions gave way to
right-wing rebelliousness -
    the left said the tongue was no dagger,
the right said: merely a dagger -
the gyroid: or the muscles we never thought
existed! lanky tendons, etc.
    never the microscopic proof reductionism
and never the telescopic proof           ",
always somewhere in the middle:
and that's about right.
               i wrote a poem, it sounded about right
and then i get the wanked-over shoulder
calling it life-support dandruff
because of the many sprouts possible -
as ever: some come and give a voice unto
the people, and some come and give an ought
unto the people.
               a choice that's mutually inclusive
of thought and choice as a battleground
for the mechanisation of language into
sulphur gas and bayonets
and a thousand wildcards charging and screaming
lost toward the bewilderment of
   forgotten sexting.
      what a mighty affair:
the only country delving the prospect of
an atom bomb being dropped again doesn't believe
in munition economics and doesn't see
that the paranoia can be stopped when the capitalist
sober-heads enter and say: but where's the profit?
there's not profit in an atom bomb:
it ends too soon,
     you never got a Hollywood chapter yoyo
      concerning Hiroshima or Nagasaki...
you got one about Pearl Harbor...
a competent act of war... but not like our
civilians really matter: we civilians got the treatment
of being active members of the army,
while the army personnel were given civilian
Pilate status, the army was given civilian status
and the Japanese civilians were given army status...
oh forget the noodle swindler -
that handwritten hoola-hoop spinster of
carbohydrates is long gone...
          or the greatest paranoia against all other
nations comes from a nation that actually used the weapon!
       i could write a haiku version of what i lost,
but i'll still have to write something about you-tube
vloggers and how they are the newest version
of the objective propaganda machine that's in
the Islamic camp of merchants...
       prophet-merchant? give me a break:
if his word doesn't sell, then who's does?
my endorsement? less of a cosmetic light-touch surgeon
attitude, my endorsement is that of
Morphy Richards' Soup Maker...
cooking pumpkin soup...
  pumpkin... well: it's hardly an easy peel when it
comes to cooking butternut squash...
it's a disaster! a hell to endure! no wonder it's the veg
that frighten offs the ghouls and the ghost
you can't peel it, you have to Apache skin it
like getting a colonial wig: scalping your way into
the high court, albeit minus the greyish curls -
******* is a king of culinary demises
that were sought out expeditions -
you have to knife your way beneath the snail-like
shell and then there's that cobweb of mush
with intrinsic fake seeds / flies lodged in
the orange cobweb - for all that effort
i appreciate it more as a lampshade than a food
source... but then the advertised starving Africans
as anti-colonial compensation for "our"
grandfather's recollection of monochromatic cultures,
before globalisation took off.. hmm.
the soup? pumpkin, potato, onion, garlic,
nutmeg, paprika, chicken stock,
salt and pepper to taste...
tomorrow? a pumpkin risotto...
hey! seasonal abundance, Spanish strawberries
in late winter are too watery anyway...
   people forgot that certain things taste better
in season, that's namely fruits and vegetables...
   go outside your fancy, outside your whim,
you'll finally have to say: my eyes eat
at the very credibility of such things being
there without the season... but my tongue does not
taste the thing that requires a pentagonal sense
honing in toward an agreed to democracy:
it ain't there... as ever autumnal fruits make their
way toward the culinary redcarpet -
                   apples, pears....
     but the real ice brokers remain tangled in
the gnostics of dairy *****: you only see the *****
when the milk turns sour...
              and the two segregate
their cauliflower bergs and that pristine seethrough
        matrix -
then it's like watching the 1054 schism:
          aquasal herring
                               and aquadulci tench -
as painful as listening to my father speak english:
it's just ****** painful,
i write english and speak it like an Anglo
   and he speaks it like an Arab:
with me it's: left right left right left right
and his is an ancient form of actual Latin
              right left right left right left -
of the tongues that appropriated the Latin lingua
optics that weren't conquered it's the same as it was
for Seneca of Virgil, e.g. red beast / proof of all
scientific generic category principle: **** sapiens
                  upright man / bestia rufus -
and that's still orange beast - then aliq for yellow:
then liquid and runny khaki - a monetary equivalent
of money.
          but of the tongues
                      which is why i kept my mother tongue,
i can't imagine what would have been the case
had i not kept it intact... i'd be whitey boy bleached
into an anaemic Arian with those rubbery red
             lost for words rabbit crazy irises that
albinos sport when on the sociopathic treadmill:
that's a daily commute for most people.
i should have anticipated something better coming
out of a forced bad gateway message when
i tried to published and didn't save the outcry...
but it was never a reality when defined by a few
people... it always necessarily the many,
the market square, the hustle and bustle,
     then again few took to ****** to say love...
understandable: if something is called private
it's not called reality, because so many people
have so much **** to say in public that they
treat private life as a tabernacle -
reverse that and suddenly you find people
who possess a "voice for the multitude",
but not (not oddly enough) a thought -
ah the caring scream when not bound to
the horror genre of politics: it's too late!
               end here: a prior to rather than, a
desirably said to appease and conform:
by now we're all cited as having only said
an onomatopoeia of what words should sound like -
we're found hacking a door to shreds with
an axe, rather than merely curling our hands
so the knuckles can be used to knock on the door.
still, i made pumpkin soup today,
tomorrow i'll make a pumpkin risotto -
and the pumpkin is, rightfully, the halloween king
of all vegetables: i am not surprised it's the perfect
lampshade people leave outdoors -
hell of a thing to peel, a butternut squash
would have been simpler to make...
but for the first time in my life:
  i actually appreciate the colour orange...
as said: cooker orange is beyond that fluorescent
acidity of a citrus fruit:
  cooked orange is actually grand...
raw citrus orange?                and a handful
of creepy crawlies.
    funny how the spectrum necessarily made me
endorse a soup maker, rather than the next
big thing in the realm of toothpaste and mascara.

A brightly lit room still holds darkness.
Look deeply,
Leopard like sharpness.

In a corner or behind the door.
Look closely,
Maybe under the floor.

Look high, look low.
Bring a friend,
Let the search grow.

Look to the wardrobe,
Maybe you see it.
Pressure building in your lobe.

Look under the bed,
Creepy crawlies,
Infecting your head.

Look in the closet,
Careful there I say,
Untold, unknown,
A ghoulish made deposit.

It was a heap of plaid,
Orange and vinaigrette
It dully blended the white washed denim
The sod contrasted around his knees
Pete Abrams Jonesy was a discovery on his own.

The glow of the night sky released
The party goers and the venomous tendrils
That loomed beyond the tree hats and
The milky grey drift of dust that
Skated around Jonesy’s fingers as he dug
Scattering the Earth,
Searching and searching for the creepy crawlies
Between the plates of dirt,
the patches he’s scabbed away before;
His mother,
Hard at work building a nation in the kitchen
And Johnny filling his swine
Slipping between the cushions of the sofa.
It was that very night
Tucked away under the fresh linen and the feeling of
His mother’s lips pressed against his forehead
Warming his entire body –
That he realized his kneading desire to take his journey farther
To take it to school.
That day on the playground,
His hands knuckle deep in the land’s treasure
Creating pressure beneath the stubs of his fingernails,
Did he meet her
He met Charlotte Anne Avery.
Her ladybug blouse was loosely cast away from her shoulders
And he felt the urge to push her into the sand
But he couldn’t.
Charlotte Anne stood with her
Pine cone hair mushed on either side of her face;
The chocolate spit smeared on her cheek
Was enough to lure the mosquitoes all around
And he wanted to be her friend;

She’s always seen him around
Though; never before had he been keen on
Gazing back at the eyes of curiosity
Or rather her brown ones,
The plain and wide innocence –
It loomed over her face as she knelt
Bent beside him and dug a hole into the cream sand
With her elbow, gently brushing the circumference of
The minuscule hole she created.
Her glitter pink glasses were
Riding down the bank of her nose,
With her bottom cushioned in the crevice of sand
And Pete Abrams Jonesy’s sandy-fingers
Shoving her glasses back up
To rest beneath the kind eyes
That laid on him.

The end of germs and suspenders came fast,
Summer sped around the corner
While Pete Abrams Jonesy and Charlotte Anne Avery
Flew through the highlights
And the untouched parts of the forest –
Gallivanting beyond the age of the bell toll of adolescence,
Did they lie beneath the Sugar Maple Tree.
The promises they made of an un-relinquishing friendship
Grew beyond compare
And ever so did a union of love between him and her;
Every day was a hot hurricane of journeys spent
Devouring the wilderness together
Until the occurring reign of school
Sprung up again.

A new appreciation for the human body
Was as much as Pete Abrams Jonesy
Had accumulated for the first semester
Attending Mayfield Middle –
His life was horribly array without the presence
Of Charlotte Anne Avery.
His new herd of acquaintances
Brought about a new kind of education,
One that was foreign to the halls of Mayfield
And while his afternoon lunches
Sparked a flame in his soul
He became well oriented with the hypnotizing effects
Of Rummy and Black Jack 21,
His mind still sauntered to the round table
In the bull’s-eye of the café
Where a cloud of pink headbands and perfume
Captured the interest of his Charlotte Anne Avery.

She couldn’t believe the variety of books and music
That were made to live in this world
Sharing the same space as her –
It was enthralling, thrilling, and slightly frightening
The tales and the morals were anything but limited
Was it possible to live a well versed life having heard them all?
Would the chance ever be presented?
Her friends were of everything that was made to be
From sports to gymnastics to video-games to art;
It had all been opened to her in a flurry of welcoming gestures
From the minute she sat down at this particular table.
Even as her best friend now swung in the birches
As his friends, the panthers, ran low
She’d always be welcome on his other side;
Though, surprisingly, she was comfortable in this
Shade of manila spotlight.

A second semester, of many years,
Was a gift in its own
A surprise gesture wrapped up in a bow
Of questions, tutors, late night studying
It all amounted in a pile of stress –
A mound of snow
Of tests and quizzes and failed homework grades;
Pete Abrams Jonesy wasn’t alone in his mind
There in the far corner of sawdust
And memories of the plethora of parties he attended
Did lay his old friend from miles ago;
Charlotte Anne Avery had moved away across the lake
On the tips of his fingers so far away
For whatever reason she had moved away
It was amongst him unknown.
“Should I feel an ounce of sorrow, of grievance
For this new found distance between us?
I suppose not; we have new friends now
A new family
I haven’t known her in a while.”

Solemn years passed.
Days of solitude and confinement,
Days of pondering and guilt – heartache
Mr. Avery had passed away
Lost to his kin
His pristine precious child
Charlotte Anne Avery.
The wake had been nothing more
Than shades of black and blue and grey
Uncomfortable heels and rough tissues
That rubbed her eyes and nose
As raw as the pain she felt for the absence
Of her father
Her mother’s happiness and
Pete Abrams Jonesy.
It’d been years since she’d uttered a word to him
Years since they’d even been in the same room for long,
Though her hands still cowered
When she shoved the letter in the mail
Serving him the news of what transpired –
He made no appearance
Her expectations should have dwindled over time
But they remained the same
As strong as ever,
Slightly calloused with time
Until there was nothing left but a sore spot
Of where he should’ve been.

The rumors still rang clear as she began to heal
She fell in love with Marcus Stalling
The final year of puerile days
Now left to rot in the past;
Graduation was held at noon,
Her cap was arced on her head
Perfectly set in place
The rumors still rang true.
Pete Abrams Jonesy was the
Shadow of a boy she once knew when she was
Figuring things out
He didn’t even make it to this day.
The rumors of the hit and run, the drunk driver
It spread around the halls like wildfire
She had been ashamed to have once claimed him
In any form of the word –
She missed him still.
What would his life become?
“No one will visit him. What will become
Of the adventurous and jovial mind
I used to spend time with?”
When she heard the news on the local station
She’d lost her father all over again
And still no one had the answers
To any of her questions.

College and Marcus
The grand scheme of life begun with those two
Wisdom came with age
Anger subsided
And joy was restored –
The life she once dreamt of having
Still rendered mist to her eyes
So many individuals were supposed to be
Toe to toe;
Charlotte Anne Stalling the center of it all
Yet she felt the same orbital satisfaction
Yielding around her with only those two elements.
All mornings were the same
Her sanity strove from cycling about
In comfortable routines and an endless screenplay –
A memory of a future once shielded her sight,
The warm bodies were anything but familiar now.

The winter would always be cold
Rushing the blood to the tip of her nose
But spring came about
In a parade of confetti and open arms
The coffee shop on the girth of the boardwalk
Met her every day during the breakfast of the sun
And the coffee kept her warm.
It was a morning where the tide was crashing down roughly
The sun fried her skin,
She was glowing
Her attention was snatched away from the scenic grounds
Stolen away by the scream and shouts that traveled
From the end of the boardwalk,
There stood Pete Abrams Jonesy
Clutching his arm while peering at the welt
Given to him by a Sugar Maple Boer.

Blossoming shrubs

enveloping pubs

not a cloud in the sky

budding am I



Malaga in September

weather I'll remember

29 degrees and counting

each day it seems to be mounting



I'm not liking the creepy crawlies

giving me the heebie jeebies

to everyone's delight

I squeal in fright



Spanish are fine

until behind them in line

no problem pushing

with choice adjectives I'm gushing



My muscles are loving the heat

I can even touch my feet

my back thinks its in heaven

my shoulder readily rev-ing



Still a week to go

my tan a no-show

this sunbathing is hard work

in the shade my husband lurks



Batteries are charging

my stomach's enlarging

relaxation is seeping into my pores

lullabies, each others snores

Sleep my child, sleep
No need to count sheep
Just close your eyes
No need to cry
Sleep my child, sleep
Only a room away
Wake to a new day
feel no fear
Im still right here
Sleep my child, sleep
Protected by his blood
Like Noah and the flood
Youll be unharmed
Just like a charm
Sleep my child, sleep
Precious as can be
Eyes not meant to see
Creepy crawlies and voodoo dollies
Sleep my child, sleep

*this is meant to be sang

Nature is everything
From tiny protozoa to the largest whale
Even the simplest insects
Contain elegent complexity
Beauty in even the most ugly beast

Peaceful, quiet and beautiful is Nature calm,

Like a natural healing balm,

From the largest beast to the smallest fly;

Under Mother Nature’s air so sweet and high!

The mist, the moon, the stars, and the night,

Are Mother Nature’s biggest delight!

The light, the sun, the rays,

And light of the first morning’s day,

Are all a part of beauty;

Nature is a beautiful treasure to see!

Nature is my favorite theme,

The morning is Mother Nature’s greatest scheme!

The leaves are falling from the trees,

And land inside the blue-green seas.

Blue-greeny seas and red firey stars
Dancing fish and snarling wolves
A little red fox trotting across cold snow
A flash of bold crimson in an icy white land
The aurora borealis and corona of the sun
The swirl of galaxies floating unfettered
Crashing into one another and stars dancing between them
Even these touch upon nature
A sort of large scale metaphor for the people of Earth
The whole of Mother Nature,
Her essence, and the ideas around her
Stretching into the greatest star and the smallest seed
The essence of life subtly covers all
Echoing the shapes and spirals
Mountains high and valleys low,
Spiders and creepy crawlies
Soft minxes and gentle pachyderms
A world of life in even the tiniest
Drop of water or crumb of dirt
All this beauty and wonder
Falls in Gaia's realm

A sunrise in the sky,
Birds chirping in the trees so high,
The sun reflecting on the sandy shore;
It also hits the forest floor.

The hot and dry desert with scorching sand,
The long miles of vast-bare land,
Only a few birds chirp in the air;
There’s no water over there!

The mountains of powder white,
Are so pretty even at night,
When owls do roam and birds doth sleep;

In trees on mountains steep.

Cats that are a homeless stray,
Still walk onward even in the cold day,
They sleep outside at night;
No one should make them homeless they have no right!

Mother Nature mourns when she sees cats not treated kind,
Still she walks onward through the wind,
She looks onward crying;
Watching sick animals dying.

Help this earth become a better one,
Until then our work may never be done,
The sun may never fade away;
Or the sky ever become gray,
But help keep Mother Nature from crying;
As she watches sick animals dying.

possessed with the intangible art form known as
free flowing
  mind blowing
expanding into all
but collapsing into itself.
breathing one's breath
and skipping one's step
at the thought that you can
and are
  and shall be
forever more and eternally so.
we go and go
but step back to show
what we've found along the way.
i learn tomorrow and write today.
visions of the past are useless.
we must scope our way into the new beginning.
rush into the black mist of possibility.
of danger.
  of death.
   of life.
    of breath.
of love and tragedy alike.
we are bold as mold
creep and crawl along side the creepy crawlies
until there is no more meat to pull along with us.
but we keep going.
we take,
we consume as this world instructs us to.
only way to pass along the lines without them
  knowing why we're really there.
without them finding out
  we've been here before.
new names and faces
both them and i.
but they are blind.
we seek.
  we seek.

Slobbering slime rolls off its mouth
creepy crawlies are marching south
evil eyes and jiggly jowls,
sinister laughs and winning howls
a flash of teeth
from underneath,
a throaty growl
you sit, try not to yowl,
the bed will hide its enormous bulk,
these evil things will never sulk.
A shattering cry pierces the night,
now it’s time to run in fright.
You run and run and run and run
trying to escape to a midnight sun
you search for warmth, you search for heat
you can hear the pitter patter of shuffling feet
down the hall you scamper and dash
running away from the smell of ash.
You open the doors to your parents room,
hoping to escape the metallic vroom,
you dash and scurry up on to their bed,
and snuggle between them, your feet by their head.
They wake and ask “what’s wrong, dear?”
You answer with a tale drench in fear.
But Dada and Papa only smile at you.
They say, “follow us”, and you do.
They take you back, and turn the light on,
And show you the monsters, but now they are gone.
In their place sit ordinary things that your imagination makes,
And you realize that the monsters are fakes.

Spooky as the night sky.
Peering round the corner,         SPIDER ALERT!
In the room by myself I was no longer alone.
Digging up the garden  a black widow arrives,
Escaped my brother’s tarantula .
Running round the room I screamed,
Spiders are every where.

By Mia –Valentine Penfold

Arachnids, Spiders, Creepy Crawlies
Bite, Bite Venoms, Fast Pulse
Fear, Agony, Spinning Web
Eight Glassy Black Eyes

Evil Creature, Monstrous Insect
Crush, Squash, No Guilt
Evil, Horror, Bad Thing
**** Them, Destroy, Fear

Shining Silver Thread
Created From Nothing
Spun Around A Post
Horribly Sticky

Horror In My Eyes
Fear And Panic
Death To The Arachnids
Bad Spider, Fear.

Arachnaphobia
Horrible, Heart Stopping
Sweaty Palms, Panicked Scream
Spiders, Fear, Arachnids

Your  touch lingers

Its that feeling of bugs in your bed
An unwelcome crawling

Bugs that go where they want
Taking home in the darkest of places

Laying their eggs as reminders
Reminders of memories i don’t have


Reminders of unwelcome hands
Reminders of the pest you are

You linger like a pest
But no amount of chemicals can rid me of you

No bug treatment can erase my memory of you

I don't fear the dark
My eyes just adjust to the twinkle of the stars and the rays of the moon

I don't fear heights
The clouds just soar around me, masking the spot on which my feet are found

I don't fear creepy crawlies
My body's design has just deviated from my micro friends, and my skeleton runs within me

My only fear is that I'll never hold you close to me in the dark of the night
That I won't be able take you to the heights of heaven again
Where the world is just a tiny speck to what we, together, have become

Slobbering slim rolls off its mouth
Creepy crawlies start marching south
Evil eyes and jiggly jowls,
Sinister laughs and winning howls
A flash of teeth,
From underneath
A Throaty growl
You sit, try not to yowl
The bed will hide its enormous bulk
Evil will never sulk
A shattering cry pierces the night
Now it’s time to run in fright

reality sinks in
like thousands of pins
piercing my skin

this is home
in the sense
that i've lived endless days here,
but i've never felt
more lost in my life

down the rabbit hole
   i go
only this time i'm
falling
         alone

things were much
simpler
when your hand
was always in mine

when i land
with a thud
at the bottom
of this long
tunnel
things are too dark
and my eyes
have trouble
adjusting

this time there's
no one to lead me

i crawl on all fours
through the dirt and grime
mud caked onto my fingers and toes
creepy crawlies
scuttle across my appendages
but i don't mind,
i welcome the company

Is it the monsters
that hide in the closet?
Or the ones
that we deposit?

Dark murky corridors
reek of must and mold.
Crumbling gothic castles,
dungeons are damp and cold.

Even with sprawling cities,
High and low they grow.
Creepies and the crawlies
and all the fears we can know

From the corner of the eye,
a flash or shadow you see.
If it’s visible,
how scary can it be?

all my friends know
i always loved spiders
since i got bit...from a recluse..by a fire

i love them now
these weird creepy crawlies
i own them in fact...they cure the phobias

please don;t **** them
they won't hurt you
they eat all the bad bugs...that always bite you

the biggest i seen..was three feet across
on the side of a house
like something from lost

now i pick them up gently you see
and put them outside..and let them be
there here for a reason...so don't get so mad
if you **** these fine creatures...it will make me sad

you don't have to pet them...just wait and see
the one in your hair is just lookin for peace
next time you step on a spider of sorts
think of the godly recourse

they do not eat much
they try to stay hidden
most of them small...and black as  kitten

love that spider ..and watch him grow...
from a small adolesent ...to the size of a crow
dont run from a spider....he means you no harm
hes looking for comfort away from the storm

now i love spiders...there's no going back
oh  no now to think of it.......i hope i'm never attacked...

Crawling thing with six legs,
I'll keep you in mind...

Flying thing with big eyes,
I ate you just in time,

Now crawly-bug I eat you too,
I lap my face to clean off your goo,

Screams from heaven, I must hide!
Yesterday my brother died...

I slither into pile of leaves,
I hope the screamer didn't see,

Stay still, prepare and lick the air,
I smell more crawlies over there...

I get too cool and run for rock,
To sun myself,
And in my sluggish state I lie on rock...

                                                        ­            “Ahhhh!”

I'm grabbed and now I'm in the blue!
The Screamer eats me and my last crawly too!

Suddenly stranded,
I’m at the bottom of this pit of mush.
Full of angst,
Delusions.
Crawlies & wet dirt up to my chin,
Suffocating,
Anatomical heart thumping fast
Beating like a drum.
Despair,
Stretching out my arm,
Aiming it towards the bright light,
Barking for it to take a grasp of my hand and **** me in tight.
Shutting my eyes,
Seeing black,
Wanting to be black,
Disappearing into ashes.
Emptiness and motionless harmony,
Suddenly speaking.

keeping it low key in order to show me
how far I've got to go, the twist in it like the roads
but the destination, started, was hidden in the dark
with creepy crawlies in place of its heart
flaking on the opportunities that seem more like social hassle
no time for carless action,
as it passes by the days but the sun continues to rise again
uncontrollable urge to venture out
these cigarette buds will leave a trial of my journey
come right to me, and lie next to me
Kyle. be next to me
lay heavy on my body, you're nothing i can't hold
I've traveled long and yet the journey's been short
but what is up has been sideways for quite some time
and the trail ahead continues to whined
up and over, back and left
sums up to less steps to take
to it, to you, to me
however, i tend to repeat history
expand and conquer like lava and men
my heart unfortunately tied down to the bitter end

At a funeral recently, a cremation along with my young niece
Whose a Vegan and very environmentally conscious
I was telling her "I wouldn't like to be cremated, it's too much like 'going to hell' to me"
Then she says she'd like to be cremated herself, that it'd be her preferred choice, that it'd be the most environmentally friendly way to go
I said to her "Would you not like to be buried in one of those nice wicker basket type coffins that the environmental people like
I thought that's the kind of thing you'd be into"
She said No! I wouldn't like them, the thought of worms and other creepy crawlies crawling in on top of me, all over me Ugh! I couldn't bear that.

Oh I said, No! just give me a nice quiet church graveyard, lovely and peaceful
With the yew trees nice and shady and the birds singing softly, somewhere lovely and quiet way out in the country
It'd be so relaxing
"Well", she said,"you won't know, sure you'll be dead".
"My soul it'll be reposing", I corrected her cheerily.

Then I said "Y'know I think I saw this TV programme  once where you could have music playing in your coffin
Something over in America, could only be in America LoL
I went on dreamily, "Y'know I think I'm getting younger as I grow older
I've put away all my old Black Sabbath records
Now I've started listening to Taylor Swift instead, she has some great songs that girl, great videos too
I think I'll have Taylor Swift singing to me in my coffin
I'll go boppin' into the next world, the next life with Taylor, hand in hand
I could even put some posters of her up on the inside of my coffin.

Look! I said to my niece pointing to a few hairs on the front of my head
I think my quiff it's starting to grow back again. Elvis here I come!!!

It was strange when it started. I thought I might be sick. I wasn't sure, though. I assumed that I either was, indeed, going to become dreadfully sick, or that with a clip of time, I would be fine and I wouldn't get sick at all--I wouldn't even remember ever feeling like getting sick, because I would be fine.

It's strange how when one is well, she feels so strong and forgets the feeling of being ill and assumes that it must have been a small thing last time she was truly ill; that she could easily handle it again. But then, with the smallest twinge of intestinal unsettlement, she remembers in full and would almost rather die than be ill again. Sometimes it's good to forget.
Bump!
"Hold it together, you're almost there", I told myself. "It's ok."
Sometimes it's good to lie to yourself. You become your own child, and tell yourself to cover your eyes and all the bad things won't be able to hurt you--the monsters won't be able to see you, because you can't see them.
Children are much better than us.

Bump...ba-bump!
Yuck. I needed something now. But, just as I was fully prepared to *****, it was fading...as quickly as it came. Yes, it was gone now, and nothing was going to keep me from feeling positively elated (except, perhaps, the descent, but forget that for now).
It was surely a wonder to sit on a seat, which was mounted in this small cabin, which was surrounded on all sided by absolutely nothing, and supported from below by the same--save some vague equations of space that permitted its reality.
"If this is a reality, I'd rather not dream. My dreaming could get quite out of hand after this."
Goodbye, city! Goodbye mountain faces, with the sharp jawline of a movie star! So long! What is that, now? I can't make it out. Never mind. Dust. Particles of dusty sky sweeping up around us into clouds. Cough. Cough. Like it hasn't been swept in years. Loomy fogs of two or three varying thicknesses. And then the light.

A light so strong it seemed like death, for sure. The look of all that light made me cringe. I thought I might melt like the wicked witch on The Wizard of Oz--the wicked witch I was. Ha-ha. The once dusty, sky was now a majestic and glowy quilt. It looked pearlized--like if you landed on it, you would just slide smoothly up and down the billowy bumps and around the polished curves. We could be over an ocean, for all I knew. Why was I so lazy to not investigate this before the trip? It would have been fantastic to know I was over some great sea, deep with crawlies and creepies with fins and tails and gills and hangies. Swishies and swooshies, faster than land types, that only could run or climb.

Yikes forget that. It would have been better to know that I was not over the ocean. Now, due to my uninformedness, I was merely left to ponder the terror of falling into the sea, in the event of a crash. These cushions on the seat before us, or so the little booklet told, could be used as flotation devices. I wondered how close we would have to be before we could jump out. I imagined exiting the aircraft into all this light, down, down, falling through the pearlized quilt, through the dusty billows, looking down at a vast sea a mile below, holding onto my cushion from the seat that had been in front of me, bracing myself. The sea would look uniform on the surface, but through the surface, one could make out divisions. Separate depths, maybe, or different mixtures of water. Shades of blue, blue-green, and green as the layers beneath the initial surface.

Back to reality. It was getting dark out. Night. Wait--no. No way. It couldn't possibly be night already. I talked to myself again, "are we supposed to travel into another time zone, or something? But it should be still morning and we've only been in flight about an hour..."
Were there storms above the clouds? I don't know. This...darkness...hmm..

But then I saw it. A shooting star. I only saw it for a flash of a millisecond--not only because it was travelling with such hideous speed and momentum, but also because in that instant, I was blinded. permanently.  I felt my way toward the cockpit. All the passengers besides me and one other man seemed to be sleeping. I stumbled on, using those reflective upraised strips that mark the hallway to guide my feet. I couldn't see a thing. This blindness prevented me from really accomplishing anything in this circumstance, but I had to get to the captain.

"Captain! Captain! Are you awake? What's going on? Where are we?"
It is now that I notice that the captain had been dead in the cockpit for some time. There was no co-pilot. I double-checked for a pulse. Nope. My assumption is that we had managed to fly into space, with nothing above or below. I felt for the breast of the captain's coat and shook him violently. Then, I began to weep.

Creepy crawlies on the lawn
Pesticides from gramps
Will destroy them
Dead and gone

nothing like the ones on t.v. or the movie screen

or the creepy crawlies you have never seen

not the one in your closet or under your bed

I am the monster alive inside your head

have you ever looked in the mirror and felt it was more than your reflection looking you in the eye

recall the nights when you heard strange things that were so terrifying you wanted to cry

every time you felt something touch your hair

the feeling of spider webs on your face though none were there

the wispers that only you could hear in the dark

the things that attacked you without leaving a mark

in the darkness when you thought you saw something but convinced yourself it couldn't be

every single scary moment you can't explain.......(it was always me)

A dripping liquid
A tapping sound
Creepy crawlies
Running round and round

They scurry over
They hurry through
Burrowing in my eyes
What's a corpse to do?

I think I wish they’d leave
And stop inching up my sleeve
Stop wriggling in my hair
To be all alone.
In a box...
but thats quite a scare

Or maybe I don’t...Perhaps they won’t...

The **** assumes his duty and awakens the creatures of the earth
Golden rays peek out from behind the mountains
Somewhere in the east
The clouds, they do make way
As the sun gracefully and with poise rises to take her place
In her royal abode high up far above all
Early birds and flowers too pay obeisance to the queen of the heavens
The grasses beautifully lined with crystal clear drips of dew
Bask in the pools of the sun’s warmth
Even as night crawlers hide away with the breaking of this new day
Yet still, flying and hoping and trotting creatures alike
Come out joyfully in celebration of a new day
Gentle ripples glide over the waters
Paving way for the inhabitants of the sea to rise to our world of skies
Strings of wheat, bamboo flutes and cymbals of clasping leaves,
The trudging of wildebeests as unto drums
And the cry of elephants as trumpets
Buzzing bees, chirping bugs and tweeting birds in unison
Reel out notes, high and low
Listening intently
Beyond these somewhat shrill sounds
Without a doubt I dare say
I hear a concoction of the most enthralling symphonies
Resonant yet gleaming with charm
Plants and animals dance to these familiar tunes of old
Reptiles and mammals, creepy crawlies too
From the great bears to the ever-shy hares,
Step and tango and waltz all the way
On the lush greenery that spreads across the endless stretch of land
Daffodils and roses, flowers in varying shapes and colors
Join this continuum of dancers
How beautifully do their lithely figures sway as the wind beckons
Far into the horizon, the great arch of colors is formed
And this symbolism of beauty, peace and unity invigorates the innate spirits of Mother Nature
Melody, harmony, unity in diversity
….and for the umpteenth time, I smile to myself
Savoring every moment of this beguiling experience
Yes indeed it was, magnificent in its entire splendor
This was indeed the most breath-taking scenery I had ever seen
“Or wasn’t it?” I wondered to myself
A certain thought flashed through my mind
and ambivalence quickly set in
For some reason, I began to review all that I had seen once more
Slowly but surely, as if in slow motion
Everything came to a halt
The sun’s rays now fiercely lashed out agonizing stings to all in sight
The clouds brimming with anger bolstered up and concealed the presence
Of glorious sun with thick darkness
Thunder rolled, lightning bolts cackled and cracked
The flowers now gave up their ‘robes of many colors’
In exchange for ‘rags’ of brown and yellow
The once rotund and cheery and zesty elements of wildlife
Evolved into famished and bony and feeble mutants
Disconcerted seas and oceans roared, and threatened to unleash coverlet of floods
As a soft chant echoed...”….death…”
The inevitable phantom that left no mortal unvisited
All of life was set into mourning
And in the twinkle of an eye, everything was gone
There I stood despaired and broken at heart

……………“chirp, chirp”….”buzz”
The song of nature in a quick crescendo pulled me
Out of this appalling trance into reality
And so back in the real world, the birds still  sang, and the plants and animals, they still danced
But a new strange reality dawned on me….
Truly all these glories couldn’t be relished forever
For one day even I the spectator, would cease to exist
For from dust were we formed, so also to dust shall we return

Yes today is the day
Getting the flowers in a little later then wanted. Today is the day, mulch, decorative stones, an old sculpted frog to match the soil
Below. Springtime grow! Water to be a vital giver to the coming little bugs, creepy crawlies and the fly buzzer above. Down south, the trees down here have a little more history, they've seen hangings, not done by me, by men who only saw by eyes, not
Spiritually. Some were lost in the decades of tradition, then through all the bloodshed, "still appearing", even now there's yet to be fruition. But now in my kitchen peeping the kitchen backside window, I can see the squirrel's eat the hickory as they get fat and full they see the world as a bunch of fools , planting seeds of disgust! Shiftshaping waters and Meadows. No more good ol days where the boys were good fellows. Now everything and one is to it and themself. Creating new high tech gear, while society's hooked on beer and whatever else. We lost the meaning to this life, our family kids friends, husband wife, tommorrow could end. That's why I make my garden to be in the pristine condition it is, untouched. Undefiled, others walk by and see the sphere they once knew and miss.