There’s a Devil of a night each year, the night of Mr. Haim!
When the devilish and ghoulie ones come out to play their monster’s game.
And why some would seek to trick or treat on this scary day of dead?
Careful now cause gremlins, trolls …sprites and wolves, will offer up their dread!
Quiet, shush, I hear a pack of creepy-crawly boots…

Ra’atan-Zu and the Boogedy-Boo!
And the skeleton bones, clink…
And the skeleton bones, clink…
The skeleton bones clink.

That crafty-smith of horns and hooves is spying on these kiddies,
As Ra’atan-Zu and the Boogedy-Boo are hunting strays to do their dastardly-ditties.
Quiet, shush, I hear a pack of creepy-crawly boots,
And their costumes, oh-so-foul, the evilest of suits!
And there she is, that little girl who can’t keep up, in a tasty mushroom ensemble.
And the skeleton bones clink in her path to give her quite a tomble!

Ra’atan-Zu and the Boogedy-Boo!
And the skeleton bones, clink…
And the skeleton bones, clink…
The skeleton bones clink.

And Sammy Haim, that smithy-devil, a ***** hoof -igniting ghoul’s desire,
He’s howling out, demanding now, “Put that child to the fire!”
And little does he know, no little bit, not even a small clue,
Neither Ra’atan-Zu nor Boogedy-Boo intend on giving him his due!
For once a year on Halloween they get one night to spaz,
Get down and *****, wild and crazy and play a little jazz!
That little mushroom of a girl will play a tiny fiddle,
Ra’atan-Zu and the Boogedy-Boo, a jazzy duet with child in middle!'

Ra’atan-Zu, Boogedy-Boo and a little girl too as they get down actin’ a spaz! Playin’ all night, howling to the moon and kickin’ out some wicked jazz!

And the skeleton bones, clink…
And the skeleton bones, clink…
  The skeleton bones clink.

Some thing's can get a little hairy
A little scary
A little daring
blood-curdling are the little vermin
Who love to digest down my harvest.
How they got a surprise coming,
With the good winchester model 37.
Take the little vermin to creepy crawly heaven.

i would like a pizza topped with cheese
then sprinkled with some gnats or fleas
some centipedes and slimy slugs
and other creepy, crawly bugs

i want to add some fingernails
and oyster ooze and crunchy snails
and chicken bones and spoiled meat
and smelly socks from ***** feed

i want it topped with lots of mold
and gooey boogers that's not too old
a lot of snot, a little spit,
and guts with grainy grit

Stapled conscious to the floor again
and wrestled with warped wood panels
on paint stained cement.
Briefly for a moment, a paused paradise
emerged just beside the swinging rope light -
cobwebs.
In the basement their thin beams are darkened -
ageless art and ancient evolution converging in ****** of creation.
Sit still my friend and watch the leg ballet.

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!

“Zoomy zoomy zoomy zonch, crawly, crawl **** youzy you.” the caterpillar said. She was tired of wrapping and unwrapping herself for him. She knew how much he liked it and needed it. But it was ALL he needed. Her pudgy little flesh, ready to chew and spit out. Nothing ever hurt more than that. “At  least swallow me.” She said. “At least end me. But, no. Now when I go to cocoon, I’ll be sad and cold and covered in spit. “ But he nibbled her and gave her a squeeze and a slap and called it affection and went on away.
Poor little caterpillar. Her butterfly-self better be beautiful and fleeting. Because if you come round again, poor little girl gonna fly away swiftly, you best believe.

Same cycle, turning wheels and whirring motors
Running my life, mechanic.
Sleep and time are my loves, and I am Poe:
They were taken from me, my sleep is dead.

Sleep is eternally sleeping.

The dead spider under the refrigerator,
The crushed centipede on the bathroom wall,
Crawly things: crawlersout the dead skin you refuse to
Scrape off.
Skin sleeps and melts: drip on the floor, paint stains from the living room walls.
It has been the same color for years, the exact color I despise.
It reminds me of Mondays and Sundays.
The steriotypicality.
It goes in circles, everybody hates them
But they are me favorite shape. Not then arrows guide
In the forever, never ending march forward.
An army of automatons, gears screeching and crying, but most of us are so emotionless, faceless.
Drinking not the water or bubblies at party's, but the crude oil emitted from the ground.
And it turns their skin orange, no one likes the fake ness, caked on
Tar that you think make your eyes shine.
And the gossip, squeaky voices that talk endlessly about everything but reality.
I want to **** them all, the lies.
And I want to sleep forever, escape from everything I have ever despised,
And I want him to join me. Wrap me in a hot quilt that he formed with his own physique.
Somehow make me forget about everything but that.

But no, it doesn't fit in this never ending waterwheel. Not enough grooves to
Scoop up the sand of my life and give me a mission.
But we can defy the sand, the horrid hourglass that ticks away, the sound of pebbles
Plunking into a river.
Throw them off of a bridge and jump with them, as some people do.
Ignore them, or help them. Most are too blinded by themselves.
They can't stand change, but it shapes them. A unique shape other than the rounded
The rest are.
But I am lost. No clue where to go, what I am saying, I should be put away,
Blank white room or a steel table in a morgue.

Hallowed ground means nothing to me. Coffins are cramped, horrid boxes of sadness,
I will not die that way. No crying, tears will soil your handsome clothes.
I was reborn. You still have me close; my form changed. A circle
Does not define me anymore. I put another notch in my medicine wheel, another
Cure to my disease. Another way to say as much as I do.

But the walls are still the same dreary color. Skin just cooling, but splattered on the floor;
Cover it with a rug. Distract from the blank walls, no expression. Never changing.
Or write on them with colored pen. Carve things into them.
Change yourself. Put yourself away because inside that thick skull
Is an asylum of your own.

bugs are scary

creepy crawly legs
trek up my own
biting my skin
feeding on my blood
for nothing but sustenance

when it comes to
bugs,
and me,
and the meadow im lying in
there simply isn't enough room
for all parties involved

so i took shrooms

there is no pain
i feel no bugs
yet we see all bugs
all bugs are dancing
in a constant state of dancing
they dance and they eat
we dance and we eat
in the meadow

for the meadow is home
there has never been another home but the meadow
the meadow encapsulates all beings that matter
the bugs
only the bugs

for i am the bugs
WE are the BUGS
THE BUGS ARE US
WE ARE THE CHILDREN
WE ARE THE WORLD
WE WILL SING UNTO
YOU, THE MEADOW
ANCIENT HYMNS FROM THE UNDERGROUND
LISTEN WITH YOUR SOUL
WE ARE DANCING

and we have danced
we danced until the sun stopped setting
for the sun can never rest
will never rest
in the presence of us, the bugs
the beautiful, beautiful bugs
we love the bugs
i love the bugs

bugs used to be scary

Is there a sound for rain?
A children's book would describe it as
A pitter-patter
A soft drumming on the roof.
But these things don't seem to be
Enough
Rain.
What is it?
What does it sound like?
What does it feel like?
Rain is the breaking open of
The sky
High above
The torrential downpour of
A thunderstorm
Rain is the shadow on a
Sunny Day
My favorite shadow
The sound of rain has
no word
no spelling
Rain is the sound of
A million drops of water
Outlining buildings
People
trees
The sound of bare feet splashing
in puddles
The sound of laughter when a friend
slips
The squeak of wet shoes on a dry
floor.
The sound of a child's squeal at the
sight of a worm.
The sound of rice in a hollow log
The sound of late night walks
Louder than drizzle
Quieter than hurricane
Louder than silence
Quieter than noise
Rain is the feeling of a single
Drop of coldness hitting your
arm and raising goose bumps
Rain is the feeling of water
cascading over your legs as you
skip through a puddle
Rain is bare feet running across the
Sidewalk
Dodging each little crawly
That peaked it's head out of the soft ground
Rain is the smell of your conditioner
in your sopping hair.
Rain is the smell of newness
the smell of wet
the smell of a fresh start
permeating your nostrils.
Rain is happy
Rain is sad.
Rain is everything and nothing
In every way and no way at all.

Watch this thought walk up the wall.
Watch the creepy crawly creature creeping higher.
His waste trails after him, sullying the paint.
Before long the whole room reeks.
Watch him watch you now as he sits on the ceiling.
Is this really how you want to spend your day:
watching your thoughts walk circles around the room?
You used to entertain yourself with lofty notions.
You used to write to some of the thoughts down.
Now look at you looking at some sickly creature,
and trying to find something to say.

Watch this thought form a cocoon.  
Watch the sleepy drawling creature sleeping soundly.
He is gestating, growing, becoming while you just sit there.
Before long he’ll be something more than you.
Watch him and listen to the sounds of change.
Is this really how you want to spend your day:
in envy of a creature who’s life barely lasts the whole thing?
You used to entertain yourself with clever colleagues.
You used to fool around with funny friends.
Now look at you looking at some sickly creature,
and trying to find something to say.

Watch this thought hatch from its slumber.
Watch the bouncing, buzzing beasty birthed.
His wings spread out and he flies down from the ceiling.
Before long he makes out of the open window.
You ask yourself: is this really how I just spent my day:
imagining a life instead of living my own?
I used to write poems, and I thought they were profound.
I used to tell myself that they might mean something to you.
Now, look at you looking at me looking at nothing in particular,
and try to find something to say.

A creepy crawling snake
wrapped around a twig
slithering its way
up the rotten branch
remnants of a tree trunk
after termites had there way
the branch snaps
the snake falls down
creepy crawly snake
the vicious venomous snake
it is hurt and it is hurt bad
oh please will no one help it
It tosses in agony
poor helpless snake
everyone is scared of it
yet all it wants
is not to be alone just then

I remember once when I was small
I’d cut the strands of my hair because they were too long

I’d used to paint my ****** features with waxy substances
But found that too tiresome
Words pained them instead.

I remember turning fear into a form of anger
For every creepy crawly that walced into my door
Deserved every shoe I could toss on the floor

I remember turning a very innocent crush
Into multiple stories that I’d tell myself once the night settled in

And I remember the feel of disappointment when I grew older
To know those stories never came into fruition

And I remember the feel of sadness when I lost myself into that imaginative world.
That knowledge that place wasn’t real
That knowledge that they weren’t real

I remember not so long ago someone once said the mad dreamed up a place
Because they ran away from what they did not want to face
Because the strange understood the way of the world

So perhaps all those strands I tossed out in the beginning
Were the strands that could lead me
To the world that could be

A misplaced youth*

My first original rhyme –
take a “truck” drop the head and add an eff –
was hand-me-down crude,
not clever,
but how clever can you be
at four years old?

The chilly blush of it still brings
out a ringing
sound of one hand clapping
against my cheek;
then comes the deflating bawl
from pouchy flesh instantly un-stuffed
of its squirrely giggles and glee.

It put me off cheap sing-song thrills
for decades.

Same age, different flaws:
Can you be too young to develop
a finely tuned sense of entitlement
and the firmest conviction
for redistributing misbegotten wealth?

If anyone deserved a raggedy toy –
don’t call it a doll –
mouse-eared and with cherry-red shorts
cheerily poking out
of a tinsel-topped Christmas stocking,
it was me, not her.

Maybe Santa was suffering
from dementia,
or forgot his reading glasses.

I wasn’t smart enough yet
to cover my tracks,
and I didn't know any fences;
it’s hard to deny a crime
when you’re hugging the goods.

Skip ahead a few years,
and after the regular Sunday
indoctrinations of an uncharitably
faith-based brand of hero-worship,
there are all the tell-tale signs
of a sleep-sick heart
with an over-simplified world view
married to a messiah complex.

Is it normal to dream
of oneself, small but magnificently armored,
supplanting Michael
as the head of that goodly Host
driving out the evil legions?

At least I knew how to side with a winner
back then.

I also dreamed Gulliver-like,
I had been roped down to my bed
by a clutch of creepy-crawly bugs,
and in a tiny voice I could barely make out,
their spokes-beetle cried up to me:
“There will come a time
when the time finally comes,
and when it does
you’ll smack its self-satisfied face
for keeping you
waiting so long.”

My hand's always poised above the clock.

Hunger or Anxiety?
My stomach does backflips and I think it's Hunger.
You know, the kind that clings to your rib cage,
Trying to **** out the bone marrow.

Well cheers to you, Hunger,
The kind that makes my eyes hurt and go fuzzy in sunlight.
Your never ending creepy-crawly feeling makes me feel like going for a swim to wash you off.

It's times like these that make me want to live.

The gramps today feels somnolent
My gardens eminence is overseeing the weeds
A good cutting for the high grass today
Pesticides to get the bugs high
As I will spray spray spray
And **** those bugs away.
Languid little creepy-crawly's
Will get smallie
And fallie
Down the hole I created for them.

I don’t like brown mustard
Or an ice cream cone that leaks
I don’t like asparagus
Green beans, squash or beets

I don’t like to wear new shoes
They pinch and squeak a lot
And I don’t like cold weather
Or when it gets too hot

I don’t at all like spiders
Or other crawling things
Any creepy crawly
That bite…or worse…they sting!

I don’t like commercials
The things they try to sell
Who on Earth would need or want
A digital dinner bell?

Mowing the lawn can drive me mad
I might buy a horse
To eat the grass I have to mow
But that’s absurd, of course

There are some things I really like
I might list them all sometime
But this poem’s already 6 stanzas long
And I don’t like long rhymes

Itchy scritchy
Creepy crawly
Something in my skin.
I pick and scratch to free
Fictitious bugs that squirm within.

Whump-a thump-a
Thudd, thudd
Pounding in my ears,
Punctuating every sound
with thrums like stabbing spears.

Wiggle wobble
Swoopy swirly
Motion fills my eyes.
Saturated, inundated,
Stillness its disguise.

Shaky shaky
Twitch-a-twitchy
Static in my limbs,
***** them tight together
Til the chaos finally dims.

In the quiet, darkest, smallest space
I sit and reminisce
Of back when just existing
didn't make me feel like this.

she walks barefoot across the lake
with sultry arrival of soft night
forest welcomes perennial wanderer of violet sky
silently stealing through heaven's stage
focus of all lonesome lunatics
and misfits

red sunset loses tinge by the passing minute
held captive by maroon horizon
distant sounds of rattlers in woods
grow louder in blackness
as shadows of tall grasses melt into
loose sights of night
goblets of lilies flanking mossy path-stones
ooze a pale odour
crawly denizens of dark venture out
on the meandering curve of flowing brook

coat of sky now a deep purple
with sparsely spread dots
which nobody bothers to join
for stars too impatient to hide
will reveal themselves soon
in chariots, warriors, princesses, muses
charts of bears big and small
to beings of forest
along with the lady's different faces you see
one dripping rays on sweet tongues of mango trees
one sneaking past the reflection of hill in lake
one snugly held in cradle of cotton clouds
spied on by distraught creatures

long story short
it is absurd that the firefly in this mix
could hold a spectacle
against the pretty moon for longer than
a twist of the summer breeze
yet somewhere in mist that surrounds its tininess
it dances audaciously
glows with desire to be one amongst the stars
guarding a fire in its chest
that golden ember it houses
shine that puts diamonds to shame
in aromatic wilderness of mossy forest beds
or does it really

it can dance with her
pretend to play lyre with strings of her beams
chase the gleam her light casts on the lake
perhaps float on wafting scents
of flowers embracing the night
hopelessly drenched in a surreal dream
in hours spent with her every night

but the glow in its chest cannot
find a reflection through her eyes
warmth in the breeze cannot
melt the moon to its ground
to some unknown realm
where everything is nothing
and nothing is all it could wish for
until the meaning of its being
fades to oneness with her
if only it could be

the nectar of night is almost spilled out
through jar of time
her bright visage slowly drifting out of sight
strength in the firefly's heart withers
lets go of the captive desire
the luminous play of love

now the wings are tired
glow dimmed
dim as the bears and swans charted in sky
cinders turn to grey ash  
and white smile on moon's face
pours through a sieve of clouds
to fall on its sleeping body
coated in red moss

My nerve endings are infested with spiders
their creepy crawly legs tingle up my spine as I sit in class
teeth bite at my shoulders while I dance
poison is spat into my bloodstream
sharp toes stab into my thighs, my jaw, the palms of my hands

burrowed inside my joints
every morning screaming
as every knuckle pops and aches
daily wars waged in my intestine
rustling in my every pore as I lay awake at night
my sleeplessness makes them cry acidic tears
that run in rivers down the inside of my skull
someone please exterminate me

These houses
Run the same colors
All black
With red oxbloodish gradient

Everytime my friends crawling their way
To their houses
It's popped out from my mind
The colors
When will they fade away

Am i going to paint my house
Or just grow up with the others
And crawly on

Snakes

The snakes
Are know as fakes
They are everywhere
And they backstab you
They also spawn left right and center
You can't get away from them
No matter how hard you try
You can't escape
For they make you cry
Until you want to say goodbye
You can never escape
The creepy crawly
Snakes

Cruel punishment is when your ***** itch in a Strait jacket. Or your issued a rubber spoon.  Who can I stab with that! Or when you  hide things in your " Prison wallet" and when they strip search you and you spread your naked legs open all of its contents falls out. Embarrassing!  (Thought you might be interested).

While in solitaire, yearned for any bright color. Like to paint. Not allowed. Had to improvise. Drew images on the walls. Used my human paint. But a guy gets tired of drawing with the same color brown after a while (passing this info on to you).

I Caught a fly the other day pulled it's wings off. It was like having a little crawly pet. This was the highlight of my week (thought I'd tell you about it).

I've gotten real good using a mop.( Just thought you'd like to know).

If I could just get my ***** paroled for a night, but the wardens a Taurus and I'm a Gemini. He needs a life coach and more of the spice, arsenic in his food. (Thought you would be interested).

Anyway, get this message to Nick.  Hopefully it won't be censored.
Tell him ####### when ##########  be ###### and ##### #### the ####### can ################ so ############### to #######    He'll understand.  
Keep that hidden key handy.  I'll even dig around in there to find it if need be. (Thought I'd write you this).

P.S.   Send ****!

The weekend was great the time away was brill, I hired me a cowboy builder to make me something durable.

I turned on the lights to see such a mess with only half made structures and an old feather bed.

I looked up and up and saw I was down a roof. So I orded one a new. A big clear dome to be set up on top.

Stepping around dodging dirt, earth and such. What a lovely site to see it just scatted as such. The rains had been bad, hitting long, hard and fast but lucky for me as my pond was now topped.

I looked around and thought ''hey this place would look good if I set up a ball'' , so out came my disco set, lights. Whistles and bells galore.

As I looked ever closer I spotted thier was nests, bugs, creepy crawly things  all manner of other beings living in, out and around my house.

But now my place looked good all it needed was friends, so out went the call for fun times for all. So it started with one, then two and before we knew it was brimming with tons

I woke up in bed all bruised and sore. Thinking ''what a night that was'' then I  sat up and swore as I imagined the bill.

From the shade of leafs, it endeavours up the building, and crawls in through a screen, where it gets caught in a spiders web, where its twitching turns to screaming, as it is slowly eaten.

The crawly thing.

I'm afraid of a lot of things.
Creepy, crawly spiders,
Flying, vicious bees,
The monster under my bed,
Shadows in the forest.
I fear the idea of an inevitable death,
I dread living my life alone.
I'm terrified of the future.
The only thing that eases my worries,
Is knowing that you'll be there with me
the whole way.

Your elders gave you the word
To ignore would be folly
Look fearsome and undeterred

With drunken rants, the wisdom slurred
that made your skin all crawly
Your elders gave you the word

Quiet, you would have preferred
It was burned down by hurled mollies
Look fearsome and undeterred

With disobedience absurd
Nod twice and wear your Jolly
Your elder gave you the word

The whispers stop at the flightless bird
Chased down by a Border Collie
Look fearsome and undeterred

Automatic the scatter of the herd
Upon an unannounced volley
Your elders gave you the word
Look fearsome and undeterred

It's usual when one moves a stone,
There's things there that one finds;
Someone tries selling a car,
To rear-end us and our hind.

Amazing all the deals one's offered-
Insurance to seal us in our coffins;
Stocks to secure our future,
Anything to get our lucre.

The stone can be a pebble,
Inocuous at first glance;
But move it and one finds oneself
Involved in false romance.

Roll a boulder,
Lift a rock, of any make or shine;
Well find someone's beneath our heels-
The blind leading the blind.

The creepy, crawly bottom-feeders,
Are waiting for our kind.

I won’t say much about how I was raised
Except this, it was horrid
Bugs flying every which way left me mortified
Up until my death bed I will be aggrieved
Crawly bits going over my feet
How did I end up in that situation?
Why was I in the pit of disgusting things?
Oh well, you see, I’m out now
So I guess that’s all that matters
Just a bmp in the road
Yet, now it seems I see things
At night in my dreams I wake up screaming
As a snake wriggles across my chest
And millipedes writhe down my throat
That life apparently wasn’t good for me
Not in the least bit slightly
My mind aches from nights spent awake
Praying on the side of my cot
Hoping the badness would go away
That the monsters would stay out
But to no avail
Why did I end up this deranged?
Why am I so sick in the head?
You can blame my upbringing
And all the things that haunt me
But for now
I’ll pretend I’m fine
For I can’t wake up otherwise