The Picture

That painting on my grandma’s wall,
Oh, it made me leery,
Supposedly a cute young boy,
Yet I thought it eerie.

The smile wasn’t a smile,
But much more of a leer,
And I could barely look at it,
Without shaking with fear.

I never caught it in the act,
Yet somehow I did know,
That it’s blue eyes would follow me,
Wherever I would go.

I stayed over at granny’s house,
On that dark fateful night,
And I could barely catch a wink,
So filled was I with fright.

That boy’d be waiting for me,
Surely he’d want me dead,
He was camped out in the closet,
Perhaps under the bed.

Until I knew I had enough,
And I could take no more,
I forced myself out of the bed,
And opened up the door.

I took the painting off the wall,
Before thinking things through,
I bent the boy over my knee,
The picture was in two.

But that was not enough, I was
emotionally scarred,
So I just took that picture out,
With me to the backyard.

And further I destroyed the piece,
‘Til all of it was splinters,
And just then it occurred to me,
How fit it was for tinder.

To what was left I lit a match,
A lesson it would learn,
Never to bother me again,
As I would watch it burn.

And then so back to bed I went,
Done with the horrid chore,
Where such a pleasant sleep I had,
As never had before.

Awoken with a dreaded thought,
Oh, to be convincing,
When granny asked if I knew,
Why that picture was missing.

But when I came downstairs I saw,
I needn’t fret at all,
Because I saw the picture hung,
Right back there on her wall.

After writing my last post, Abigail Biggs’ Pig, comedy blogger extraordinaire, Phil Taylor, suggested that I write a horror themed poem every day until Halloween. I don’t know if I can keep up with the timeline, but I am trying to keep up with the theme. This is my second installment.

imgres

Abigail Biggs’ Pig

Living in Massachusetts,
Here in 1693,
No secret that the neighbors,
Weren’t very fond of me.

I wasn’t much for kind words,
Or roosters that crowed at dawn,
Or the way their animals,
Went grazing on my lawn.

But I guess my biggest gripe,
Was with old Abigail Biggs,
Who couldn’t seem to control,
The behavior of her pig.

Every day I’d say to her,
“Abigail this can not be,
You’ve got to keep your dumb swine,
The hell off my property!”

But Abbey wouldn’t listen,
And back on my lawn he’d tread,
Until one day that dumb old pig,
He dropped right over dead.

But I saw her little kids,
Outside the day before,
Where they fed poison ivy,
To that unsuspecting boar.

Those kids should have been punished,
For being such little brats,
But instead, next thing I knew,
I was in jail for witchcraft.

And while I was in prison,
Abigail would catch my sight,
I said, “I didn’t do this,
Please say something, make it right!”

But Abigail ignored me,
So I continued to yell,
“You know the good Lord sees you,
And He’ll send you straight to hell!”

But after months of waiting,
Finally the bell would toll,
And there I was facing down,
My old friend the Gallows Pole.

I looked to my audience,
It’s a lucky thing I did,
When I spied no other than,
My dear friend Abigail Biggs.

I gave her my best evil eye,
Which she could not ignore,
Yet it was a might too late,
When she timidly came forth.

The rope tightened on my neck,
And my arms began to twitch,
She said “I think you misheard me,
The word I used was b-“

http://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_writing_challenge/genre-blender/

imgres-12

That Day I Was A Waitress

imgres-10“Is this your first time?
It’s not simple you see,”
But I lie thinking,
“Oh, how hard can it be?”

The next thing I know,
I’m there waiting in line,
As orders go past,
That I’m not sure are mine.

I can’t balance trays,
The servings are askew,
The meatloaf for 6,
Is found at table 2.

Then a woman says ,
“Remove this carrion!
Don’t you know I’m
Strictly vegetarian?”

I run down to her,
Then another mishap,
The ice cream for 4,
Is in table 10’s lap.

Just a small concern,
As I fear for my life,
The chef comes at me,
With a large butcher knife.

No time for small talk,
As I run for the door,
Perhaps I’m just not,
Well cut out for this chore.

This working with food,
Just makes me too nervous,
But one lesson learned,
Folks, please tip your servers.

15 Minutes

The show started out on a high note,
Till they called forth the entertainers,
They criticized her performance,
And said that her ‘life’ was in danger.

And though she tried hard to smile,
And struggled to keep it together,
A shaky song portrayed a girl,
Of which her nerves had got the better.

So she faced a judging panel,
Imposing figures who all did frown,
As they told her just how badly,
Her last performance had let them down.

Then they thrust a mike in her face,
Assuring no one could accuse her,
An off key version sang through tears,
So they’d not think her a sore loser.

And so thwarted at all attempts,
And hopes of being rich and famous,
She returns to a simple life,
Of making ends meet as a waitress.

Noticing the furtive elbows,
Under the tables, the discreet kicks,
Of those who recognize the girl,
Who was defeated by Taylor Hicks.

imgres

The Belle of The Ball

I went out last night to party,
I really lived it up,
The ultimate belle of the ball,
I just can’t say enough.

My remarks wise, my advice sage,
My retorts fun, sassy,
I was coy, cool and flirtatious,
Yet I kept it classy.

I cut the rug on the dance floor,
So graceful and fluent,
As if Michael Jackson himself,
Guided every movement.

And when the time came to go home,
They begged me for my keys,
They were silly to have worried,
For I made it home with ease!

But now I have an aching head,
Can’t find my car at all,
And I’m wondering why my friends,
Will not return my calls.

http://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_writing_challenge/the-unreliable-narrator/

imgres-8

Betty Grable Under The Stars

She told me she was out today,
Running around with the girls,
Soda shops, sock hops, bobby socks,
Styled hair in rag tied-curls.

She said she spent the afternoon,
Over at the record store,
Listening to music for hours,
Buying all she could afford.

Last night she went to a drive-in,
With a dozen kids or more,
Betty Grable under the stars,
Piled into Daddy’s Ford.

She asked if I’d seen Mary Lou,
And she was quite implicit,
That the girl had promised her,
She’d be there for a visit.

Then she spoke of her dear husband,
“He’ll come by today, you know,
I’ll just sit down and wait for him,
Over here by the window,”

We sit there and I take her hand,
As a nurse peeks in to say,
“Ms. Silverman did we forget,
To take our meds today?”

http://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_writing_challenge/the-unreliable-narrator/

imgres-9

The Unforgiven

I tried to forgive them,imgres-3
But couldn’t quite do it,
When recalling the matter,
And what led to it.

The illogical logic,
That brought it to an end,
Made me question wanting,
Their friendship again.

And grudges and notions,
I thought juvenile,
Never quite allowed me,
To reconcile.

Making awkward moments,
As we pass on the stairs,
So haunted are the hallways,
Of the house we share.

There’s another bond broken,
And I guess it’s just tough,
I tried to forgive them,
But not hard enough.