Friday, April 25, 2014

Scary Poem

Scary Poem

This poem frightens me
from the first simile.

Each metaphor
strikes fear to my core.

I’m deeply disturbed
by one evil verb.

The rhymes of this verse
make me fear the worst.

No use pretending…
I’m dreading the ending.

         from Crawl Space: Poems About Scary Things


  1. THE DAY OF THE GUN by Danny O'Brien

    Sometimes I felt lonely as a Irish killer alone in a lousy apartment waiting for one damn call from Ireland and no calls arrived in my New York basement and the wind drift was open as I ate a lousy burger from a joint nearby and the grizzle made me angry and wished that damn call would cool my green eyes from killing as a hired #1 from Dublin. Funny I felt the time my girl my wife was near me and damn it she missed my time too; yet some damn how her growing cousin younger found a way to bed her and times since then lumbered in my head like sheep turning into wolves ready to kill! While a tock-and-tick was keeping me near asleep; I turned over as my gun was near and the banger bells were ready for at exactly 4PM I was to be ready to remove a killer in Manhattan and I tried to find some time to sleep, and the window near my apartment on the 8th floor was busy with cars and sirens shrieking and finally by 2PM I lost consciousness and drifted until the clamber ring of the alarm awoke and I dressed for the killer to die for I am a hired Irishman on contract to murder a tax embezzler raping new born girls with a scar on his right face!! Stanly Fromstein was a phony doctor and my plan was to remove his practice as a pediatrician. Dressing myself was fast as my tie and stirrups held clearly a anchor of my right arm from the Naval Academy of Ireland former and shaved smiling and stated in clear alter terms: "Babe, I'll be home soon, my first girl of Ireland." Her picture I kissed and loaded a new sparkling black German Rutger.45 manufactured in Berlin. As morning was creepy into my bedroom the sirens were screaming loud and clear. And I holstered my gun ready for action. My mind was on a girl killed young and stolen from a boarding home, and my time was click clocking for I knew a fool needed more lead all American! Running to my parked car unmarked and dressed in a black tie with white shirt I kissed my mother's photo for luck and raced quick to a open bar where the evil lusty lurked for a dirty drug trade and played pool and entered in with grim smile as a girl with a yellow tattoo of dragon in China blue look in dressing apron asked me "hey boy what you lookin' at." While studying her apron, I opened a vest full of phony heroin and replied in cool style "I guess something is open too." I felt my blood pulse and found a reason to 'badge' her for disobedience and headed to the central bar for a Mickey of gin-and-tonic to cool my English nerves. While I miss my mom in old Ireland and born in London I transferred news that a drug clayey was selling a New York to Hong Kong lousy feint. The taste was lousy as I pretended to pressure another bar maid for a sniff of the old "apple-and-wine." Mine was deciding on who to kill and I found reason for one hombre a lousy Mexican with bad teeth. She was old and haggard with an evil scent like burnt pee; and gave off a color of red and dark complexion I hated too. While loading my Colt-.45 made in America I found her address through the Scotland Yard with interest of the FBI and I wasted no time. My money was running out from the M-15, yet with some determination I felt as those in Ireland if a girl was wanting me back in bed. With cool steel in mind I raced for an 'open' pub that day to eat a burger sided with fries as big as Austin territory. The Colt felt cool in my hand for I knew the joint was fixed with floozies with burning red paint on their brassieres and I turned my view on another harlot that called me a grand daddy.

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