Poetry by Graham Ducker – 9/18

 

A Psychotic Experience

Strapped to my bed in a padded room
where no one hears me scream,
the whole environment disintegrated
and gave the weirdest dream. 

Goolies and goblins were gathered round
a freshly opened crypt,
after the tomb robbers had done their deed,
and the corpse was stripped. 

They flipped a coin who’d be first
of morsels lying there.
Although the options were first rate,  
they really didn’t care. 

The ears and eyeballs were easiest,
and the juicy spleen.
Eventually the whole thing disappeared,
for it was Halloween.

Cannibal Spratt

Cannibal Spratt
Could eat no fat,
And his wife could eat no lean.
So it was great
How they cleaned their plate
And only left the spleen. 

Not ones for talk,
They went for a walk,
And a wandering sheep did find.
“Leave it alone.
We’ll follow it home,
But don’t get too far behind.” 

It wasn’t very long
When they came upon
Its owner who wasn’t much wiser.
As it was feared
Miss Bo Peep disappeared.
Her lamb was the appetizer. 

They both conceded
A dessert was needed
Washed down by a flagon of rye.
Some bits of Jack Horner
They left in the corner
Amid crumbs from his Christmas pie.                     

Away up on the hill
They saw Jack and Jill,
But alas, much to their sorrow,
They were full to the neck;
So said, “What the heck,
We’ll have to come back tomorrow.”


I Turned the Coffee On
 

The persistent clock was not kind
To my alcoholic glazed mind
When it said that it was time
To turn the coffee on.

My aching body felt half dead
Which matched the pounding in my head,
Whose misty messages to me said,
“Go turn the coffee on.” 

Although my body wished to shift,
The foggy cranium refused to lift
As murky thoughts began to drift.
‘Go turn the coffee on.’ 

I saw my shape drift ‘cross the floor
Maneuvering through the open door,
And a shaky finger reaching for
The button: Turn coffee on. 

The plastic eye blazed angrily
Gurgled loud, then suddenly
Slide along and jumped at me
Who’d turned the coffee on. 

Its long black cord snaked out,
Evilly hissed, and wrapped about
My neck, causing me to shout
“I’ve turned the coffee on!” 

The toaster eagerly joined the fray
Through slotted eyes began to spray
Its crumbs at me, as if to say
“You turned the coffee on!” 

They pushed me back against a chair.
Each growing larger, meaner, where
With one voice said, “How dare
You turn the coffee on!” 

The situation climaxed. It seemed,
My hangover head had just dreamed!
I sat bolt upright and screamed
“I’ve turned the coffee on!” 

My bleary eyes blinked out in space,
Relieved to see things back in place,
And knowing there was no race
To turn the coffee on. 

It was wonderful to flop down,
To pull the covers up o’er my crown,
Knowing that I could sleep sound
And NOT turn the coffee on.

 

Graham Ducker portrait