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Christmas in Heaven

Christmas in Heaven, What Do they Do?

They all Come to Earth, to Spend it with You.

So Save them a Place and one Empty Chair.

You may not see them, but They Will be There.

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I’m dead and I’m feeling better

I’m dead and I’m feeling better,
Black and white, Vampires all around,
And oh, I must be getting bolder,
The need for blood is trying to get me down,
To the bodies, where it’s flowing away,
Sometimes I just don’t think I should to it,
But I then know it’s more than worth the waiting,
For another chance to drink some sweet warm blood.
Come on drink with me.
There are bodies with warm blood flowing away,
Sometimes I just don’t think I should drink it,
But yet I know it’s more than worth the waiting away
For another chance to drink that sweet warm blood
Come on drink with me.

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Posted by on October 22, 2016 in death

 

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On Death

The pale, the cold, and the moony smile
Which the meteor beam of a starless night
Sheds on a lonely and sea-girt isle,
Ere the dawning of morn’s undoubted light,
Is the flame of life so fickle and wan
That flits round our steps till their strength is gone.

O man! hold thee on in courage of soul
Through the stormy shades of thy worldly way,
And the billows of cloud that around thee roll
Shall sleep in the light of a wondrous day,
Where Hell and Heaven shall leave thee free
To the universe of destiny.

This world is the nurse of all we know,
This world is the mother of all we feel,
And the coming of death is a fearful blow
To a brain unencompassed with nerves of steel;
When all that we know, or feel, or see,
Shall pass like an unreal mystery.

The secret things of the grave are there,
Where all but this frame must surely be,
Though the fine-wrought eye and the wondrous ear
No longer will live to hear or to see
All that is great and all that is strange
In the boundless realm of unending change.

Who telleth a tale of unspeaking death?
Who lifteth the veil of what is to come?
Who painteth the shadows that are beneath
The wide-winding caves of the peopled tomb?
Or uniteth the hopes of what shall be
With the fears and the love for that which we see?

By Percy Bysshe Shelley

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Posted by on May 18, 2016 in death, poems

 

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My life is forsook!

I am a Vampire, he said staring at her,
A very old Vampire, you can tell by my skin,
My eyes and expression give also a hint,
While my pointed, sharp teeth give more than a hint.

*

I can see by your skin, he answered, I do,
And also your eyes and expression; it’s true,
But the stare on your face has cast a strange spell,
Making me trust you, despite not feeling well.

*

Still staring at her, the Vampire replied,
You’d never believe me; you’d think I had lied,
If the stare on my face was gone; it’s a fact,
No one would trust this salty old Cat.

*

Without offering her a chance to reply,
The Vampire went on with his horrible lie,
Then, creeping closer and closer on the cold deck,
He pounced, lashed out, and bit her bare neck.

*

Feeling the hurt and the blood running down,
She said, I was such a daft clown,
To have trusted a Vampire because of his look,
Drained of all blood, my life is forsook!

Scary stories

***************

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One Golden Groat to spend in the mystical kingdom of Onishia

(see Wot, Nott, Kakuri and the HU BA HOU)

 
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Posted by on May 25, 2015 in poems, vampires

 

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A Life in the Poo

Good times are coming, I know they are near,
The best times, for sure, in a number of years;
I’m counting each day on my fingers and thumbs,
Until the recession has passed and the bad times have gone.

Then, when the money is flowing again,
I will thank those people, both women and men,
Who stood up to the bankers and politicians; it’s true,
That saved us, how they saved us, from a life in the poo.

**********************

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Roald Dahl

 
 

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Be Careful What You Wish For

Arnie the apple hung from a tree
in an orchard a mile wide.
And every day the pickers would come
and haul dozens of apples inside.

They’d pick the prettiest of the bunch,
filling their baskets and pails.
But they always passed by Arnie,
ignoring his whines and wails.

“Please pick me!”, Arnie would cry
each time the pickers sauntered by.
“I want to go inside with you!”,
cried Arnie till he turned bright blue.

But the pickers ignored him day after day,
while Arnie hung there in dismay,
trying to nurse his shattered pride,
dying to be picked to be taken inside.

Each new dawn he’d do a trick
like spinning around on his twig.
But the picky pickers never stopped
for apples that weren’t big

or juicy or red or bright or sweet.
Poor Arnie was none of these things.
He wasn’t completely quite full grown
and he had some nicks and dings.

He dreamed what it was like inside;
lights and music all around.
Arnie just wanted to go there so badly
he flung himself to the ground.

The next day the pickers came along
and saw him lying there.
They took him inside and Arnie thought,
“This is it! I’m finally there!”

But when Arnie the Apple looked around
he realized his dreams were false,
’cause in less than 15 minutes
he was Arnie Applesauce.

(C) 1998, Arden Davidson

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It’s Monday!

May no gift be too small to give, nor too simple to receive, which is wrapped in thoughtfulness and tied with love. Good morning! Happy Monday!!

Every morning is a wonderful blessing from God. It stands for hope which gives us another start at what we call Life. Have a good morning and great day! Happy Monday!!

The difference between me and a bear is the thought of you couldn’t make me hibernate for more than 7 hours. Good morning. Happy Monday!

A morning thought, a morning prayer, a morning wish for a good person who makes a good morning for other peoples’ lives. May God bless you always. Happy Monday!!

The breeze has awakened the earth, The sun gave brightness to the earth, Birds gave melodious music to the earth, Then its the time to wish my sweet friend Good morning. Happy Monday.

roald dahl

 
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Posted by on May 18, 2015 in poems

 

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