The Demon Quadrumvirate

In a far away place at the foot of a tree,
Stood a man with an axe of six foot and three.
At the top of the tree sat a house made of stone,
Within it, four tombs, carved from white bone.

Jack Frost, he burst forth from tomb number one,
And stood there bewildered at the glare of the sun.
Out came Sam Hain from tomb number two,
Crossed his beastly arms and said "who on Earth are you?"

Then out jumped a rabbit from tomb number three,
Who said "I'm the Easter Bunny, Jack Rabbit, that's me!"
Then all of a sudden came a might roar,
And a shake and a rumble from tomb number four.

Out burst a Vampire with fangs made of steel,
Who cowered from the sun for the burning he could feel.
Dressed head to toe in a black velvet coat,
He danced in the shadows with a cackle and a gloat.

The man with the axe brought it back for a swing,
And he chopped and he hacked with all his arms could bring.
The tree began to sway and the vampire hollered,
"We'll meet somewhere quiet, somewhere we're not bothered."

As the tree began to falter, the demons flew away,
On promises to rule this world and fight another day.
They were monsters of an era, unleashed upon the land,
A frightful team of ghoulish fiends together hand-in-hand.

Sam Hain he would be crawling down the chimney Christmas Day,
To terrify the kiddies and take their treats away.
Jack Frost he would be bringing chills to a hot and steamy night,
With people fleeing scared at the icy, freezing sight.

Jack Rabbit he would be stealing all the tricks on Halloween,
Hopping truly madly in delight at what he'd seen.
The Vampire he would rather spend a day upon a spire,
Laughing in the moonlight before the sunshine brought its fire.

But there were days when ghouls of plenty would long for home sweet home,
And soon they would be bored of mischief and long to be alone.
But their tree had long since fallen at the hands of angry villagers,
Never again to rue the night as demons, ghouls or pillagers.

© Mark Rothwell 2014

Plight of the Bulbous-Headed Alien

On my planet

It rains diamonds

And they really hurt when they hit my bulbous head.

LOL

Embryonic Innocence

If we could choose when to be born
Would we also choose the colour of our eyes
And the sound of our voice?

Would we live as Kings whilst
Those who were born unplanned
Lived as beggars and thieves?

No matter what the origin
In the end only a soul with eyes and a voice
Unfettered by choice or luck
Should have the opportunity to choose when to die

Before the ravages of old age take a fine man
And make him a shadow of his former self

It's only fair right?