An old reminder of what happens to good poets on #worldpoetryday  So, I'm OK. You however...

A beautiful, dreamy poetry day, MASSACRE!

 

Through your window, the powder-puff clouds

And sun drizzled fields are beckoning poetic verse to be written. 

Behind you, a gentle scratching sound distracts

But you don't turn. 

It's probably that sneaky, little

dormouse that sometimes comes to visit

The cheeky little-

 

Hold on…

 

...Is something staring?

 

Something glaring?

 

Slyly peeping

 

Slowly creeping

 

Behind you sneaking?

 

Floorboards creaking

 

Turning shrieking!

Your eyes weeping

Blood leaking

Fluids seeping

Guts spilling!

Head drilling!

Eyes bursting!

Gore spurting!

Bile spitting!

Face splitting!

Skin stripping!

Flesh ripping!

Cleaver hacking!

Spine cracking!

Bone crunching!

Poet munching ...

 

Alas, at the first turning of your head

You realise it's not that cheeky, little dormouse at all

But, a sadistic, poet eating, demonic, aberration  straight from the bowels of Hell!

( commonly known as The Bard Eater)

Bummer!

No lovely poetry today I'm afraid

Or, ever again!