Halloween Brew

Happy All Hallows’ Eve to you and yours.

‘Tis a dark and stormy night
The vampires are out for a bite
And the ghosties on the prowl.
Something out there’s smelling foul.
While down in Zombie Town
There’s the howl of a devil hound
And deep in Castle Vlad
Frank ‘N’ Stein are in their lab
Mixing up their ghoulish stew
Stirring up that Halloween Brew.
On Transylvania Street
There’s a lot of trick or treat
As the jack ‘o lantern choir
In their Halloween attire
Walk the walking dead dance,
Skeletons doing their scary prance.
The headless horseman rides
With his head held at his side
In the Grand All Hallow’s
Eve Parade and Spooktastic Show.
Under a full witching moon
Midnight’ll be here soon.
Then at “The Pit and Pendulum”
They’ll gather with their ghastly grins
For the Ushers will be there.
A cask of Amontillado they’ll share.
They’ll spill their tell-tale hearts
Spinning tales of the darker arts
And the time of the Halloween Brew
When they drank F ‘N’ S’s stew.
Another year rolls around
And the dead sleep safe and sound.
Then October shall arrive
When the dead come alive
For another show and tell
Under autumn’s darkest spell
When the goblins take to the air
For the Great Halloween Affair
And more of that Good Stew,
A tall hot mug of Halloween Brew.

The COVID Blues

Stuck in my house
Can’t take out the trash
Everything’s delivered
Wearing a mask

I got the COVID blues
The COVID blues

COVID one and two,
COVID three and four
And up to nineteen
Then COVID once more

I got the COVID blues
The COVID blues

Got the Long COVID
And the short one too
Fourteen days
Worse than the flu

I got the COVID blues
The COVID blues

A miracle cure
When I sneezed
Folks were healed
Of the disease

I got the COVID blues
The COVID blues

They hooked me up
To a pipe
Watched my blood
Flow out of sight

I got the COVID blues
The COVID blues

And the doctor said,
“It’s gonna be alright.”
Little did I know
I’d be a zombie tonight.

I got the COVID blues
The COVID blues

A Satirical Thanksgiving Song

There’s many reasons to be thankful. I, for one, am thankful for satire. It keeps me humble.

God Rest Ye Merry Gentle Girls

God rest ye merry gentle girls,
Let nothing you dismay,
Jesus wasn’t born on Christmas,
He was born Thanksgiving Day.
There were no sheep or sheperds,
Only turkeys came to pray.
Oh sure, there were the wise men,
At Massachusetts Bay.

The Pilgrims came by a ship,
Mayflower was its name,
Least that’s what we’ve been told
By those in history’s game.
Pilgrims came with Columbus,
So he could have his day,
And we could have a Thanksgiving
The good, old American way.

Ben Franklin scared the zombies,
Told them to fly a kite.
Abe Lincoln killed the vampires
“Fore they could go out and bite.
A blue-eyed, blonde-haired Jesus,
He’s really the god for us.
If you don’t accept our Jesus,
We’ll kick you off the bus.

Lost in Space

What can I say but here’s another pickin’ and grinner.

Danger, danger, Will Robinson. Danger.

They were folks lost in space
When they left the old home place
And went out searching for
A new home among the stars.

Danger, danger, Will Robinson. Danger

Past the Van Allen Belt
So fast the ship might melt
Passing Mars and Jupiter
The outer planets a blur

Danger, danger, Will Robinson. Danger.

Neptune and Pluto flew by
Onward they did fly
Into the deepest space
Leaving the human race

Danger, danger, Will Robinson. Danger.

They left on their trip
In a tin can of a ship

On board the Robinsons,
Doctor Smith, Major Don
And a B9 robot
For all parts cold and hot

Danger, danger, Will Robinson. Danger.

On a lovely moony night
Look at the sky to the right
In the distant night
There’ll be a small small light

Danger, danger, Will Robinson. Danger.

It’ll be the Robinsons
Out there on their own
Out for an evening stroll
To the right of a black hole

Danger, danger, Will Robinson. Danger.

They left on their trip
In a tin can of a ship

They were folks lost in space
When they left the old home place
And went out searching for
A new home among the stars.

A Bad Case of Sonnetosis

What can I say I was feeling unwell
With a fever of a hundred and three.
I called the doctor. He examined me,
My ups and downs, my valleys and my dales,
My hearing, my touch, my taste and my smell
And all the ins and outs of my body.
It hurts like hell, my eyes cried with a plea.
He laughed and said, “Wait till you get my bill.
I’m afraid you have something atrocious.
Those iambic pentameters, you see,
Are showing up in my diagnosis.
There’s only one thing I know it can be.
You have a bad case of sonnetosis.
There’s but one cure. A sonnetectomy.”