melissaahowells

      Poet's Home             All Poetry       Sign Up!  Login
© 2000-2022 Individual Authors of the Poetry. All rights reserved by authors.   416494 Poems Read.

Search for Poetry

   


Read Poetry
<< [Previous]

Have You Ever... (DECEMBER 4/2021)

Still, More Time NOV 6 2021

OUTSIDE-THE CROWS 11/14/2021

If It Does Them Any Good At All 11/16/2021 date/time stamped

Stray Cats and I have an understanding... 11/23/2021 copyright



Cat's Speach

Wishing Them Onto Better Days

Seize This Day, The One You're With

Only Grief....

OUTER SHELL

The Stars Go Out

Soothe (re-edited 1:40Pm 8/17/21 for clarity for me as a five year old)

early wake-up conversations...before the coffee's poured

Only The Lonely.... (its not about what you may think...)

And The Next, And The Next..... (written directly to page, will return later for edits)

My Truth Is Out There (re-edited for clarity of thought and image later)

The Better Poem

Crimson Crush (Re-edited and Mispellings Corrected 6/11/2021)

The Last Shall be Trace-less 5/25/2021

Beware When The White Night Calls // re-edited 5/25/2020

BUYING LIES 5/22/2021

The Future I'm Caught Up In...RE-EDITED 5/22/2021

IN THE WILDERNESS CALLED YOU

Cool Pea-Green New Leaves....(Imaginarium)

Sharp Sticks For The Cinderella's

Someone Send Out A Search Party

It No Longer Surprises Me...

Odd Things, Odd Thing.....

The Magical Closet( re-edited for clarity of metaphor)

The Legacy List

WE SHARE... march 2021 poetry

This Firestorm Of Dying Lights..

More Poetry >>

 
Features

  Sign Guestbook

Read Guestbook

 
   

Mister  Misbegotten.



He's got a cackle bark when he snarl-speaks.
He has half a jack-o-lantern jaw of teeth.
When strangers sees him on the empty streets
they turn on their heels and high tail it the other way.

I'm sure he bays at the moon at night,
It wouldn't matter if it were full or not.
He'd bark, he'd snap n' bite, for he's
a closer cousin to the ripper or the reaper
always tripping on some coke or reefer...
and you can smell him comin' from a long ways off.

For the meanness  of him is over-ripe, raw and rotten.
He's up all week, long-in-the-tooth, evil-tongued,
beguiled, the ghoul,  Mister Misbegotten.

Claims he's been torn down by the world
and insulted by the barrel-full
he should have died a hundred times over
but still
the ugliness in his soul keeps him lone-long-walkin'
Mister Half-Dead Misbegotten.

He'll try to talk you sweet
out of your last meal
and rattle your door at three o'clock
in the morning
with his ghostly ravings
without fair warning
And then he'll accuse you
of every sin in the book,
mostly, the ones he's committed
If he knows where you live,
you will never get rid
of him.
Mister Ghoulish Grin Misbegotten.


work in progress
based upon a real person, sadly, someone beyond our ability to help


Copyright October 12, 2014 All Rights Reserved By This Author
Meloo/Melissa A Howells   tilt-a-world





Vote for this poem