Bewitched by hexes, you've been spelled to death:
like Edgar Allan Poe, belled, belled to death.
Your eyes, they scrutinize a sacred page
in Celtic lettering. Book-of-Kelled to death?
Rhymes drench your eardrums from the nursery:
little-lambed, farmer-in-the-delled to death.
On Cupid's bow, how are my heart-strings bent:
O Stella! I've been Astrophelled to death.
This poor wino drinks on the cheap, yup,
by the gallon. Muscatelled to death!
Starting earlier every year -- Halloween? really? –
Christmas cards in stores. Noël'd to death.
Her mind was a victim of glossy magazines:
Cosmo'd, Vogued, and Mademoiselled to death.
Talk-radio addicts binge on verbal bilge:
bickered, shrilled, harangued, and yelled to death.
The sheets grow heavy as a lecher's kiss.
Alas, poor Sylvia! Arielled to death.
If I were a rich man, biddy-biddy-bum ...
you'd find yourselves Zero Mostel'd to death!
Like Terence Trent D'Arby in 1988,
a weary world's been Wishing-Well'd to death.
Ground Control to not-so-major Tom:
where's the Rocket Man? Jet-propelled to death.
Poetry by Uncle Meridian
Read 114 times
Written on 2022-01-15 at 05:12
Save as a bookmark (requires login)
Write a comment (requires login)
Send as email (requires login)