For those who might not know, a po is what we used to call a potty. It was also known as a Guzundah, because it guzundah the bed. Used when most people didn’t have inside toilets and often shared a communal outside toilet.

I don’t know why, but my pomes all seem to be set in the olden days. I think life was harder then so there’s more unusual ways to die.

When Gabriella Evans saw her mother stub a toe
And stagger backwards tripping on the large ceramic po
And kick the nightly doings all across the bedroom floor
And slipping, in the piss and shit, go sliding through the door
And crash right into father, which caught him unawares
And watched her ma and pa go rolling backwards down the stairs
And saw them roll into the street in nothing but their drawers
Where they tried to get back on their feet before the neighbours saw
And the flap on father’s long johns had split from front to back
And mother shouted “Everyone can see your devil’s crack!”
She laughed so long and hard that she forgot to take a breath
And that’s how Gabriella Evans laughed herself to death

So there you go. A funny death and a history lesson all in one.

To keep them hidden and undiscovered
I hide my secrets in my purple cupboard

There’s a box full of drawings all best kept unseen
And jars full of something all mouldy and green
Tins with no labels all well past their date
Some rusty old hinges from a rusty old gate
A brown paper package that’s shaped like a head
That drips something horrid that’s sticky and red
A collection of chargers, an old mobile phone
Some rusty old scalpels, a mysterious bone
Stuffed at the back is a small cardboard box
That contains the remains of a mummified fox
While up on the shelf is a box full of hats
And a sack filled with tails from the neighbourhood cats
There’s some gore spattered hooks hanging up on the wall
And below them some teeth and a cloudy eyeball
There’s a thingamabob and a something or other
And a large canvas bag where I keep your real mother

Now forget what you’ve seen and don’t you dare tell
Or I’ll pack you away in my cupboard as well.

It’s amazing what you find in cupboards these days.

I was watching The Sound of Music recently and found myself singing along with, “My Favourite Things”. Of course I don’t know the actual words so I made up my own.

I’m not sure I got it quite right to fit with the music but you’ll get the idea.

When my creepy old neighbour was finally arrested
The people all gathered round, quite interested
To see what was found in that late night police sting
So here are a few of my neighbour’s weird things.

Files full of drawings of animals kissing
Boxes of photos of kids who’ve gone missing
Jars filled with dead birds and bat’s severed wings
These are a few of my neighbours weird things

Bottles of poison to quickly end lives
Drawers filled with blood spattered, rusty old knives
A chest filled with noses and fingers with rings
These are a few of my neighbour’s strange things.

An old witch’s cauldron for mixing up potions
A rope and a basket with bottles of lotion
A pit full of children all tied up with strings
These are a few of my neighbour’s vile things.

When they took him
In that police sting
He was foaming mad
But then I remember my neighbour’s odd things
And now I don't feel so bad

I wonder which other family favourites I can ruin.

It was inspired by a story I started writing about a little girl who, being unhappy about having a new family thrust upon her, decides to do the only sensible thing and get rid of the babies once and for all.

Don’t worry, in the story, the little darlings were all rescued. The ones in the pome, not so much.

Enjoy.

10 naughty babies making me quite stressed
So I took one up the tallest tree and left him in a nest

9 naughty babies wouldn’t eat their liver
So I popped one in a basket and sent him down the river

8 naughty babies having screaming fits
So I took one to the woodshed and chopped him all to bits

7 naughty babies, noisy as a train
So I stuffed one in a burlap sack and threw him down the drain

6 naughty babies thought they were quite brave
So I locked one in a suitcase and left him in a grave

5 naughty babies, 1 tried to abscond
So I tied a rock around his leg and threw him in the pond

4 naughty babies began to loudly bawl
So I took one to the cellar and bricked him up behind a wall

3 naughty babies made an awful smell
So I gave one to the Devil who took him straight to Hell

2 naughty babies, can’t tell which is which
So I put one in a cardboard box and left him in a ditch

1 naughty baby let out a mournful cry
So I covered him in pastry and baked him in a pie

No more naughty babies, they’re dead as dead can be
And when the judge has finished, it’ll be the drop for me

Ahhhhhh, peace and quiet.

But no matter what you think of spiders, you should never step on one.

Never step on a spider.
It’s the worst thing you can do.
Because if you step on a spider
The spiders will come for you.

They’ll sneak into your bedroom
And wait til you’re asleep
And when you’re finally snoring
Through the darkness they will creep.

They’ll dangle from the ceiling
Just above your bed
And when your mouth is open
They’ll climb inside your head

They’ll crawl into your belly
And fill you up with eggs
They’ll use their webs to seal your mouth
And glue your arms and legs

And when the eggs start hatching
And you can’t move or scream
You’ll wish that you could wake up 
From this horrid spider dream

The spiderlings will creep and crawl
And eat you from within
So never step on a spider
It is a mortal sin

Don’t have nightmares.

Well, maybe a little one.

Douglas Turvey liked to run
With scissors in his hand.
His mother didn’t like it
And told him he was banned.

If mother didn’t see him
There was nothing she could say.
So Douglas ran around the house
With scissors anyway.

But Douglas didn’t see the lace
Was loose on his left shoe.
Douglas tripped. The scissors snipped.
And cut the lad in two!

Truth be told, I often run with scissors. I consider it an extreme sport and have only died twice so far. A good unction is what you needs should the worst happen.

They were originally written for an A-Z project and I just kind of fell into my usual m ode of writing about death.

This one is also about science though, so that’s nice.

For Christmas, Freddy Farrington received the best gift yet,
Mr Asprin’s Super Duper Chemistery set
He was so excited and simply couldn’t wait
To mix and heat the chemicals to see what they’d create.
He took the Bunsen burner out, the tubes and mixing flasks
And set them on the table with several tiny racks
Into which he set the vials of chemicals he’d use
He’d no idea quite what they were, the labels had come loose.
But Freddy was undaunted and just mixed this with that
He had a plan to make the most amazing see-through cat.
The cat watched on as Freddy mixed a very special drink
Made from fizzy purple phosphate and something green and pink.
A little sodium cyanide went in the mixture next
Then smoke poured from the cone shaped flask and Freddy cried, “OOO ‘ECK!”
The chemical explosion could be heard for miles around
But just poor Freddy’s smoking socks was all they ever found.

It’s amazing I’ve not been discovered yet! I’m clearly a talent.

Graham’s rotten rhymes concern death and tragedy with a lack of caring bordering on callousness that just makes me laugh.

Anyway, here’s my effort:

Pretty little Evadne Myers
Was awfully fond of starting fires.
One day she set fire to the shed,
The door slammed shut, the fire spread
With poor Evadne stuck inside.
She burnt right up and then she died.
Her father, who was most displeased
Fell down, sobbing, to his knees
And cried out loudly in despair,
“I left my favourite coat in there!”

Should I have tried to get these published? Well I did and got nowhere.

Should I have published my own chapbook? Maybe, but that costs money, of which I have none.

Hooray for WordPress then.

Soon I began writing pomes about death and tragedy with a dark humour to them. I have quite a few now and there are more coming. Some of these pomes appear on my site already, but I noticed that many do not.

I call this collection, Crosses For Eyes, and I thought I’d share some more of them over the next few days.

So here are the first two. I grouped them together because they are quite short.

Sarah Lister had a sister
Whom she put into a pot
Covered her in neeps and tatties
Cooked her well and ate the lot

I feel like this one could maybe do with illustrating. As could the next little tale:

Anna Meridith Jenkins Jones
Broke several of her larger bones
When, eyes tight shut and saying prayers,
She fell down several flights of stairs

I doodle now and then but I don’t think my little crappy drawings would work. Maybe we can resurrect Gorey.

Where’s a mad scientist when you need one?

Since I have nothing better to do, I thought I’d indulge myself and share yet more filth with you.

I really wish I had a better Idea of what to do with this stuff. But better here where they can be seen than hidden away until after my death when they are found by someone going through my stuff. “Oh look!” they’ll say, “he wrote poems too. But by god they are awful. Better to delete them.”

So up yours imaginary person form the future. I have pre-empted your desecration.

Anyway, here are four more filthy limericks. I felt that small groups is best for this sort of thing so as not to overwhelm. Besides which, I haven’t written any for ages and didn’t really have anything new.