The Death Sonnets (Halloween Library Edition)
The Death Sonnets
Justin Tate
Copyright © 2013 by Justin Tate
Cover image “Background with Skulls” © Vlad Ivantcov
Published by The Portable Pumpkin
All rights reserved.
This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the expressed written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
First published, 2013.
www.facebook.com/JustinTateAuthor
1. The Nag
There goes that irritating ghost again!
Always haunting just as I go to bed.
She whoops! She wails! She speaks of killing men,
Her lungs quite powerful for being dead.
“SLICE AND CHOP AND CUT OFF THEIR BALLS!” she shrieks.
“ALL MEN MUST BE TORMENTED LIKE I WAS!”
“Oh, hush it,” I say. “That tune is antique,
And is your hate even backed with good cause?”
“SERPENTINE SNAKE!” screams the enraged spirit,
“HOW COULD YOU HAVE FORGOTTEN ME SO QUICK?
YOU LOVED ME IN PARIS, YOU MUST ADMIT,
NOW COME HERE SO I CAN CUT OFF YOUR DICK!”
Who knew they can vex worse in afterlife?
I guess there’s just no way to kill a wife. . .
2. Trick-or-Treat Trap
To lure trick-or-treaters, here's what you'll need:
Candy for the young, drugs if they're a teen,
A costume that scares, but isn't too bloodied,
A light show, a crow, and a slot machine.
The slots will distract all parental eyes
While you bait their children further within.
Fill their fat sacks with a sugary prize
And promise boat-loads more, down in the den.
In the den they'll hear the crow and ask "What's that?"
And you'll say, "My pet, would you like to see?"
Adjourn to the dungeon, with some chit-chat,
Then fasten the fools to your machinery.
Round and round, like trained ponies they'll go,
Pushing the cogs and fueling the light show.
3. Phantom Flirts
On each street, in each town, there haunts a ghost
Whose starry heart is but a silver fog;
Who died much too young, merely kissed, at most,
And now seeks love thru window, door or bog.
These lonely phantoms may fly to your room,
Hover by your pillow or float aloft,
Dressed, perhaps, as a soldier, bride or groom,
But do not fear, my dear, a wispy waft.
The dead can feel too, though their lips are cold,
And should be treated as if they were whole.
Give your ghost time, for they never grow old;
Consider their voice as they woo your soul:
“Shed thy fair skin and forsake thy warm breath,
With me, thou shalt have true love after death.”
4. The Manifestation
“Modo verum postremo,” I recited.
“Modo verum postremo.” Once more.
“Modo verum postremo!” Excited,
Until the monster appeared at my door.
His flesh was spotted and hung in loose clumps,
Disdain and hate burned in his eyes tragic;
A fiendish beast worthy of my goose bumps—
Worst creature ever conjured by magic!
He kept a stack of scribblings in his clasp,
Strange, frantic words in a familiar script;
The feeling I knew this man made me gasp—
Could this beast be me, come back from the crypt?
Worse than a collection of all my fears,
The reflection of me in thirty years!
5. A Daffodil or Tulip Shan't Compare
A daffodil or tulip shan’t compare
To the bounteous beauty you possess,
For no blossom or petal is as fair
Or worthy of my beating heart’s obsess.
Divan-driven or deep in dreamer’s sleep,
Preparing a meal or engaged in book,
My longing for you becomes the more deep;
Nothing you do could taint the way you look.
But alas this marriage comes with distance,
Those petite, gentle hands I’ve yet to hold!
For years I have left our romance to chance
And today is my time to be so bold.
For how could I ever become your beau,
If I only see you through your window?
6. Baby Sarah
Baby Sarah was not yet two, although
She could already stand tall in her crib.
Sometimes she stood as still as a scarecrow.
Sometimes she danced around in her pink bib.
Mostly she liked to lean over the rail
And watch the playful kittens from above.
One was spotted orange and chased his own tail.
One had thick whiskers and cooed like a dove.
Then one dreadful night, while all soundly slept,
Baby learned that she could make the gate fall.
'Cross the khaki carpet she slowly crept,
Towards the litter all a'snooze 'gainst the wall.
She placed a wee hand o'er their nose with hate,
'Til each kitten began to suffocate.
7. Pagan Witch Dentists of Salem, Texas
Pagan witch dentists of Salem, Texas,
Disguise themselves as medical experts.
They care for the old, the sick and homeless,
Extracting rotten teeth for free, subvert.
They mash each black tooth to a soot of sorts—
Careful not to lose even a granule—
Whilst cursing, snorting and scratching their warts;
Cramming the filthy dust into capsules.
The pills they market as wondrous cure-alls,
Guaranteed to mend every ache and pain:
An end to colds, coughs, hiccups and hairballs;
A new drug that prevents varicose veins.
But should you swallow the sick stuff they sell,
Those cursed supplements will send you to hell.
8. DFWTG
Bill Dean Kirk was a political jerk
Who thought it funny to bully often,
But his victims rebelled and went to work,
Burying him alive in a coffin.
They dropped the sleeping zealot in the dirt;
Covered his rotten casket with their votes.
The process was peaceful, all in concert—
It was their rights they wanted, not cut throats.
When Billy awoke, he could smell the change.
His soft bed was much harder than before.
Old cohorts had left him helpless, estranged,
Not a soul agreed with him anymore.
They said: “We're tired of your hateful ways.
In your next life, please don't fuck with the gays.”
9. Necropusticularitis
In my years I turned down hundreds of dates,
Having not been satisfied with Earthlings.
A girl gets tired of mundane primates
And deserves a paranormal coupling.
So when I met this brute, who stood so tall,
And spoke of a life unique and obscure,
I knew right away he could keep me enthralled,
Cherish my whims and bring me sweet amour.
But the weeks wagged on and I turned aghast:
He was sh
owing the same dull signs of men
That I had seen and slept-with in the past!
There was no choice but to call it an end.
Strange romance is nothing but fantasy,
All I got was a zombie S.T.D.!
10. All Natural
Yes, people do live in that creepy shack
Roughly-hidden in the deep, dense thicket,
Past a stockade of thorns and swamp as black
As souls geysering from Satan's spigot.
A suspicious man and his forlorn son
Dwell within, living off the sickly land,
Convinced that modified foods are poison
Since Mother had died with French fries in hand.
Refusing traps, live snakes the dad installs
As a natural answer to vermin
Who ravage the grounds and live in the walls.
The child accepts his life so uncommon,
Treasures memories and each goodnight kiss,
But grows madder than the snakes' insane hiss.
11. Chingy Chingy Chugga-Chug Vroom Vroom Pow
Chingy-chingy chugga-chug vroom vroom pow!
Goes the cheery chainsaw when shit gets wild.
Chop the haters up, turn 'em all to chow,
Feed ya to the dogs, do it with a smile.
Chingy-chingy chugga-chug vroom vroom whine!
Whinin' more than you did, which was all the time.
Thought you were special, a person divine,
But you were worthless, worth less than a dime.
Chingy-chingy chugga-chug vroom vroom growl!
Rev'd up and ready, gon' in for the kill.
Metal 'gainst marrow, a decadent howl,
Hate to see ya go, lookin' like oatmeal.
Chingy-chingy chugga-chug vroom vroom boom!
Crazy, maybe, but I'll make a great costume!
12. Annie May's Halloween Bash
Annie May is known to put on a show.
They say no one does Halloween better.
But if I were you I don't think I'd go,
Lest you do something wrong to upset her.
Get in the way or prevent her success
And find yourself in a situation most dire,
Last year sweet little Beth critiqued her dress
And soon fell face-first in a roaring fire.
Then there was the mistake of Bernie Scags—
Whose costume was a rude innuendo—
He left the party in black body bags.
There was an “accident” with a crossbow.
If you do go, keep your temper placid.
Those apples bob in vats full of acid.
13. The Autumn Age
I am at that autumn age, when a wind
Gust is as dangerous as a cancer.
When near all that remains up top has thinned
And to life's questions, I beg an answer.
So many have already journeyed on,
Childhood friends, even, much younger than I.
Scientists blame our life span on the sun,
But I think that we were just born to die.
I care not whither I will go from here,
So long as life does not begin again—
Old age is a rough wisdom so severe
It voids the beauty of springtime and rain.
Although I tremble and shake as I grieve,
Part of me is fully prepared to leave.
14. Cannibal Lover
At first I thought it strange, or at the least
A bit odd, how he did chew on my lip,
Nibble 'gainst my throat and devoutly feast
Upon my neck, my breasts, my ladyship.
The bruises he left were as dark as death,
The marks so doubtless, so bold; no excuse
Uttered with my frivolous female breath
Could conceal the fervor of his abuse.
But once I was alone with my own lust,
I craved him to gnaw 'gainst my raw flesh—
I required bite, nip, teeth betwixt my bust!
No one thing else could make me feel so fresh!
So o'erwhelmed was I with desirous need,
I bequeathed my body to him, to feed.
15. Pumpkin
The perfect pumpkin from the perfect patch
I select to carve on Halloween night.
Vibrant orange with stem haply attach’d;
I saw an opening in sheer delight.
But from that hole emerged a wondrous cat,
Orange, too, and covered in pumpkin gut.
Wild and arched, the feline poised to attack,
And as I sat marveled, my face it cut.
The scratch ran deep, from my eyebrow to chin,
And from it oozed a greenish, putrid muck
That burned and hurt worse than Brutus’ sin—
I fear strained breath reveals I’m out of luck.
But I won’t complain like the greedy rich,
I'd rather die by a cat than a bitch.
About the Author
Justin Tate is the Catherine Gurley Adams Award-winning author of Morning Sickness and many other works of poetry and prose. The Death Sonnets is his first collection of poetry. If you would like updates on the release of future books, including exclusive freebies, please “like” his official Facebook page:
www.facebook.com/JustinTateAuthor