to loo or not to loo

Photo courtesy of CCC #52

At the bottom of the garden
Where fairies used to nest
The magistrates of Mockingham
Are holding an inquest.

Seems some contractors from Capezium
Were digging a new loo
When they hit a main of candy-cane
And havoc did ensue.

“Could have been there since the Faerie days
Could be an ancient artifact
Halt all further excavation
Leave the sacred vein intact!”

“But our children,” cried the peasants,
“Have nowhere else to go
Our pots are full to overflowing
Dig the privy before the snow!”

“Order” cried the magistrates
“We’ll need a brief recess
Before we can pass judgement
In this whole stinking mess.”

Meanwhile back in Blinkcanshire
Little Sally’s still distraught
Over what became of the candy-cane
She had, but now has naught.

This little ditty was inspired by the photo prompt provided by Crispina’s Crimson’s Creative Challenge #52. Also included in the piece are Michael’s Taleweaver prompt on MLMM, ‘At the bottom of the garden’ and the prompt word, nest as provided by Denise at Six Sentence Stories.

Dead Man’s Jamboree

rattle me bones and shiver me timbers
it’s a dead man’s jamboree
from dusk till dawn
around the graves
a dancing they will be
a raspy throated woodwind howls
as drums are banged with bones
and out there in the mist somewhere-
another dead man moans
with but one night, the whole year thru
this gay thread to weave
they dance the jig, and tip the jug
in gleeful toast to moon above-
‘salute!’ all hallows eve…..

This is my offering for Chelsea Ann Owen’s Weekly Terrible Poetry Contest‘s call for Halloween Poetry. Boo!

Three Fates

The Moirae

three little daughters
locked in their room
mother’s mad at father
so she beats them with a broom
father comes home drunk again
smelling of perfume
mother screams till father snaps
now it’s quiet as a tomb.

Sirens wail in the night
and stop at their front door
police come in with guns drawn
father hits the floor
lady from the county says
‘you’ll live like this no more,
with a drunkard for a father
a mother, rotten to the core’

three little daughters
live like that no more
shuttled between foster homes
life becomes a revolving door
of lies and disappointments
by eighteen they’ve learned the score
ones a mother, ones a junkie
and the other ones a whore.