“Wicked Willie–the Demon Child” pt. I

“Kids at Play”
Will showed his siblings Father’s gun.
“Oh, Russian Roulette sounds like fun!”
Exclaimed his sister, Mary Lynn.
Will said, “You first. I hope you win.”

“A Gift for Teacher”
An apple Will gave Missus Cox
While smiling like a hungry fox.
As Teacher swallowed her first bite,
Will quipped, “I hope you’ve seen Snow White!”

“A Devil at Confession”
“Confess now Willie how you’ve sinned,”
The priest implored, but Willie grinned
And with these words then refused,
“Tell me, how many boys you’ve abused.”

“Willie’s Web”
Willie once thought it’d be a hoot
To hide a spider in Dad’s boot.
Dad’s body’s been of little use
Since meeting Willie’s brown recluse.

Who?”
For Will it was a hoot and howl
To murder sis then, like an owl,
Respond by saying only, “Who?”
When asked by Mom, “Where’s Mary Lou?”

5 “Little Willie” poems by Paul Burgess. For background info on the Little Willie form–yes, it’s a form–please see the following post: https://paulwhitberg.wordpress.com/2014/05/17/little-willie-and-brats-poems/

 

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“Tooth Fairy: a Tale of Crime”

Flash fiction in the form of a sonnet—by Paul Burgess

He asked, “You got the stuff?” I told him, “Yes,”
And wondered whether doing this was right.
“My friend, I expected nothing less,”
He said with eyes I had never seen so bright.

Examining the tooth I had procured,
He held it gently in a flattened palm—
Oblivious to the stress I had endured.
I hated seeing him remain so calm.

“When night arrives it’s time to start the fun,”
He whispered and reviewed again our plan:
“As she removes the pillow, draw the gun,
And growl as coldly as you can:
‘You need to kneel and afterwards to freeze.’
I’ll take her money once she’s on her knees.”

“Ann the Famous and John the Unknown”

Below is a poetic recap of this epic tale of heroism and obscurity:
Ann the Famous, John the boy unknown—
The girl’s a perfect hero on a throne.
While John of ants and gravity has died,
The fame of Ann is trav’ling far and wide.

Paul Burgess

[The child’s handwritten story was first shared by storytimewithjohn.com:  http://storytimewithjohn.com/2014/05/31/ann-the-famous-and-john-the-unknown-part-ii/

I never expected to write anything inspired by a preteen in Korea…

“The Magic Fish” a Faerie Tale

A Faerie Tale in Formal Verse [Couplets of Iambic Pentameter] by Paul Burgess

A lady came across a magic fish
that vowed to grant her anything she’d wish.
He asked, “How ’bout a young and charming prince?”
The lady’s answer caused the fish to wince:
“What’s wanted by this starving little lass
could be supplied by any normal bass.
As soon as we arrive at Mother’s hut,
you’ll be prepared to go inside my gut.
I requested that a genie give me fish–
He sent you, and to eat you now’s my wish.

“When I was a Horse,” a villanelle for children; by Paul Burgess

[Written in 2006 for a college assignment. Much of my writing then was for children. The rhyme is regular, but the meter is irregular]

I was a horse for a day
And wish I was one still,
Passing the hours munching on hay.

There was nothing I had to pay—
No tax, attention, or bill—
When I was a horse for a day.

I was free to gallop and play
And had nothing but time to kill
And hours to spend munching on hay.

My voice was a bold, boastful bray,
Confident, yet speaking no ill,
When I was a horse for a day.

I listened to blues song of the jay
That lives in a tree by the hill,
While passing the hours munching on hay.

If ever I find a way,
Have no doubt, I certainly will
Be a horse some other day,
Passing the hours munching on hay.

“Elaine and the Kangaroo” a “brats” poem by Paul Burgess

While visiting the London Zoo,
Elaine harassed a kangaroo.
When ‘Lainey tried its nose to pick,
The ‘roo unleased a lethal kick.

“Ermine Elle”

“Ermine Elle” [a “brats” poem by Paul Burgess]

While wearing Mother’s ermine coat,
Elle looked exactly like a stoat.
Believing she was surely one,
A hunter went to get his gun.

“A Compulsive Scratcher”–a Children’s Poem by Paul Burgess (from 2006)

I know I’ll only make it bleed and scar,
But still I pick and scrape and scratch it raw.
I’ll keep on clawing ‘til I reach the bone.
So hard it is to leave an itch alone.

My fingers have become ten useless nubs.
Alas, those sorry digits did erode;
But such ill luck my progress scarcely slows
Because upon my feet are healthy toes.