I wrote a poem in Chaucer's General prologue form.....It's a little silly, but I liked it.
GRAAAAGGG!!! ZOMBIES!!!!!
All is quiet and all down the street
Are all the people I used to meet,
But now my flesh they wish to eat,
They stalk around seeking meat.
The sky is black from atomic blasts,
But those ****ty doctors built their zombies to last.
They’re covered in gore and they smell really bad,
Not at all the smell the living had!
Of all of St. Louis we’re the six who aren’t dead,
So we sit on our roof and pop zombie heads!
There is Alphonse the head of the house.
He stayed with the Cook, his wedded spouse.
His shoulders were strong and his arms were long,
He’d hardly sweat to throw zombies where they belong.
He would keep us in line when we squabbled
For we’d stop in his presence or we knew we’d be hobbled.
He carried a Bible all bound in black
To the one True God he would not turn his back.
Every once in a while he’d sing a hymn,
Especially when things start to look grim.
There’s Tony the sniper,
His eyes are as sharp as the fangs of a viper.
If he shot nine out of ten he’d say, “****!
What a waste of a bullet!”
He was limber and tall, if a little small,
And he’d sit on his chimney away from us all.
But when it was his turn to have his meal,
He would stay a while and talk with zeal.
But we’d plug our noses, because his feet gave
A stench that can wake the grave.
There’s Lucy, our cook.
She knows the art better than a book.
She’d cook us feasts from freeze dried meat
And tin canned greens, but that cooking was mean and good to eat.
She is old but nimble,
And could cut down a zombie to fit in a thimble.
She is smiley and round
And spreads joy all around.
She could sing a song to brighten a day,
Her voice is so nice that the dead would sway!
There’s Mary, now she’s hardcore
She leaves shelter by day to go wage some war.
She seeks out her foes to be made concave
And many a zombie she’d send to the grave.
She would come back to the house with her gun and her book
And sit by the oven to talk with Lucy, our Cook.
She has her own private wing of the building we keep
Because she likes her own space and thinks that Tony’s a creep,
But I think she’s just mad
That they both share the same dad.
Behind her tagged Lily,
To judge her by her size would be silly.
She strode through the town with pride and grace,
And carried an axe to smash zombie face.
The fact she loved books was too commonly known
She would chew down a story straight to the bone.
With her she kept two loyal hounds
That came when she told them and made doggy sounds.
She was kind with her dogs and kept them well fed,
With pieces of meat, freshly shred.
Tell me what you think......If this is the right kind of poetry for this thread, that is!
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Originally Posted by Zephyr Wind
