Bad, Bad Bear!

Somewhere out there,

There lives a Teddy Bear,

And he’s dominated by the spirit,

Of Demonic Dominic.

This Big Black Bear is black as night,

And he does not live life right,

Those sweet-looking glass brown eyes,

They are his disguise,

They make him seem,

Sweet as pie,

But really he’s on a mission,

A mission to make someone die.

The agenda those eyes do conceal,

Is one you’d never guess,

To be fair,

He is a teddy bear,

Not one that’s usually suspected,

Of causing a deadly ordeal.

But that face hides more crime,

Than any poker face,

Seen on the Vegas Strip,

So if you happen about,

And you notice this Black Bear,

Please, turn around!

And please, pick up your pace!

Normally he is encountered,

Deep inside a forest,

At one of those alluring clearings,

Where the unsuspecting navigate,

When they need to find some calm,

And when they need to get their bearings.

If your troubled soul,

Has in fact sought out his clearing,

I hope you’re ready for your life to end this night,

Because he’s been on a roll,

And you showing up,

Has brought him delight.

He is there in hiding,

And until he’s ready,

Black Bear’s face you will not see,

You’ll never know this bear is spying.

As you sit and contemplate,

Whatever plight has brought you here,

He’ll be creeping closer,

‘Til finally you notice he is there.

Distraught as you were,

When you made your way into his clearing,

It will not surprise him,

That you did not notice him nearing.

And when finally you look up,

You’re in a calmer state of mind,

And you really notice your surroundings,

But you notice nothing,

That should not be around,

There are trees and there is grass,

And a carelessly discarded toy,

A few feet before the rock,

Where you have parked your ass.

Now you are fucked,

You’re shit out of luck,

Assuming that toy means no harm,

Was your last mistake,

Because your life he means to take.

It’s too bad you do not know,

That your life’s at stake,

Because as of now,

There’s still time to make a break.

As he lays there on the grass,

Those glass eyes are watching you,

To see if you will take your leave,

Or if your life he can thieve.

He watches you go back,

To being detached,

Yet still you’re unaware,

That there’s a life in there,

And you’re also unknowing,

Of the reason he is there,

It’s too bad you do not know,

That it’s time for you to go.

So many before you,

Came to this clearing to unwind,

They just needed a little while,

To find their mind,

So again they might smile,

Then never were they heard from again,

As if they vanished into thin air,

All because they went There.

What looks like an old forgotten plaything,

Like a cute and fuzzy teddy bear,

Is actually demonic,

It’s dominated by a spirit,

Who wishes never to depart,

Dominated by the spirit,

Of Demonic Dominic.

Now Black Bear is laughing,

Laughing in his head,

For him to stay,

You must go away,

Now the time has come,

For him to pounce,

He needs to feed,

From a naughty deed,

He needs to see you dead.

Where’s Your Sock?

Stockings are not always hung,

‘By the chimney with care’,

As there are some that just don’t care,

If even they are there.

There are Hard-Hearted Hannahs,

These bitches are mean as the Grinch,

And hurting you or I without reason,

Won’t even make them flinch.

Though their stockings may be hung,

The care is definitely not there,

From when they were very young,

Other’s holiday cheer,

Always would perish,

When they would draw near.

Then also we have Scrooges,

These fuckers are privileged but blind,

All they want they’ve got,

But for others,

Not a thing will get bought.

Their stockings will never be hung,

And more thoughtless words,

Could not be flung,

Though they are transparent,

They think we do not know,

That inside their heads,

Only praises to themselves are sung.

Remember too the god damned Indifferent,

They should not be forgotten,

These mediocre people,

Most are so unenthusiastic,

And a lot tend to be sarcastic.

Still some have stockings hung,

And it makes them feel fantastic,

The ones who don’t may be mistaken,

By a stranger for a Scrooge,

But those they’re close to know,

That stranger is a stooge.

Yet the ones who most don’t care,

If even they are there,

Are our four-legged furry friends,

The Most Exquisite Creatures,

To walk upon this Earth.

For sure their stockings would be hung,

If they knew they should be there,

Unfortunately they look to be ones who just don’t care,

If even they are there,

But they would care the most,

If they knew they should be there.

Santa Claus’s Cookie Paws

You all know of Santa,

You know of his Deer and his Elves,

But there’s something I doubt you’ve yet heard,

He’s added another to North Pole’s herd.

She is long and she is low,

Her fur is red,

With a little white,

And she loves Mr. Santa,

With all her might.

From the beginning of time,

‘Til a few hundred years ago,

Santa needed just Reindeer and Elves,

To keep toys piled high,

On the Royal Toy Factory’s shelves.

Then came a day,

When Santa got bored,

He thought to himself,

“I deserve a reward.”

“I need someone to share the cookies,

I need someone who’ll always be available,

When the Deer and the Elves,

Are completely unbearable.”

So there is the reason,

For this lovely Christmas town,

To have welcomed a dog,

Appearing to be a dachshund.

Named Cookie Paws,

By Santa himself,

For peanut-butter caramel cookies,

The yummiest treats,

To pass through his jaws.

Miz Cookie has become,

An everlasting fixture here,

Reindeer, Elves, and Santa,

All are happier with her near.

This little beast is loved,

She fits in very well,

No one she meets,

Is immune to her spell.

Cookie Paws proves very useful,

As Santa’s Main Companion,

She keeps him feeling youthful.

Always for them,

A grand time is had,

And sometimes their activities,

Are just this side of bad.

Taste-testing all the cookies,

With Santa at her side,

Is a daily entertainment,

And luckily for Cookie Paws,

North Pole is a Fairy Town,

So this will not affect her size.

Twice-weekly practice,

For the famous Christmas Eve Run,

Is quite a lot of fun,

Mr. Santa hitches up his sleigh,

To help keep boredom in the barn at bay.

Across the sky they shoot,

Invisible when airborne,

Where they will go,

Only the Deer know.

When the chosen rooftop has been reached,

And Santa Claus has parked,

The Reindeer get fed hay,

So Santa Claus and Cookie Paws,

Can be on their way.

“Because” reasons Santa,

“Damned if I’ll waste this trip!

It’s not often I get to explore,

When I’m parked in this zip.”

Cookie Paws at his side,

Both rested from the ride,

So much for them to see and do,

When they’re amongst me and you.

Mr. Santa’s pretty clever,

Once they’re on the ground,

His famous Red Suit,

Disappears without a sound,

So now he’s just like us,

And there will be no fuss.

Around the city they go,

To the beaches and shops and malls,

They tour until Cookie Paws is about to fall.

Then some evenings there are Cocoa Dances,

In the massive Field Of Nuts And Chocolates,

At the center of this Field,

There is a tremendous run-in,

With open sides to let the sun in.

Located between Santa’s Palace and the Royal Toy Factory,

All of North Pole gathers in harmony,

With its barbeque pit,

And marble floors,

For one and all,

The Cocoa Dances are a hit.

Mr. Santa grills dinner for everyone,

And the Elves load up on spiked hot chocolate,

Then they dance the night away,

With Miz Cookie as deejay.

After all of these activities,

It’s time for home and bed,

They need cookies and they need rest,

Ten hours is best,

So they’ll have energy to be around,

Long after we are dead.

Family Gathering

Thanksgiving is here,

For some a time of cheer,

For others a time of fear,

Because family is near.

They come from all over,

From their little sections of Earth,

To spend time by your hearth.

This can be fun,

Or a reason to run,

I guess it depends,

On if you are friends.

There is food and there is drink,

Tempers are on the brink,

The things some will say,

May make you throw up in the sink.

Just try to endure,

And with any luck,

There will be alcohol,

To help it go by in a blur.

Perchance you are of a family,

Who actually has fun,

How strange this is,

For us who’d rather run.

You’ll have turkey,

You’ll have pie,

No one will tell a lie,

Everyone just eats their fill,

And then sits back with a sigh.

But for the majority,

That’s just wishful thinking,

Day’s end will have them feeling,

Like a minority,

The day will be long,

And so many things will go wrong.

Dad will be rude,

He’ll eat way too much food,

Brother will mean well,

But still he’ll make you feel like Hell,

Mom and sister will do their best,

But won’t be able to prevent,

The inevitable unrest.

Voices will be raised,

And feelings will be hurt,

With all that goes awry,

It’s fortunate that fists don’t fly.

So this is Thanksgiving,

It’s what it has come to,

Imagine the Pilgrims of long ago,

What would they think,

Of our little zoo?

Flash back to that 17th Century Feast,

Year 1621,

This shit just wasn’t done,

Their meal was scant,

Just their own harvest and fowl,

Still they were joyous,

Not one wore a scowl,

If they were to come back,

Surely we’d give them a heart attack.

Morbid Life Of A Snowflake

One small flake,

In the first fallen snow,

How will my life go?

Will I stay where I landed?

Or get blown by a blizzard,

Into the city,

Where fumes can make me unpretty?

The life of a snowflake,

Can be horrid or blessed,

From that first fallen snow,

Are any flakes left,

At the end of the season?

Or did they all disappear,

Seemingly without reason?

Some of us die off in a week,

The weather warms,

Making us weak,

And then it’s off,

To that final sleep.

Others land on a car,

After falling so far,

Our lives end in a flash,

Crushed by tires or wipers,

How fast it is over,

As if eaten by vipers.

It’s scary to think,

We could land on a hidden stair,

And get crushed by the boot,

Of whoever resides in that lair.

I hope I get lucky,

I hope when I fall,

I fall in a yard,

Untouched by things sucky.

Maybe then someone will shape me,

Into a ball,

And after I’m smashed,

I can peacefully rest,

Where I may fall.

Perhaps a child will form me,

Into a fort,

And until Springtime I’ll be,

His secret resort.

A little girl may get the notion,

To make a snowman,

Part of him I will be,

And avoid the trash can.

Anything to escape the plow truck,

And get pushed into a bank,

Then turn into muck,

From snow white to slate grey,

On the side of a highway.

And when temperatures rise,

But before flowers bloom,

My life is over,

It’s time for our doom.

Food For Thought

Inside my fucked up head,

Many things get said,

Why is that man called Ted?

Why does she wear the color red?

Inside my fucked up head,

The thoughts go on and on,

Why is a baby deer a fawn?

Why do horses eat the lawn?

Inside my fucked up head,

Oh the thoughts that cross my mind,

Why do watermelons have a rind?

Why are good people so hard to find?

Inside my fucked up head,

The wheels are always turning,

Why are schools made for learning?

Why are politicians so greedy about earning?

Inside my fucked up head,

Lots of crazy thoughts abound,

Why are innocents locked in the pound?

Why are wack jobs free to roam around?

Inside my fucked up head,

All these thoughts are swimming,

Why is baseball played in innings?

Why do some have trouble winning?

Inside my fucked up head,

Thoughts float freely everywhere,

Why is that thing a polar bear?

Why does that boy not have a care?

Inside my fucked up head,

All sorts of thoughts do linger,

Why did she become a singer?

Why does he deserve my middle finger?

Inside my fucked up head,

There are even thoughts in limbo,

Why is a blonde assumed a bimbo?

Why is there a doggie looking out that window?

Everything that’s said,

Inside my fucked up head,

I hope one day my mind,

Will finally unwind,

Hopefully before I’m dead,

Inside my fucked up head.

A Jack-o-Lantern’s Mind

I’m a little pumpkin,

You picked from a vine,

So plain and quiet and boring,

But I’m supposed to represent,

All those Halloween Horrors,

And I wanna be more scary.

All those other creatures,

Goblins, monsters, and witches,

Black cats and skeletons too,

The kiddies howl and then cower in fright,

When they go “BOO!”

But me over here,

Jack-o-Lantern by name,

Just sitting on your doorstep,

Or perhaps your windowsill,

Though I’m aglow with your tealight’s flame,

Still I am lame,

And I wanna be more scary.

In my mind I am scary,

Scary as Hell,

These eyes are vicious,

They blaze like a Demon’s,

Wings sprout from this back,

And carry me high.

High on my broomstick I fly,

Like the Witch from the West,

Tonight I will give these kiddies a fright,

Laughing with glee,

They will not be,

How’s that for Halloween Horrors?

But that’s all in my head,

It’s not for real,

Like I said,

It’s just in my head.

This All Hallows Eve,

Don’t just pass me by,

I am not just a pumpkin,

I am something, someone,

Though it might be,

All in my head,

I’m something, someone.