There are three things you should know:
1. None of the poems below use the starting lines of much, much better poems.
2. None of them are about Zombies.
3. You aren’t even reading this right now.
4. I don’t know which one is “three”.
5. I might need more sleep.
6. Never trust anyone who says that there are only three things you should know about anything.
7. Especially if that person is me.
_______________
Some say the world will end in fire,
others say in ice
whoever said “In Zombies!” clearly got
to go vote
twice.
Two woods diverged in a snowy wood,
and I took the one less traveled-by,
because Google Maps said there was
a convenience store that way,
and I wanted
a Slim-Jim.
Shall I compare thee to a Summer’s day?
Thou hast given me a sunburn,
and the bar is
full of tourists.
Because I could not stop for Death,
I stopped for Undeath instead.
This Dungeon contains my treasure-vault,
And a horde of the Undead.
(not in that order.)
Tonight I could write the saddest lines,
like “______________________ 🙁”
So much depends on
a little red Dragon,
breathing fire on
all of you miserable sods.
I saw the best minds of my generation,
and to be frank,
they tasted pretty much the same
as all the other minds.
It’s good to be a Zombie.
In Xanadu did Kubla Khan
A stately pleasure-dome decree:
now that’s literally the name of a shopping mall,
like thirteen miles from me.
My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings;
Look on my Works, ye Mighty, and realize
that when Tolkien said
“I cordially dislike allegory in all its manifestations”,
he may have had a point.
i carry a heart with me(i carry it in
my tummy)i am never without it(anywhere
i go you go,my dear;and whatever is done
by only me is because I got protein
from your deliciousness,
my darling.)
Tyger Tyger, burning bright,
In the forests of the night;
What immortal hand or eye,
couldn’t make an excellent kung-fu movie
out of an opening like that?
If you can keep your head when all about you
are losing theirs, and blaming it on you,
you might as well
(if you haven’t already)
EAT THEIR BRAINS, DAMMIT,
EAT THEIR BRAINS.
I celebrate myself and sing myself,
slightly out-of-key,
slightly off-kilter,
slightly inspired by this pitcher of margaritas
made with tequila
and essence of pineal gland.
in short,
while some suggest you ought beware the Jabberwock,
I humbly suggest
that you be ‘ware of me,
because you’ll need a headshot to stop
my undead self,
and the only Vorpal Sword around here
got hammered into a throne,
and the less said about
that whole mess,
the better.
My name is Jeff Mach (“Dark Lord” is optional) and I build communities, put on events, and make stories come into being. I also tweet a lot over @darklordjournal.
