The atrocities vanish

When she thinks of her hunger

The world all around can startle and crumble

Fall asleep now

While the shadows surround

And the whispers and doom

crowd and confound.

For the strategy is 

To sleep long and deep

And to never wake up

Forever asleep.

The ultimate gain

Of ignoring the trouble

Is to wake up one day

In a great pile of rubble.



It’s the Thought that Counts



The air was green

The earth was lent

of suffering, seclusion, Ulyssus T. Brent.

Air from the North

Whence eaten from grain

In hindsight a niggle, a giggle, some pain.

Regardless of truths

Of lasting fruition

Of blindness and Alzheimer’s the blame falls 

than CRASH

Nothing, no one, blind sight 

No regard

No laughing, no lugging

A purple guitar.

Sunrise confusion,

Lastness and grain

The ultimate retrieval

A hard drive


A Poor Man and His Wallet


One word does have meaning

One glance and one shoe

The other day Heather
forgot she had two.
Two shoes for her feet.
A small piece of meat.
One bone for a pooch.
One skin colored brooch.

She walked through the forest
and tripped on a branch.
Tripping on logs is ok when your twenty
But quite something else when approaching seventy.
Excuse the rude words,
The curses and screams
When poor Heather went down
She split her side seams.
She called for some help
But no one heard her hoarse cries.
She laid there for hours
I am not telling lies.

Finally a young tot,
Away from his school,
Approached the old woman
And told her the rule.
Never go out
wearing only one shoe
Despite the fact that
It looks really cool.

Heather thanked the boy
For his insightful speech.
He walked away,
Eating a plum then a peach.

Did Heather return to her home, to her hearth?
Did she ever regret the day she was birthed?
These are good questions. The answers not clear.
But this story will be
continued next year.

A Day At The Post Office


A wonderless hap
A small dog in her lap
The dish filled with butter
is no replacement for a loving mother.
The phone filled with ads
A home swarming cats
A tiger, a leper,
An old man in a swing.
The fiery linguine
A cat in some jam
A purple postada
A 1 carat ring
So shiny, yet old
So smooth, yet so far
Whatever she wishes
She can get there
She hasn’t a car.

A Stand for Louisiana



It’s quite incidental

The sun shines hot spice

When Ichabad was seven

He really seemed nice

But then came the summer,

The ice cream and cake

strawberries, blueberries, hot dogs and steak.

Mangoes so juicy and yellow and sweet

The mustard and ketchup and barbecued meat.

The FBI report

Provided contradictions

But the point of the matter was

Too many addictions.

The doorstep was narrow

Like a surrogate mother

It helped that poor Ichabad

Did not have a brother.

A chimpanzee maybe,

but nothing more nothing less

The natives reported

He left with finesse.



Strong Gust of Wind


A call from afar

Foreboding design

Intuit a castle’s 

Exotic design

The gates slightly open

A gosling of gold

The oak tree assembled

Yet still, feel the cold.

A strange dog awander 

No, that word is not real.

A home painted mustard

A pumpkin concealed.

Hush, my sweet child

A sense of deviation

Behaviors, consumers

An aching sensation.

The sweet taste of honey

The smell of blue paint

The wind through a field

Will show no restraint.

The Girl, the Rabbit, and the Troll



Once there was a young girl with a big problem.

The girl had neither mother, nor father, as both were killed in a plane crash.

The girl needed parents, for she did not know many things: she did not know how to add, multiply, or subtract.

She wandered through the Forest of Nell until she came upon a troll.

As is known, trolls are strong and large, yet extremely dumb-witted.

Seeing the troll, the girl ran.  However, the troll ran after her, as he had not eaten in four weeks.

“X-eee sshmYush tXush?” he asked.

In troll, this means, “Why are you running from me young girl, I have not eaten in four weeks and you seem like the perfect meal.”

The girl continued running.  She did not understand the troll’s question, as she never did learn Tollenese.  All she heard was the mighty roar of a savage beast.

The girl found a large rock which was surrounded by moss.  She hid beneath the moss, trembling assuming her life was over.  She thought about the way she acted throughout her life, and realized that she could die a happy death, for she pretty much lived a boring life and, as she lived a rather secluded life, never had the chance to hurt a soul.

Back to the point, the girl thought she was about to die, as the troll would certainly find her in the moss.  However, she did not realize the depth of the troll’s low IQ.

The troll began walking in the opposite direction toward a rabbit’s den, for it was obvious to him that the girl had disappeared and transformed into a rabbit.


The girl fell asleep, and when she awoke, she was indeed a rabbit.  She met a young grey haired rabbit, and the two became companions.

As is the custom of rabbits, the couple had many children.  The girl never did find her human parents, but the happiness and freedom that she found in becoming a rabbit was enough to sustain her until the end of her days.

Lesson of the day:  When in doubt, try to become a rabbit.

The Very Next Day


T’was the very next day when the Duke of Sparta happened upon a lone lass, sleeping beneath a looming willow tree in the Forest of Nell.  He knelt beside the child, hoping to gain insight into her background.  You see, it was the Month of Child, in which children were falling asleep randomly, sometimes not waking for days and weeks.  When the children did awaken, they were found to have forgotten their parents and siblings.  Doctors and clergy members were of the opinion that the long sleeps were caused by the noxious air breathed in through the lungs.  You see, in the Middle Ages, when this story takes place, raw sewage was shoved into a the middle of the main roads and into the rivers.  These unsanitary conditions were not suitable for optimal health, to say the least.

Others, however, believed that the long sleeps were the works of the witches of Asterfold.  These witches were young and emboldened by the terror which they struck into the hearts of the town folk.  The witches of Asterfold had the unique power to read books.  Seeing no other option of saving their young, the folk of Solaundria forced their way into the witches huts and caves in order to destroy every last vestibule which might have possibly held the power to cause their children to sleep so unnaturally.


To be continued…

Dictation from the East



Join us in holding hands as we begin this song of love, estrangement, derangement, and arrangement.

There are many things that I must air.

1. Every time I, Monteith Slythersuth, open a new page, pop ups from ads related to searched items appear.  This lack of privacy forces me to direct my anger towards unnamed spies who lurk the internet, stealing every last iota of privacy to which my right as a citizen of the United States of America emboldens upon myself.

2. Whilst those of us with air to breath appreciate aforementioned air, to some degree, neither I, nor children of direct lineage to the house of David recall the story of Septimus, Daughter of Earl the Third, firstborn son to Stephani the Deranged IV.  This forces me to begin the story of lives which I fondly recall from the stories of my own great grandmother, Dutchess Habeforth VII of Spatenberry, Antwerp.

3. Septimus, Daughter of Earl III was known for her great intuition and superhuman instincts.  The nature of her talents were noticed when as a child of three, she saved the life of the family poodle.  The small white poodle ran through the great green grasses of the Palace Iosenthins, when a snake slithered towards it.  Like a flash of lightening, young Septimus ran forth from her golden chair, and squeezed the snake’s neck in her adorable palm.  The snake died a rather wretched death in the small hands of the toddler.  The poodle, Alex Albatross XI, was decidedly thankful to his young savior.  He showed his appreciation by following young Septimus around the palace and bringing her small victuals, such as dead birds.  Septimus, Daughter of Earl lll, never did appreciate the victuals, yet she was thankful for the company of the young pooch and she showed her kindness by petting his head every ten minutes or so.

Septimus grew older, and as dogs tend to do, so did the poodle, Alex Albatross XI.  Alex, (as we shall call him from now on as a means to conserve time) developed cataracts in his eyes.  He developed a limp, and he grew rather thin.  Septimus Daughter of Earl III was at a loss.  She loved her dog, yet she knew that she would be forced to put him to sleep if he stopped eating.  You see, if dogs do not eat, their dog spirit must leave the body, rendering the body lifeless.  This unpleasant thought is surely uncouth, yet fact is fact, and it must be accepted as such.

To be continued at another date, or when the author is in the mood for continuing this story.

Handholding may now cease.

Thoughts Caused by Birthday Cake


The cake has been brought to you from via myself, Monteith Slythersuth.  The sentiment behind this cake is one of pure derangement.  The unnecessary and extravagant placement of strawberries may seem like an inconsequential loss to the multitudes of humanity who wish their lips could touch a sliver of bread.  Yes,  people are starving.  Feed them.

Some starving humans are children, some are adults.  Some are old, some are young.  The point is that it is our job as humans of the universe to reach out our hands to help others.  For that is why we were given hands, I suppose.  

But let us backtrack to the original statement of this post, which, I believe, was “unnecessary and extravagant placement of strawberries.”  I am forced by forces which you may never meet, to take back those words.  The placement is not unnecessary.  It is beautiful and makes the cake look appealing for lovers of strawberries.  Without those strawberries, eaters might not be tempted to eat, and this would be a crime similar to the crime of loitering on others’ property.

Let the spirit of the wild run through your blood, let the wind from the north fuse life into the bloodless bones of the elderly.