treehouse of horror (the rejected bits)

your face occupies the entire doorway
or has the room become suddenly small?
i feel like thwacking your smile with a death ray
or smacking it fervently into the wall!

your nasty moustache with its fried egg stains
those urticating bristles on caterpillar lips…
just one look has given me stomach pains
i’d soon as not kiss you as cut off my nips!

when you lean over me with your fresh garlic breath
i feel like a vampire that’s getting ready to die
so i wouldn’t mind overdosing on some meth
if it meant i could avoid you in sheol’s by and by

you whisper, ‘what can i ding dong diddly do?
for you?’ sounding suspiciously diddly ho sweet
and you adjust those glasses you’re peering through
making my flesh want to crawl away up the street

at the altar of the temple of ghastly dreams
i am ready to swear on the shiny shinning
anything to expunge all the flanderish screams
visions of red and yellow cartoon skinnings

© All rights reserved 2020

TATI’s & TONY’s DEAD POET TOUR // Halloween by Madison Julius Cawein

It was down in the woodland on last Hallowe’en,
Where silence and darkness had built them a lair,
That I felt the dim presence of her, the unseen,
And heard her still step on the ghost-haunted air.

It was last Hallowe’en in the glimmer and swoon
Of mist and of moonlight that thickened and thinned,
That I saw the gray gleam of her eyes in the moon,
And hair, like a raven, blown wild in the wind.

It was last Hallowe’en where starlight and dew
Made mystical marriage on flower and leaf,
That she led me with looks of a love that I knew,
And lured with the voice of a heart-buried grief.

It was last Hallowe’en in the forest of dreams,
Where trees are eidolons and shadows have eyes,
That I saw her pale face like the foam of far streams,
And heard, like the leaf-lisp, her tears and her sighs.

It was last Hallowe’en, the haunted, the dread,
In the wind-tattered wood by the storm-twisted pine,
That I, who am living, kept tryst with the dead,
And clasped her a moment and dreamed she was mine.

Public Domain Poetry



The Tin Man walks home
from the market at morning.
Fresh bakery, fruits,
a big bouquet of daisies…
all that his Dorothy loves.

He walks and glistens
in the morning sun. He thinks
about her blue eyes
and her lovely smile. He hugs
the bouquet like her shoulders.

The Story

“Hey, you, hurry up!
Only 3 days in the town
a world-famous coach,
a relationship expert.
Oz, the great and powerful!”

Of course, the Tin Man
sits in the first row and heeds
the words of wisdom
and diligently makes notes
about loving validly.

…such a perfect speech!
Oz hotly touches his chest
and inspiredly speaks
to the breathless audience
where ‘authentic love’ resides.

The Tin Man stands on
the stage among volunteers
and suddenly… “Oh!
No-no-no! You, piece of tin!
Push off, shell of a person!

Grating of gearwheels…
The Tin Man was made heartless,
but sure not brainless.
A real, alive, hot heart
is all that the Tin Man needs!

…at the rear entrance
fans wait for an autograph,
but not the Tin Man.
When you love desperately
the end justifies the means.

The Tin Man walks home
from the market at morning.
Fresh bakery, fruits…
and a hot pulsating heart
in a plain cellophane bag.

He puts the daisies
into her favorite vase
and pictures her joy…
…how she finds on her pillow
this heart oozing with true love.


On the tin life field
memories fade like daisies.
The falling petals…
The Tin Man… Dorothy… Oz…
Hush! Do you hear town criers?

“Hey, you, hurry up!
Only 3 days in the town
a world-famous coach,
a relationship expert.
Stannum, the comprehended Love!”

© All rights reserved 2015