Category Archives: Appetites

A slightly perverse offering for Lucy’s Works/ Horror House Wednesday flash fiction #4. (Another one to toss into the Shlock Mock Horror vaults.)

(The prompt as supplied; ‘Isn’t this… romantic?’  “You’re a psychopath.”)

Work In Progress.

‘Isn’t this… romantic?’
You’re a psychopath.”
‘I’m trying to be empathic
So let’s not make this a bloodbath.’

‘What my psychiatrist proposes
Is I indulge in empathetic thinking-
So here’s a bunch of wine and roses
For your nose and for our drinking.’

‘Your eyes look wary and distrustful
Even as my finest Cabernet you sup,
Do my cold eyes turn red and lustful
As I see scarlet dripping from your cup?’

‘I’ve prepared a five-star meal,
Fois gras, truffles and sirloin steak,
My culinary eye can scarce conceal
The chef’s made an all too rare mistake.’

Her sweet face taut with leaden lividity,
Her tender mouth ceases its idle talk,
My eye falls with a dreaming avidity
Upon her gleaming knife and fork.

‘I swore I’d strain to show restraint
But you see the truth, you know I lie,
Now you look like you’ve seen a haint-
Now the knife points out your blind eye.’

It’s the nature of the beast
To take a lamb to slaughter,
My famine has turned into a feast
And my loves blood flows like water.

 

©Obbverse

With this nasty toxic brew doin’ the rounds its time to sit and reflect on tried and tested ways to help us forget our worries. C’mon, cheers up!

Always A Good Year.

In winters chill
I tend the still.

Come spring time
Dandelion wine’s truly sublime.

In summers heat
Aaaaaaaah, my home-brewed treat.

First autumnal gale?
Scrumpy, by the pail.

(For the uninitiated/uninebriated Scrumpy is a kind of a cider. With a kick.)

©Obbverse

Isn’t Christmas great? I love the tradition, the gathering together of close family, the joyous imbibing. the gross consumption at the groaning table. Ah, good times.

Feastive Season, Festive Air.

That’s another Christmas meal complete,
Once again I’ve had far too much to eat,
Now here I sit, heavily settling in my seat,
Next, the dessert round, but first, the prickly heat.

I swore this year to avoid Ma’s tasty treat
But World Peace demands I keep her sweet,
And as the belt on my pants buckles in defeat-
Same ol’ story as last year, I’m bound to repeat.

 

©Obbverse

The President grants a pardon for a turkey fated to be Thanksgiving dinner. How thoughtful, how humanitarian of Don. What a whopper it was too!

Tender Mercies.

Donald’s pardoned a turkey at Thanksgiving,
That bird can walk free and scratch out its living
Freed from thoughts of the chop and of harm,
Given free rein to range, down on the farm.

Donald knows this pardon is his Presidential right,
But he does possess a gross and base appetite,
To his ravening hunger he’s already succumbing,
Sadly, for one plucky turkey, Christmas is coming.

Donald has guaranteed to let that turkey strut-
But Don’s promise does come from with his but,
Stupid bird, to take Don’s solemn word on trust-
Just another turkey Donald’s stuffed and trussed.

 

©Obbverse

Working through life’s surprising ups and downs, in a manner of speaking. Sadly, true story.

All (Out Of) Sorts.

I am never going to consume licorice ever again;
That sweet Dutch treat I can nevermore entertain,
Last night’s pack of All Sorts, now crumpled cellophane
Leaving me with cold sweats and cramping stomach pain.

I am never going to resume consuming licorice again,
This morning I daren’t stray far from my favoured domain,
My private retreat of stainless steel, white tiles and porcelain,
Were my cubicle further away I fear I couldn’t bear the strain.

I repeat, I’m never going to consume licorice again-
Every step’s a gamble between pot-luck and methane,
Now my appetite for Twizzlers I truly cannot contain,
Gimmie Montezuma’s Revenge and I won’t complain.

 

©Obbverse

The Rolling Stones front man goes under the knife for a little bit of maintenance. Time waits for no man, Mick my boy.

Surgery For The Ol’ Devil.

Old Sir Mick just keeps on a’rolling,
Geriatric Mick prefers jiving to strolling,
But now, in his seventies his step’s begun to stutter
His high-living past has set his stony heart all a’flutter.

A dickey heart valve needs refurbishment
For Micks old ticker’s taken some punishment,
There’s no doubt when it comes to wear and tear
Micks plucky organ’s done more than its fair share.

Now the old pump is suffering from overuse,
But in Micks case it sure ain’t down to self abuse,
Cigarettes and bad habits have contributed to his current issues
But his old wives and girlfriends won’t be reaching for the tissues.

 

©Obbverse

Savoring the Easter holidays, not hungering to return to work just yet. Yes, the sweet bliss of having time with the family. Such a treat!

Eggs Over Easy At Easter.

It’s our old and loved Easter family tradition,
It’s followed with an almost religious conviction,
We’ll gather round the table in a reverential hush
And look forward to a chocolate charged sugar rush.

There the eggs lay, dark, inviting;
Or the white rabbit, ready for biting.

Every member has an egg that suits them best,
Last year, I found my Reese’s egg too rich to digest,
This year I’m making heavy going of my marshmallow
Finding my annual sweet treat’s become a trial to swallow.

As it uneasily lies there, congealing
I’m bound to say I prefer a hollow feeling.

Off to his reward Cardinal Pell disgracefully goes, his pleas of innocence falling on deaf ears. Well, maybe his God may help him. Given considerable time.

Bad Faith.

Sorrowfully sitting in his cell
Is new inmate ex-Cardinal Pell,
Publicly his innocence he still professes,
Though to his God he quietly confesses,
‘Lord, it was only the occasional lap lapse;
Lord, hoping for celibacy is all well and good
But there’s little or nun of that in the priesthood.’

But from above, if He heard
There’s not been one little word,
He would have thought one-
The Father or His blessed son-
Or that ethereal wraith-
Would speak to a man of faith,
But yet, not one uplifting sound;
How loud Gods silence doth resound.

Now that Mr Pell has been solitarily confined
He has time to, unmolested, scour his mind,
One day is an eternity in this Hellish place,
Though being banged up in solitary is his saving grace,
George has gone from shooting the papal bull
To hearing a cardinals word is not indisputable,
And what he saw as an innocent Church affair
Is turning into his worst unfrocking nightmare.

 

©Obbverse

A belated restaurant review of Cracker Barrel, Kingman, Arizona. One bite, and there goes the diet.

Travel Feedback.

By Kingman we were heartily tired of traveling and the take-out Big Mac
So we sat us down at Cracker Barrel, picked up a menu and kicked back,
We ordered us some vittles, and I settled on the junior pancake stack
When I saw a diner walk out with a doggy bag the size of a potato sack.

As the waitress gamely heaved it before me I heard the groaning table crack,
The portions plated up at Cracker Barrel make *Hungry Jacks look cheap-jack,
Bacon, pancakes, butter, maple syrup, or as they say in the US, a light snack,
You may think I’m joking, but believe me, I’m serious as a heart attack.

*Hungry Jacks in Australia, Burger King in the US.

©Obbverse

Halloween night, then Guy Fawkes night, so close together. From Cherry Blow-pops to Cherry Bombs in a matter of days.

Rocket Fizz.

Halloweens been done-
That hit the sweet spot,
We had Starbursts by the tonne,
But we ate the lot.

Now, for a real barrel of fun
Give Guy Fawkes night a shot,
His idea was an incendiary one
But that poor Guy lost the plot.

 

©Obbverse