A Baby in the Care of Mrs. Dextrose Louise

By: Kosative D.

Here concealed lay Mrs. Dextrose Louise.
Cradling a casket in the afternoon breeze.
Her perfume was fragrant, the waft but a tease.
Such was the flagrant abrupt swarm of bees!

She ran with her baby, to escape such disaster.
The cradle but creaking as the poor dear ran faster.
Faster than a blazing corpse but burns bright!
The infant weeping from the terrible fright.

My oh my, Mrs. Louise could quick run.
Trafficking these bees in the flaming hot sun.
Bursting but faster than her pocket kept gun.
The baby but quaking in the carriage, they’d flung!

                            STUNG!

The stinging presided.
As the mother burst tears for her infant misguided.



Running, attacked by the hundreds of bees.
Weeping and coughing as she fell to her knees.
The baby was squawking like a group of burnt geese.
The cradle still rolling, with the mother deceased.

Yet strangely enough, the baby did live.
No malice to the infant, not a sting they did give!
The baby was found by an elderly witch.
And she grew to be happy, well taught and rich.

Hammers of a Gluttonous World





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​By: Kosative D.

The hammers but pound
              pound on me deep.
Oh hectic the sounds,
              they put me to sleep.

They whistle in waves
              slapping my chest.
Twice to the grave,
              to that lonesome rest.

Yet how many times
              can a skeleton bare--
The gluttonous heaves
              from the world out there?

For this is the question,
              what matters most?
A fractured expression
              or a sledgehammer ghost?

And isn’t it most exciting
              these poundings!
While in the dim lighting
              you’ll find all of us drowning.

Drowning in the seas
              of what we thought best.
Our fatal disease
              we kept locked in our chest.

Love, my darling,
              ‘tis a heart hammer choke.
It does nothing but anchor
              what is trying to float.