the panda

there’s a purple spotted panda at the bottom of our street
who’s dressed like how’s your father from his head down to his feet
he’s speaking in italian, a language he don’t know
of the wampus cats awaiting where the welkin’s hanging low

the ground is made of taffy though they not a one said please
but wrapped him up in spider’s web and brought him to his knees
and all the pretty butterflies are flying much too soon
while children dance upon the path that leads them to the moon

the leaves are made of iv’ry on iconoclastic trees
the depths of their despair can be heard floating on the breeze
mice and rats will comfort you when all your money’s spent
and sing you christmas carols just to carry you through lent

now i have never been there, and i guess i never will
for though i love you dearly, i’m peculiarly ill
and everybody knows that pandas rarely tell the truth
a symptom of celebrity they picked up in their youth

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where do sounds go

by damommza & sunovawot

where do sounds go, after they flee,
from pain and shattered dreams?
like little bubbles of despair
filled with tiny screams

do they land in other places
or attach to people’s clothes
do they linger round your collar
and just sit upon your nose

are they the creaking in the night
the sound upon the stair
the door slowly unlocking
when you know there’s no one there

are they the coffee mug that clinks
and fills another cup
the sound of sipping dark, hot brew
when only you are up

the question is a troubling one
though most seem not to care
they’ll tell you noise is nothing but
vibrations in the air

yet after all this maundering
between us, me and you
where do the dead sounds wander
I haven’t got a clue

who am i

couldn’t catch me for a long time, wrong time
couldn’t catch me in the gnarly days of spring
where did i go in the mean time, lean time
where did i go when the church bells ring

don’t look for me in the old days, cold days
don’t look for me where the trees will not grow
save all your strength for the bad days, mad days
save all your strength when the wild winds blow

who was i with in the cool night, cruel night
who was i with when the sun disappeared
i was with the ghouls in the dark night, stark night
i was with the ghouls as the augurs feared

treat me like a fool if it please you, frees you
treat me like a fool but that’s not my game
i will be the one who will take you, break you
i will be the one who will teach you shame

nothing you could say could depress me, stress me
nothing you could say could make me give a damn
everything i do is to chill me, thrill me
everything i do tells you just who i am

paint

by damommza & sunovawot

The dark and bloody moon
it shines through my window
a storm is twisting branches
as they bow to threat of snow

the candles flicker wildly
their flames lick at my face
all the world is poison
I’m safest in my space

the doors are tightly bolted
the shades now drawn and dark
I check each inch of my skin
but find no devil’s mark

and yet I’m cursed and have been
there really was no choice
they could have ended my life
by silencing my voice

I take my pen to paper
and as I begin to write
these stories just flow from me
on this cold and hopeless night

for words are where my power lives
in every measured phrase
to take another step beyond
the prison of my days

the chances they have wasted
to bring me to my knees
to place their mark upon me
like some loathsome disease

and come once more the morning
when all their power has fled
I’ll take my turn as hunter
and paint the streets blood red