Contests : Wergle Flomp Free Poetry Contest : Past Winners : 2011 : Charles Doyle
T'WAS THE WEEK AFTER DOOMSDAY
T'was the week after doomsday, when all through the land,
not a creature was living, they'd all turned to sand,
the humans were hung from the bridges with snares,
a sign that the cannibals soon would be there.
The children were scared, hiding under their beds,
while visions of savagery danced through their heads,
and papa with his hacksaw, and I with my knife,
had devoured the brains of our dead neighbour's wife.
When up in the sky arose such an explosion:
a hydrogen bomb causing widespread corrosion,
away from the bunker I flew like a flash,
deciding to risk radiation and rash.
The moon on the breast of the fallout and dust,
gave the lustre of doomsday upon the earth's crust,
when, what to my curious eyes should emerge,
but a mutated man with a pestilent scourge!
With a torrent of foam from his mouth to his knees,
I knew in a moment he must be diseased,
I stabbed him to death as he fell with a thud,
then screamed in an orgy of organs and blood:
"Out, liver! out, kidneys! Out bladder and gall!
Out heart and intestines, the large and the small!
To the top of the spine as to sever the head!
Now fade away! Fade away! Fade away dead!"
As with flesh that before the great blasts decomposed,
when it meets with a skeleton scavenged by crows,
so up in the air did this man's organs fly,
with his corpse emptied out, and no life in his eyes.
And then, in an instant, I heard o'er the hill,
a small band of travelers ripe for the kill,
as I redrew my knife and admired their meat,
their commander was carefully scouring the street.
He was covered with boils, from his head to his toes,
and the clothes that he wore were a dead C.E.O.'s,
a bundle of rations were flung o'er his back,
and he looked like he'd once overseen Freddie Mac.
My mouth, how it watered, my stomach, how famished,
I wanted to turn this man into a sandwich,
with the drool on my chin dripping down to the soil,
my maniacal bloodlust had peaked at a boil.
The butt of my knife I held tight in my teeth,
as I swiftly charged after the trav'lers beneath,
the looks on their faces were scared and perplexed,
when I jumped on their leader and went for his neck.
He was gamy and firm, a right tasty old chap,
and I laughed as I ate him, despite being trapped,
his party encircled me, gathering round,
then beaten unconscious, I fell to the ground...
I spoke not a word as I woke in a daze,
tied up on a spit and encrusted with glaze,
when one of the travelers started a fire,
I knew my existence was soon to expire.
I sang to my slay in delirious pitches,
for my ravenous captors were real sons 'o bitches,
then proclaimed as I burned with my last dying breath:
"MERRY DOOMSDAY TO ALL, AND TO ALL A BLACK DEATH!"
This poem won second prize in the 2011 Wergle Flomp humor poetry contest sponsored by Winning Writers. Author Charles Doyle received a cash prize of $800.
About Charles Doyle
Charles Doyle graduated with a BA in Popular Culture from Brock University in Ontario, Canada. He currently lives back and forth between Bermuda (where he was born and raised) and Canada, working in web design/SEO. His favorite poetic mechanism is comedic surrealism, and in addition to writing, he enjoys acting and singing at open mic nights. He aspires to be a comedy writer in any capacity, and is not picky! Check out his absurdist poetry blog.