Poems

Charles Bronson: A Poem
Charles Bronson had a firearm
That flooded streets with gore
And everywhere that Bronson went
He killed, then killed some more

Charles Bronson was an architect
The world will sorely miss
He made the three great pyramids
To look just like his fist

The first three knuckles turned out well,
Til Moses came to whine
His "Let my people go" soon stopped
When Charles ripped out his spine

Charles once bench-pressed a sperm whale
One hundred times his mass
He then bit off the fish's head
Moby Dick, my ass.

Charles Bronson beat up college kids
For their stupid-looking hair
He once made fifty kids combust
With a single, manly stare

Charles Bronson made beef jerky,
Atomic bombs, and fists
He made the world a better place
Gorillas in the mist

For target practice, Bronson kicked
A baby into space
Before it left the Milky Way
He shot it in the face

Charles Bronson hated hippies
Like hippies hate being clean
He shot them all right through the teeth
To teach them good hygiene

Bronson's very early years
Were truly times of doom
Young Bronson tore off hippie heads
While in his mother's womb

Charles Bronson went on eBay
When beef jerky stocks were hit
He bought Tutankhamun's mummy
And ate him, bit by bit

Keeping Charles is very hard
His needs are quite unique
He must be let outside to kill
At least five times each week

When Charles Bronson is aroused
He bites off women's heads
It should be unsurprising
That his girlfriends are all dead

He hates men as well as girls
He only loves dogs
Everytime he sees a cat he hurls
The same happens when he sees frogs

Charles does not always use a gun
Although he likes it best
When he runs out of bullets
He'll just punch through people's chests

A dying widow left her child
On Bronson's porch one night
Charles took him in and, gently,
Ate him in one bite

Poem#2
"Don’t you hear it coming?" "A softly beaten tattoo"
"far in the distance,"
"but coming straight for you."
"Rat-tat-tat-tat goes the snare"
"as the drummer hits the beat"
"matching the marching rhythm"
"of the many marching feet."
"The boots that pound the ground"
"are the boots of bloody men -"
"not a matter of Why you die"
"but rather a matter of ‘When?’"
"When will they get you?"
"You’ll hear death as it comes;"
"As you sleep in the dark,"
"listen for the beating of the drums!"

Poem#3
There is a young poet named Herman.
He's not very good, but he's learnin',
Though he often offends
Because he so often ends
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