Shadowthorne challenged me to write my poem in blood AND to write a poem about the colour red. So here it is Shadowthorne. I apologise for the bad quality of the photo, but I was feeling woozy when I took it and passed out soon afterwards. In case you can't make out my writing, this is my haiku to the colour red (I thought it would use up too much blood to write a longer form of poem)
Red tastes like velvet
Smells of sweet cranberry tea
Texture smooth as blood
I hope it meets your exacting standards, Shadowthorne.
Anon also challenged me to write a limerick about blood. Here it is Anon.
Most people have veins full up with blood.
It carries their air, water and fud.
Some say it is blue,
But I don't think it is true,
I know mine is the colour of mud.
Finally, SSQuo challenged me to write a poem set in the future, contained alliteration with the letter Z, included my name Murphy and had a metaphor for my Iphone. Thanks for going easy on me SSQuo. :) I decided to write in the lyric form because it is my favourite type of poem to recite (I have been told I have a very lyrical voice). Here it is, I hope you like.
The End of the World
Zealous zombie zealots
clog the streets
wondering about how they look,
and who they're going to eat;
while the last sunrise turns the sky
blood red before my eyes.
The redness of their broken veins
matches the bloodstains on their chin,
and between their teeth and fingernails
are shreds of human skin.
But they are merely empty shells,
hungry echoes of their former selves.
My love nestles warm within my palm,
a safe haven against the horror,
soothing me with his gentle voice,
keeping count of the day and the hour.
The undead try to grab us as we hurry past.
I almost pity them, but the feeling doesn't last.
The ship is waiting in the square,
a shining metal monster exhaling white hot breath.
They beckon, calling for us to run;
there is room for one more left.
They chose Murphy, my love, over me.
Only the useful ones can survive, you see.
The spaceship scorches a blazing trail through the clouds,
as the zombies gather near.
I check my gun - one shell left.
One left for me, I shouldn't fear;
while I watch my last sunrise
the world turns red before my eyes.
Any ideas for my next Inkpot Challenge? Let me know.