Cthulu

Cthulu

Cthulu is greasy.
Cthulu smells poor.
If Cthulu is startled
He pees on the floor.
Uncle Grimm will yell
at the top of his lungs:
“Boy, grab a mop!
Your beast has begun
to filth up the house!
Get him outside!”

Then, young Jimmy and Cthulu will go out and hide
and play seek the other amongst nettles and thorns,
Tall creepy trees, and little fly traps
which nibble at knees.

Cthulu is cuddly.
Cthulu is small.
Compared to Cthulu, Ded Jimmy’s quite tall.
Best friends they are, quite emphasizing
The best pets are those who enjoy terrorizing.

For the previous poem posted, see: Ded Jimmy Gets a Haircut

Ded Jimmy Gets a Haircut

This is an almost-finished poem for my poetry book “Ded Jimmy: Poems with Illy-strations.” The drawings turned out well, especially with the barber. The poem itself is still being reworked. Please feel free to comment on your impression of it as a whole. I can’t format it right with the pictures full size, so you’ll need to click through.

Ded Jimmy Gets a Haircut

“What about a haircut?” Ded Jimmy said,
Patting the hair on his round curly head.
“In such a short time my crown’s gone askew
It must be time to procure a new do.”
jimmy-wig.png
The man was not far, it was quite a short walk
Jimmy sat in the chair and they started to talk
About sports and items political, too.
“I’m right,” said the barber. “I’ll prove it to you.”

He hmmed and he hummed over Ded Jimmy’s hair
And asked him politely what was wrong with it there.
“It’s lovely,” he said. “You really look good.”
Ded Jimmy replied “Why thank you, dude!”

But I wish it were shorn, for it’s really quite hot.
It makes my head sweaty. It itches a lot!
I thank you for your kind words and all that you’ve said,
But please do this for me and shave my poor head.
barber-chair1.png
“I shall,” said the man. “Though it pains me a bit”
And he fussed with the comb as his brows knit
In thought and ideas as he readied the scissors.
“If I had this hair, my true love would I kiss her.”

“I am jealous, it’s true. You don’t know how lucky
You are. But too bad, I better start plucking.”
With a frown on his face he plunged the comb in
To the thick vibrant locks much to his chagrin.

But as he pulled up a lock to make the first snip,
He felt not a tug, not a stop, not a rip.
For skelling-tons do not grow hair like us folk
Someone had played on Ded Jimmy a joke.

For to the amazed barber’s eyes the hair lifted off
Leaving a bony white head in need of a buff.
He blinked in surprise and showed the dead boy
“Someone has fooled you,” he said, hiding his joy.

“The wig is undamaged! Beautiful, too!”
“Why it is,” Jimmy said, “So I’ll give it to you.
“Use it tonight, surprise your one true.”
“Why,” said the barber, “I must thank you.”

He took a fresh cloth and wetted it down
And swept over and on and around
Young Ded Jimmy’s head until it positively shone
Bright white and shiny. An enviable dome.

They shook hands and Jim left with a spring in his feet
Whistling a tune as he hopped down the street.
The barber looked after, standing outside the store.
He smiled, walked in, and shut the wide door.