Poetry Wed-nes-day

Hello, folks, and welcome yet again to another edition of Poetry Wed-nes-day



Clicking, flicking, ticking,
A sound must be found
Or else I’m bound for a mound.
A single sockling hugs mocking.

Tapping like the knocking of a sapling
tapping, tap, taps.
Like dripping wax without lapse.
The tune picking up without singing

The ceiling began swirling.
I turned my back on the black.
I grabbed my pillow with an Ack! Just a Knick Knack.
But the sounding kept burning.

No more! I looked at the door.
I whispered, “Willow,” gripping her pillow.
I kept my voice low, shaking her to and fro.
She began to snore, so I shook no more.

I looked at the sock I wore and thought of lore.
Headless horsemen and hairy hobgoblins.
Tortured from both wins and sins.
Always from a woman bore, and clothes tattered they wore.

Vampires, fires, umpires, all build empires.
I should Rappel down the wall; Willow can stall.
They won’t gnaw on my balls!
I should just mess with wires and… spin some tires.

I slip from the bed, from my wife I once wed.
I scratch my armpit as five toes dig into carpet.
The lone sock slides until resistance is met, a toe becomes wet.
I stifle a scream from the toe just reamed, now my toes led.

I grab my other sock and dropped in a lock.
I made my way for the door with the one sock I wore.
I jumped and expected gore, just a deafening snore.
I felt the lock in the sock and wished for a big rock.


I pushed open the door with the one sock I wore.
I looked into the hall and saw a ball against a blank wall,
Though I expected a maw or giant chainsaw.
Mind, think no more, you make my heart sore.

Through the way I slipped, fast as if a dog on my bum had nipped.
Down the stairs, like down a villain’s lairs,
But thought, socks should be worn in pairs to avoid toenail glares.
I swung my sock, now I’m blue lipped. O! My radar just blipped.

Not a new presence, but its lack causing pain in my back,
Looking around, I wonder where was the now gone sound?
If I don’t find it, a mound is certainly where I’m bound.
Stumbling down in black, killing me is not the sound, but its lack.

I flew to the front door in lieu
Of a new sound, feet tapping the ground.
Mine and other’s, catching them I’m bound, now knowing a sound.
For waking me, I’ll make them black and blue and sue!

I opened the door then, expecting to find men.
Absence got me thinking, but from behind me came a blinking.
Turning to an eye winking, flashes of life began flashing.
An arm began to bend, only then did I wish I faced a legion of men.


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