Apple doesn't like listing me as "Will Shakespeare (poetry blogger)"
to differentiate me from the other guy, although everybody else does.
They took my first book but now won't take new ones. (Go figure.)
Since Smashwords distributes my books to Apple anyway,
just go to my Smashwords author page and download EPUBs from there.
Smashwords provides samples of my books also.

Sunday, October 31, 2010

Punkinhead: A Redneck Horror Story

In the punkin patch out back of town
Some durn fool kids was messin’ round.
The quarterback and the new prom queen
Just couldn’t wait to shed their jeans,
So off they came and down they went;
He plowed her field till she was spent!
She happily let him have his way—
He wasn’t the first she’d done that day
‘Cause she was a sex enthusiast;
But she didn’t know he’d be her last.

There, nekkid in their furrowed bed,
Her cowboy rode till he was dead—
She heard him yell; next thing she knew
His head jerked round and off it flew!
She screamed as blood sprayed from her lover.
Then a toothy punkin grinned above her
And settled on the dead boy’s neck.
“Let’s ride this train until we wreck!”
He gave that girl an awful pumpin’;
They say her screams were really somethin’.

The farmer heard her. He grabbed his gun,
Hightailed it out there in a run,
And then he saw that ghastly hunk
Humpin’ and swayin’ like some old drunk!
He staggered back—then found some spunk,
Lifted his gun, and shot that skunk!
But the ghoul just smiled as he eyed his prey,
Called a ghostly steed and rode away.
But he yelled, “You’ll die before sun’s light
‘Cause she’ll bear my child this very night!”

Then the farmer’s legs both turned to jelly
As he glimpsed the poor girl’s swollen belly.
“Please hep me, sir! “ she hoarsely begged.
“This thang inside me’s the living dead!
My kid’s a monster, it cain’t be born—
Ya gotta kill it before the morn!”
He closed his eyes and fought back tears,
But she was right and his task was clear.
He shot the girl and called the cops,
Who found her body among his crops.

At first the locals kept it quiet,
But soon their greed was running riot.
The undertaker’s gallows humor
Capitalized on the growin’ rumors,
So her tombstone bears this cryptic score:
“The horseman rode this pale young whore.”
For merchants here, it’s quite fulfillin’;
The souvenirs make them a killin’.
And the tragic pair? They’re not quite dead—
They’re a merchant’s dream as “Punkinhead.”

Friday, October 29, 2010

Fading Light

The shortest day of the year draws nearer.
The lazy sun sleeps in a little longer
But the boss understands; he lets it slide
Because it’s been a long tiring year. And then
The sun slips out a few moments before
Closing time. The customers are miffed
But most adjust—after all, it happens
Every year like clockwork. Fading light
Becomes night life, and the holidays
Celebrate its brevity; but the parties
Take their toll, the boss gets impatient, and
The work piles up. Somebody’s got to pick
Up the slack… so up comes the sun, gradually
Rising to the task and pulling the rest
Of the world along. Enjoy the fading light
While it lasts… before it also fades away.

Thursday, October 28, 2010

Humpty Dumpty 2010

Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall;
Humpty Dumpty had a great fall.
And all of the bankers foreclosed on his house
And cancelled his credit and called him a louse.

Tuesday, October 26, 2010

Warrior Race

Proud and defiant, he will not be beaten.
He stands on the battlefield, bloody and bruised
But undefeated. He didn’t want this battle.
He much preferred to stay at home and wrestle
With his children, basking in the warmth of love
And firelight, but ruthless forces threatened
To destroy his home and family. He vowed that
They would NOT succeed; he kept that vow. And now
He’ll cleanse himself; he’ll cast away the bloody
Remnants of this war, the memories of those
Who find no joy in life beyond destruction
Of all that makes a life worth living,
And go back home to those who yearn for him.
They’ll kiss his face and heal his wounds and love
His warrior heart. For men of peace are the true
Warrior race; love is their fiercest weapon,
And woe to those who try to tear it from them.

Sunday, October 24, 2010

He Found the oDor Ajar

The wise man held his nose and said:
"Deodorant is indispensible;
To go without is reprehensible."

Friday, October 22, 2010

The End of the Dinosaurs

Long ago, those ancient creatures
That we all call “dinosaurs”
Walked the earth, and recent Science
Found this telling dino score:

Intercontinental travel
Made them sick from “dino spores.”
Some believe infection killed them
As they dropped on dino shores.

No, it wasn’t asteroids—
Their big butts might get dino sore
But lack of soothing creams aren't lethal…
Though we’re sure they dino swore!

Runny noses drove them crazy;
Without any dino stores
To supply them, lack of tissues
Killed more prey than dino wars.

As horrendous noxious sneezes
Caused disease to dino soar
From one victim to another,
All fell dead as dino doors.

That’s what we see in the fossils
Left behind as dino spoor:
Stuffy noses made them blow it.
That’s the final dino score.

Wednesday, October 20, 2010


Inkspots on my fingers,
Inkspots on the page.
Inkspots from my leaky pen
Throw me in a rage.

If I was an artist, then
I might treat them as clay…
But as it stands, I wad them up
And throw the mess away!

'Cause some make art from errors
And some make truth from pain…
But sometimes I just make mistakes.
I guess I’ll start again.

Tuesday, October 19, 2010


Luchador is the Spanish word for “wrestler”
And lucha libre is the style—“free wrestling.”

I wish I was a luchador
A star of lucha libre
I bet that I could find a suit
For sale somewhere on eBay

I’d wear a brightly-colored mask
With lots and lots of glitter,
A bright red cape, and silver pants
To set my fans atwitter

I’d call myself “El Grande Mas,”
The greatest of them all!
(Although I’d have to gain some weight—
Right now I’m pretty small)

My fans would scream with pleasure
As I stepped into the ring
I’d raise my arms and roar for them
(And maybe even sing)

Perhaps I’d taunt my foes with names
Before I beat them down
Then dance around the ring a bit
To celebrate my crown

Yeah, if I was a luchador
Each day would be a win
Instead of one big headache
Needing too much aspirin

Sunday, October 17, 2010

Leonardo’s Notebook

Leonardo wrote the ultimate book…
Or so some people say. They know he drew
And doodled quite a bit. With backward script
He pondered nature’s mysteries in great
Detail, his secrecy inspired by thieves
And spies in the employ of rival kings.

Or so they say. I wonder if it’s true.

Perhaps the great inventor really wanted
An understanding of a senseless world
Where bastard children had no rights at all
And only his great curiosity
Could save him from the common man’s despair.
Perhaps his journal represented life
To him in ways he thought no other man
Could hope to understand; therefore he wrote
Those hopeful pages to himself… and hoped
Against all hope that other souls would find
His cryptic notes and understand his findings….

And learn that human spirits rise above
The world around them and become much more
Than helpless cogs trapped in some great machine
If they will but devote themselves to living…
A king might sell his soul for that, indeed.

Friday, October 15, 2010

The Drunken Spiderman Theme

Spiderman, Spiderman
Drained another Budweiser can
Shouldn’t fly through the skies
After he socialized
Look out! Down comes the Spiderman

Is he stoned? Listen, bud—
He’s got 90-proof booze for blood
Loses grip on his thread
'Cause of webs in his head
Watch out! You’re beneath Spiderman

Squinting in the light
Right around breakfast time
Groggy eyes aren’t quite
Ready for fighting crime

Spiderman, Spiderman
Wobbly staggering Spiderman
Criminals are ignored
As he slumps to the floor
He’s out—
Too many times he drank up
Now the police have chained up
The drunken Spiderman!

Thursday, October 14, 2010

Jack Sprat 2010

Jack Sprat could eat no fat,
His wife could eat no lean.
His health insurance cost a mint…
But hers was just obscene.

Tuesday, October 12, 2010


The butts below are all assaulted
By bigger butts who’ve been exalted.
Kick butts enough to prove you’re braindead,
You’ll reach the top… then you’re the butthead.

Sunday, October 10, 2010

Seven of Nine

A love poem for Star Trek: Voyager fans.

Seven of Nine, my sweet Seven of Nine,
Loveliest Borg to have once been my kind:
Make me your drone, guide my daily routine,
Join my collective, and rule as my queen.
Seven, it’s true that I’m not cybernetic…
But one glance from you makes my probe go kinetic!
Our union would be a unique symbiosis
Of beauty and passion—here’s my diagnosis:
Resistance is futile when you’re all I see.
Dear Seven of Nine, please—ASSIMILATE ME!

Friday, October 8, 2010


On days when I need big ideas
But don’t have any clues,
I seek some inspiration from
My HippopotaMuse.
Unlike some airy fairy, she
Has vision, style, and grace.
She brings me thoughts with substance—
You know, ones that take up space.

I’ve learned to bear her piggish looks
And love her toothy grin!
‘Cause when I need her help, I find
She’s eager to begin.
With shoulders broad and haunches stout,
She totes me till the end.
When I need help creating stuff,
On her I can depend.

Perhaps she’s not the prettiest
Of muses making rounds,
But when the rest won’t carry me
She never lets me down.
So I salute my trusty steed
Who never will refuse
To ride in search of new ideas—
Go, HippopotaMuse!

Thursday, October 7, 2010

Little Green Men

They only cost three dollars a bag. He
Rips it open, giggling with excitement,
And dumps them all over the floor. Little
Green men go to war against each other,
Armies making their last stand on blob-shaped
Pieces of ground. A dozen plastic lives
Were lost this day, but we don’t even know
Whose side they were on—they all looked the same.
But this war is not over; it will start
Anew sometime after cookies and milk.

Tuesday, October 5, 2010

Glass Half-Empty

Glass half-empty, glass half-full:
One’s good, one’s just horrible!
And yet those two are just the same—
“A rose by any other name…”

Although we see them differently—
A view that’s just illusory—
Remember when you feel accursed
That either one could quench your thirst.

Sunday, October 3, 2010


I try to watch the game unfold
The quarterback has gotten bold
And as he passes for the goal
I hear those stupid catcalls

With pointy ears and twitchy tail
He claws at me, and without fail
He rudely starts to mew and wail
With loud and numbing catcalls

His whiskered nose is in my face
His fishy breath is a disgrace
And I can’t make him leave the place
As he keeps yowling catcalls

But once I miss the crucial play
He shuts his mouth and struts away
And I am left to curse the day
I bought him and his catcalls

Friday, October 1, 2010

Head Code

I habben’t had a head code
In sebben muntts or so.
I wish I didn’t habb one dow—
I hate dese head codes so!

I caddot take a decent breatt—
I’m breeding tru my mout.
I struggle as I blow my doze
To try an clear it out.

Instead, I look like Rudoff
Doh it’s dot Christmastime;
My trashked’s full of tissues an
I’m bout to lose my mind!

So dow I’m goinn to go to bed
An sleep my code away—
Wit all the medicine I took,
I’ll sleep till Saturday!