Tag Archives: poetry

Langston Hughes – reminding me of my dreams.


In the Spirit of Black History Month, I’m pulling up my favorite poem of all time. To every aspiring artist, struggling student, and full – yet unfulfilled – laborer, I present to you a poem that transcends age, race, and gender and makes us question the fate of our dreams and aspirations.



What happens to a dream deferred?
      Does it dry up
      like a raisin in the sun?
      Or fester like a sore—
      And then run?
      Does it stink like rotten meat?
      Or crust and sugar over—
      like a syrupy sweet?
      Maybe it just sags
      like a heavy load.
      Or does it explode?

Zombie Lullaby: an Ode to the Walking Dead


I’m a writer, not a poet, but after a humorous conversation I had with my cousin, several funny Walking Dead tweets, and a run in with a toddler insistent on reading the same three Dr. Seuss books over and over, I was inspired!

Okay I need to back up and explain myself a bit. I hate zombies. They freak me out to no end, which is something that my cousin laughs at me for constantly. “How can you jump and scream at zombies -something that is an Impossibility by the way!- but you aren’t bothered at all by serial killer movies that could totally happen?” She has a fair point, but the fact is that fear is not rational.

She’s been forcing me to watch the Walking Dead on AMC. I’ve seen every episode now, and I’m afraid that I might be losing my fear of zombies.

The product of this is the bright idea to write a zombie children’s book. Thanks to my 22 month old daughter’s insistence that I read her a full barrage of Dr. Seuss, my brain is ripe for elementary style rhyming. And so, without further ado, I present to you my Ode to the Walking Dead: “Zombie Lullaby”.

Sweet dreams, my little zombie,
It’s time to rest your head,
I’ve checked, and Daryl Dixon
is not underneath your bed.

Rick isn’t out the window;
I’ll shut your curtains tight.
Rest your worries, little ghoul!
I’ll kiss your head good night.

Your closet’s free of shotguns,
No Shane behind the door,
Your Mummy really loves you!
Now rest, forevermore.

Have dreams of chasing chickens,
While they run and scream, you play.
If you cannot find your playmates,
I’m sure Carl can lead the way.

Imagine, in the morning
When you wake and ramble free,
you won’t worry about Lori,
She won’t look after you like me.

Are you having trouble, darling dead,
Getting off to sleep?
Then count the Greene Family, love,
it’s much like counting sheep.

With the farmhouse clear now, zombie mine,
And the scary living gone,
You can sleep tonight with peaceful dreams
And shamble in the dawn.