Ms. Marian Murdering Moore

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic

Photo (c) Pexels


Ms. Marian Murdering Moore-

lived with a hachet next door

in a viney old house

all covered in grouse

beside a smithy's forge.

Her stockings were black,

her hair a red, gossling thwack,

and she procured the habit

of snatching Welsh rabbits

and burrying them under the floor.

"My, how strange she is indeed" said the neighbors next door.

She chops up the sheep and mangles the Madrigal, she hasn't the social decor.

She strangles the chickens, and wrings out the sow,

goodness, good-gracious, what she does to the cow!

Ms. Marian Murdering Moore lived with a hachet next door

that she swung at her husband should he take the notion to snore.

Mrs. Potts hid the silver and Mr. Moggles the wagon wheels,

for fear that these wears would end up Ms. Marian's evening meals.

If her husband complained she quashed all the chairs,

she kicked all the doorknobs and tore out her hairs.

If she burned his new shirt and he did not care,

she broke all the windows and stormed up the stairs.

"Poor, man, poor he, why does he not leave?"

asked the neighbors round about who did not see.

For by day the two did squabble and scratch,

but at night 'twas hard to believe that the bad match,

were too busy loving to throw this and that back,

there was nary a sound, nor nary a whack.

For Ms. Marian Murdering Moore's mister,

plagued with her same cerebral disasters

loved that fire-breathing lady in all her rage

but the neighbors knew the chickens'd paid.

Ms. Marian Murdering Moore skipping out the door

with a hachet here and twenty-two corps

a velvet-red jacket and in an uproar

shouting about to her husband so fair

"see you tonight, don't go anywhere!"



Submitted: July 07, 2021

© Copyright 2021 L.E. Belle. All rights reserved.

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