Quietly Naked In The Pouring Rain, The Witness In The Window – by Deacon Barry

Let me begin by congratulating our winner, but then ask that since he seems to be on a roll, and this is his third winning entry, that he step aside for a few months and share a little spotlight with some of our other readers, if that’s OK.

The winner of our fifth poetry contest is Deacon Barry! His prize is a guest post here on UDoJ, on any topic of his choice. And since we’re de-listed from WordPress anyway, and all “MATURE CONTENT” and all, I’ve even removed the proscriptions on “The F Bomb” and pornography.

Deacon Barry, E-Mail me your post, and I’ll get it up ASAP. If you’d like to include a picture or graphic with it, I’ll be happy to include that as well (though I may need to resize it for aesthetic purposes only).

Without further ado, here is Deacon Barry’s winning entry, just below the fold -

Deacon Barry

Mr Pazoo, Mr Pazoo,
Sneak to me
Speak to me,
What did you do?

It’s Saturday night.
It’s pouring with rain.
Mummy and Daddy
Are fighting again.
Mummy’s best friend
Is waiting outside.
He hasn’t got clothes on.
He’s trying to hide.
Daddy was out.
They thought I was sleeping.
They kissed and they cuddled.
I know. I was peeping.
Mr Pazoo promptly
Picked up the phone.
In a voice sounding like me, said,
“Daddy! Come home!”

Mr Pazoo, Mr Pazoo,
Sneak to me
Speak to me,
What did you do?

Mr Pazoo
Is my very best friend
He says he’ll be close to me
Right to the end
His fingers are scissors
His eyeballs are red
He lives in a dungeon
Right under my bed
He makes lots of mischief.
He says it’s a game.
Whenever he’s naughty,
I get the blame.
But I know that he loves me
He’ll always be true
He’ll always protect me
Will Mr Pazoo

Mr Pazoo, Mr Pazoo,
Sneak to me
Speak to me,
What did you do?

Mummy and Daddy
Are getting irate
But the man in the garden’s
The person I hate
If he wasn’t here
They wouldn’t get mad
They wouldn’t shout at me
I wouldn’t feel sad
He’ll always protect me
He knows what to do
That man’s got a meeting
With Mr Pazoo
His fingers are scissors
His eyeballs are red
The man has his throat cut
And now he is dead.

Mr Pazoo, Mr Pazoo,
Sneak to me
Speak to me,
WHAT DID YOU DO?

From whence came the art:

That photograph is titled Window through Window by SimplySchmoopie.

Filed under: Literature, Poetry, Poetry Contests