***Not sure if this is the correct poetry forum, but I figured that it's telling a story so I put it here. Also, the word "Baj" is an acronym for my old band's name, so this was kind of a tribute to our old awesomeness. (By the way, it's 32 stanzas long and I wrote it around midnight, so it's kind of insane.)
B = Brayden = Brother Hammer (Hammer-Hands)
A = Austin = Brother Blind (Blind Man)
J = Jason = Brother Frosting (Frosting Guy)
So that's about all the background that is needed! Enjoy!***
I guess today was generous
With its maimed and garish luck:
I ran into an acting troupe
And found a laughing duck.
Near the duck was a blind man,
Don't bother asking why.
For when the question was posed
The duck's answer made me cry.
"His eyes were blinded by acid", it said.
"His brain was turned to goop.
A zombie tried to eat his hand
But was stopped by chicken soup.
The zombie then sucked out the goop,
What replaced it I do detest.
For when the chicken soup went in
He turned into a crazy pest.
Willing to do anything;
I often wonder why
I put up with the guy at all.
At least there's always pie."
At this it left me puzzled,
Sense it did not make.
A brain replaced with chicken soup?
Boy that sounded fake!
Just then I was distracted
For I had seen a man.
This one looked mighty tough
And had hammers in place of hands.
Standing in a strong-man pose,
His eyes looked sharp and keen.
His hammer-hands looked mighty deadly,
They could easily rupture my spleen.
"Hello there young Skywalker"-
It was a common movie line.
"Staring is very rude to do,
You're lucky my mood is fine."
At this I turned to the duck,
His wisdom I did seek.
When my pleading eyes connected to it's,
It had already begun to speak.
"Don't worry my young friend
You'll be used to him in time.
As far as this old duck can know
He's never committed a crime.
His is a terrible story though,
For when he was very young
He went to eat at Del Cato
And was shot at by a gun.
Once, twice, bang bang bang!
It was frightening and he ran
Down the street and through the door
Of a yellow moving van.
The shots had caused his bag to leak,
The sauce dripped on his hands.
In the blackness of the van
He could smell the smell of crayons."
"Stop right there!" I bravely said.
"I get what's going on.
Just get to the part about the hammers
And how he got his brawn."
"Well okay, if you insist,"
The duck let out a sigh.
The blind man leaned to listen in,
Blinking his sightless eyes.
"After the part in the moving van
He had to replace his hands.
After thinking for quite a while
He decided on hammer-hands.
Now the brawn part is tricky:
From Matsumori he gained his strength.
That's a really long story though,
I won't tell it at length."
Pondering this I developed a theory,
I tried to develop it good.
For I knew that this duck must be crazy,
Something was wrong under its hood.
A moving van filled with crayons?
A head filled with soup?
A zombie, gunman and good tasting takeout?
A zombie sucking goop?
This cannot be sane in the least
And this place is just crazy.
(Forgive me for the next few stanzas,
From here it gets a little hazy.)
A man named Frosting came into view
A man of Delicious Death -
Don't ask me how, I just knew:
I could smell it on his breath.
"No Bobby," the pale man growled
As I tried to get away.
"You're trapped here with us loonies now,
And trapped here you will stay.
You've already learned far too much
Of this acting troupe of mine.
Now you must thank your friend the duck
For this contract you're about to sign.
You cannot escape, you cannot hide -
My power already rests on you:
Insanity to the highest degree,
More insane than bacon fondue.
So sign and agree to serve me
For approximately ten year's time.
After that you will again be sane,
Only to be cursed by insomnia sublime.
I have a contract for that too though,
And others for other ones;
For every time you sign one
Another is sure to come!"
Screaming and sweating
I jumped out of bed.
I start to calm once I realize
It was all just in my head.
It's been ten years and I still remember
The Frosting man's evil threats.
Even though I know it's fake,
I often get upset.
The voices tend to scream a lot
And the invisible man on the street
Won't stop poking my forehead
Whenever we happen to meet.
Lately though it's been happening less,
Though the memories still I keep.
I think it's time to sign another contract
As I've gotten kind of low on sleep.
I don't have much more to say, other than what I already have. There were some oddly phrased lines, like
x
A lot happened in your poem - attributed to the fact of it being longer than most - and I had a bit of trouble keeping up... but I liked your poem so much that I am going to read it again.