This poem has been launched as a Kindle book on Amazon. It opens with the following lines:

Dear little children, did you know
That most adults are really slow?
I mean they're dim, they're not too bright,
Their intellect's an awful fright.

For instance, children, they will say
That nighttime is as safe as day.
But you and I know what is right:
The shadows come alive at night.

The book can be purchased here.

It's the Halloween sensation that you know all the clubs will be playing throughout October. Right? Get ready to sing and dance to this humorous hip hop / rap Zombie song. Lyrics posted below the video (and are written out in the video).
​

I am a Zombie: the Zombie Song

I am a zombie.
They call me boogie man too
'Cause they don't know what I am
And they don't know what to do.

But I'm a zombie,
And I'm just a guy who's dead
'Cause I got into a fight
And I got hit in the head.

So I'm a zombie,
And I'm hungry all the time
For the brains inside your head
And they tell me it's a crime.

But I'm a zombie,
So you tell me what to do.
Should I starve myself to death?
Well what if it was you?

Now I'm a zombie,
And maybe I can't die,
But starving isn't fun
So your morals don't apply.

See I'm a zombie,
And I want to eat your brains
'Cause I need to fill my gut
And I stay away from grains.

As a zombie,
It's kind of funny too
That you scream and run away
When I get so close to you.

But as a zombie,
Well I really cannot run
So you just could walk away
And I not catch anyone.

Now I'm a zombie,
And there's not much more to say
'Cause I don't do much for fun
And I sleep throughout the day.

'Cause as a zombie,
Well I only like the night,
And that's when I take a look
For just a little bite.

And as a zombie,
It's just a bite of brain,
... And if I kill you first
Then you won't feel any pain.

But as a zombie,
It's pretty clear to see
That you do not like to die,
And you won't give brains to me.

So as a zombie,
No hobbies as I said,
And hard to get the brains
So I don't like being dead.

But as a zombie,
At least I make this rhyme,
And the only problem is
That I sing it all the time.

As a zombie
Who not as smart as you,
It hard to make it stop
And I don't know what to do.

I am a zombie,
But I'm not a boogie man.
I'm just a guy who's dead
And who needs to make a plan.

But I'm a zombie,
And for plan I need a brain,
... So I can stop this rhyme
Before it start again.

See I'm a zombie ...

Quick ... quick ... you see? It's starting up. It's starting all over. It's going to make me rhyme.

See I'm a zombie ...

Quickly now, I need brains. Give me some. Come back here. Hey ... where you going? Brains ... zombie ... just dead because I got in a fight.

Dear Old Wicked Vlad

Mighty Vlad was mighty bad,
said all the folk who knew him,
even though, as all men know,
a vampire never chewed him.

Dear old Vlad was simply bad
because of so much killing.
Stakes through heads and through the dead
Were what he found fulfilling.

Bodies flayed and blood that sprayed
Were symbols of his warning:
Don't come near or reap the fear
Of agony by morning.

So think again of all the men
you thought were really bad.
I'll bet they're not so much the rot
As dear old wicked Vlad.

​A Tale Told

​This tale I have, it must be told,
For I am growing weak and old,
And not much longer may I sit
Before you now to tell of it.
Oh, one thing more -- just one thing more:
There's someone at my chamber door.

Yes, that's the reason why, my friend,
I must rush on to story's end.
It must be told, it must be said;
I must release it from my head.
But I shant start with days of yore,
For someone's at my chamber door.

Instead I'll start with yesterday
And so will give the end away,
For I've no time to tell it all;
The chance has passed for me to stall.
For as I've said, and say once more:
There's someone at my chamber door.

The sweat is damp upon my brow.
I must now tell, but don't know how!
My eyes grow dim, my heart grows cold.
I fear this thing will not be told.
Quite soon, you see, I'll be no more --
'Tis Death who's at my chamber door.

​Selling the Soul

When dank
the plumes of colored beasts,
when shifting
are their words,
you shudder at the wretched screams
of paradisal birds.

The empty call of hollow trees,
a woman burned at stake;
you wander aimless
to your home,
a child's head to break.

You wicked thing
to follow all the people
of the devil;
you know that all your deeds of good
are for the sake of evil.

So bring your heart,
prepare it now in heaps
upon a plate,
and bow before me,
quivering,
in hunger and in hate --
quivering and bloody
for your untimely fate.