Dearest kreepy comrades,

Stephen King’s last name is the tell tale heart. He is without question literary royalty. He is this centuries Edgar Allen Poe, our own macabre Mark Twain of Maine. No one does it as habitually and with such kreepy eminence than he. For Stephen King is the crowned sovereign of nightly scares n’ boos. Forever may he reign supreme.

I read Stephen King’s The Mist on a lengthy train ride from Media, Pennsylvania (where I had delivered a trivial lecture on my latest book of poems Arsenic n’ Art,) to my lair in the city of brotherly love: Philadelphia. In short, The Mist really frightened me, as it had first-rate scares galore. It nudged, pinched, and stung my insecurities so that I had night sweats n’ nightmares for hours, days, and weeks to come. This was just a short story, dear fellow foes, you understand? Yet it held me in the grip of trepidation and woe. When it was then announced some 25 years later that award-winning film director Frank Darabont (The Green Mile and Shawshank Redemption) was giving it a go, well, I booked my seat well in advance. I was pleased I did so.

Stephen King’s The Mist was rightly done with an ending to Kreep-out even the most brutal of the horror connoisseurs. The ensemble of actors which included the likes of Thomas Jane (The Punisher), Marcia Gay Harden (The Dead Girl), Laurie Holden (Silent Hill), Toby Jones (City of Ember) and Andre Braugher (Salem’s Lot), to name only a few, are the best character actors in the business known as show and are in this film deadly superb. Stephen King’s The Mist is a Kreepy affair, a must rent or buy as fast as the technology will allow. But remember, my kreepy she’s and he’s, if you don’t like kreepy crawling things that bite hiding in the shadows above your head, well then… you’ve been warned.

In e†ernity,
Brazillia R. Kreep


It came upon a midnight storm
A nasty slinking spinning swarm
Dark dank haze with such a bite
Gave the locals quite a fright
Shopping for accoutrements
Last remaining remnants
A scream from oust this billowing smog
The howling of a lonesome dog
A crunch
A scrunch
A squish
A swish
This vapor was a bit freakish
Everyone that left the store
Returned a bloody icy corpse
Such things you’d never dream existed
Boney, hairy, lurid, Putrid
Tiny knats spit acid rain
Slimy Slugs sucked human brain
Spiders I can’t even say
And sicker still came out t’play
Such things that drive mere men mad
A nightmare phooey dead doodad
Still I knew just what t’do
Head on out, attack the goo
So I marched with head held high
Even when the ladies cry
Hero opened up the gate
T’was no time t’hesitate
Walked outside n’ giggled some
Ain’t gonna be yo’ next victim
Knew that God was on my side
Talked t’him whilst, back inside
Now waved goodbye t’all behind
“Grocery Clerk Saves All Mankind”
So even though the vapor hissed
I bravely walked into the mist

© 2008 Brazillia R. Kreep

source: R. Productions


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