RAVENS vs. LADDERS

I'm supossed to write a poem where language is the material WHATTT? I don't know what this means and I suck at writing poetry...

SUPERSTITIOUS HOUSE

And OH the superstitious house
Don’t pass salt or knives
Don’t put new shoes on the table
Don’t open the umbrella inside

Don’t mix the red and white chopsticks
Don’t stretch at the table
Don’t let the bird in the house
Or someone’s going to die

And SO the superstitious house
I'll never touch wood
I'll Pull the fourth leave off the clover
Won't tell the magpie what I should

I'll walk under ladders
Step on the cracks
Break all our mirrors
And paint the cat black

Because donkey's milk didn't cure my cough,
So I turned to the magpie and said "fuck off"

WICKED. I'm not going to enjoy reading this out on Monday inbetween all the super deep stuff about blood and death and corpses and darkenesssss.

Incase its a particularly deep, emo, Monday I have this back-up...

Stain-glass window
Churchyard falling
Tombstones creaking through the din

Below
They’re dreaming or they’re screaming
Wind is howling “let me in”

Through the window,
Coat of Joseph,
Through one stripe the rain runs red
Trickle slowly
Oh so slowly
(How the battered steeple bled)

With a cloud the
Colours fading
All the scene’ry left outside
Through the window
Like a photo
There lies something that has died

By the stones a shadow’s cast
It is the shadow of the past

HAAAA Joseph's technicolourd dreamcoat. so deep.