Thursday, February 12, 2015

4 poems by 4 poets

illustrations by palomine studios and penmarq studios

the beast

by nick nelson

as i was walking down the street
a surly beast i chanced to meet
he seemed a stranger to civilization
and had ideas above his station

he fixed me with his insolent eye
and asked me, was my life a lie
i held his gaze and answered straight
that i was but a child of fate

this answer quite amused the creature
good humour liquefied his features
and just as i relaxed my stare
he disappeared into the air

i continued on my way to work
but doubts within my brain did lurk
about the origin and provenance
of this beast of surly countenance

who was he to question me?
am i not wild, and bold, and free?
my body occupies a cube
but i am no philistinic rube

my brain is free to float at will
i need to make a living, but still
immortal fire within me burns
i only need to wait my turn

a gothic tale

by regina osgood stapledon

you can't have a cat without a mouse
you can't have a story without an old dark house
or an old dark house without rain and thunder
if you wish to provoke a sense of wonder

you have to have a pretty maid
no matter when the tale is laid
in centuries past she would be demure
but today she must have lots of spunk, that’s for sure

and a hero with a handsome face
who knows his proper place
and obeys the maiden’s commands
and is play-dough in her hands

but before he falls under her spell
he has raised or been through hell
and been a rebel in his fashion
until struck by the lightning of true passion

a dark-eyed femme fatale
might be a foil for our gal
or she might have a best female friend
who will be there for her until the terrifying end

and you know a good story can’t
be without a feisty old grandma or aunt
who provides a running commentary
whether the tale turns humorous or scary

when the rain and thunder have passed
and the truth revealed at last
and the heroine has her man
then you have done all that you can

white people

by corinne delmonico

some white people go to princeton
some of them go to yale
all of them go to law school
none of them go to jail

all of them write novels
and are children of movie stars
they ski in switzerland on weekends
because that's just who they are

all white people love elvis
and visit graceland once a year
he is their true and radiant king
and for him they shed a tear

all white people have advisors
who tell them what to think
and maids to comb their long blonde hair
and butlers to bring them drinks

they drink latte and cappuccino
in dainty little sips
as they sit in the sun by the swimming pool
and wait for the apocalypse

last train to perdition

by anonymous

a ticket to temptation, or a soul to sell
the meter never stops clicking in the cab to hell
satin smiles in a perfumed fairyland
wake up in the morning, in the sleeping car of the damned

everything they told you was not a lie
they told you were going to die
and now you are dying, sure enough
because you couldn’t get enough of that evil stuff

you didn’t listen to what mama said
now your bones are aching and your dreams are dead
wouldn’t you like to start over again?
it s not an option, in this world of sin

you are not a princess, a dragon or an elf
you are only your pathetic self
you are not a hit, you are a certified flop
the downbound train is pulling out, it is not going to stop

1 comment:

  1. 4 poems by 4 poets ! ahahahha Enjoying yr intertwined tales.. See you at outofthebluelike blog soon I hope