Open-Source Poetry Four #1

Our Dearest Readers and Budding Poets (and Masters of Poetry, of course!),

We’d be lying if we said that Open Source Poetry is one of our least favouritest features here on Unbolt Me. Why? Well, it’s easy. We love the element of surprise that it brings. What scintillatingly fabulous line will you come up with next? What will you write to make us gasp in envy and wonderment as we struggle to match creative minds?

In short, communal poetry writing is a whole lotta fun!

Now, usually we’re the ones to start a new round of Open Source Poetry. We suggest the first line and then allow y’all to run with it, but we figured it would be more fun if this time we allowed you to suggest the first line of the new poem instead! Cool idea, huh? And, actually, while we don’t wish to restrict you in your creative efforts, because it’s Halloween soon, we propose that the theme should be ‘horror film’!

Here are the rules of this devilish game:

1) You submit the first line of our new poem via the comments section of this very post.
2) We pick the line we like most, and write the next one.
3) We publish the first and second lines in a follow-up post.
4) You submit the next line, we pick the one we like, and then we add it to the poem.
5) Step 4 is repeated until we have a masterpiece!

And with that, we sit back, put on our 3D glasses, grab a monster-sized tub of All Hallows’ Poppycorn™, and ready ourselves to shake and scream in horrified rhymed delight!

 

by TETIANA ALEKSINATONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2019

TATI’s & TONY’s DEAD POET TOUR // The Sissy Boy by Edwin C. Ranck

Beware the Sissy Boy my child,
Not because he’s very wild;
The Sissy Boy is never that,
Although he’ll run if you say “Scat!”
The Sissy Boy’s infinitesimal,
He is not worth a duodecimal.

If you should take a custard pie
And hit a Sissy in the eye,
He would not go before a jury,
He’d only blush and say “Oh Fury!”
For he is perfumed, sweet and mild,
That’s just his kind, my dearest child.

One should never strike a Sissy,
He is too lady-like and prissy.
You do not need to use your fist
But merely slap him on the wrist,
And if this will not make him budge,
Then glare at him and say “Oh Fudge!”

The Sissy sports a pink cravat
And often wears a high silk hat;
His voice is like a turtle dove’s
And he always wears the “cutest” gloves.
At playing ping-pong he’s inured,
And his finger-nails are manicured.

He uses powder on his face
And his handkerchiefs are trimmed with lace;
He loves to play progressive euchre
And spend his papa’s hard-earned lucre.
He wears an air of nonchalance
And always takes in every dance.

Socially, he’s quite a pet
And always fashionably in debt.
He hates to be considered slow
And poses as a famous beau.
He loves to cut a swath and dash
When papa dear puts up the cash.

This, my child, is the Sissy Boy
Who acts so womanly and coy.
His head’s as soft as new-made butter;
His aim in life is just to flutter;
Yet he goes along with unconcern
And marries a woman with money to burn.

 

by EDWIN C. RANCK (1879-?)
Public Domain Poetry

TATI’s & TONY’s DEAD POET TOUR // The Quest of the Purple Cow by Hilda Johnson

He girded on his shining sword,
He clad him in his suit of mail,
He gave his friends the parting word,
With high resolve his face was pale.
They said, “You’ve kissed the Papal Toe,
To great Moguls you’ve made your bow,
Why will you thus world-wandering go?”
“I never saw a purple cow!”

“I never saw a purple cow!
Oh, hinder not my wild emprise,
Let me depart! For even now
Perhaps, before some yokel’s eyes
The purpling creature dashes by,
Bending its noble, horned brow.
They see its glowing charms, but I,
I never saw a purple cow!”

“But other cows there be,” they said,
“Both cows of high and low degree,
Suffolk and Devon, brown, black, red,
The Ayrshire and the Alderney.
Content yourself with these.” “No, no,”
He cried, “Not these! Not these! For how
Can common kine bring comfort? Oh!
I never saw a purple cow!”

He flung him to his charger’s back,
He left his kindred limp and weak,
They cried: “He goes, alack! alack!
The unattainable to seek.”
But westward still he rode, pardee!
The West! Where such freaks be; I vow,
I’d not be much surprised if he
Should some day see
A
Purple
Cow!

 

by HILDA JOHNSON (?-?)
Public Domain Poetry

BUT IS IT POETRY? // lethal bloom

a lunger on a hospital sheet
embraces the last spring
bursts into blossom with scarlet poppies
with every coughing fit

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TONY: Hm. I wonder…

TATI: Good luck with such a tedious task. I’m going to the sex shop before it closes. Do you need anything?

TONY: Yes, I do. While you’re there, would you purchase me an answer that will scrub away the question mark that lingers above your poem ‘lethal bloom’?

TATI: I appreciate your sense of humour, Tony. Will you die from curiosity during the next hour?

TONY: I’m not a cat, so… no.

TATI: Then I’ll be back soon. You’ll have a chance to prepare some genuinely interesting questions. Not like the last time.

TONY: How long must a poem be to be considered a legitimate poem?

TATI: You men are too preoccupied with sizes. How long must a penis be to be considered a legitimate penis?

TONY: Says the woman who’s going to a sex shop.

TATI: According to the Guinness Book of Records, the world’s shortest poem is one letter long. It’s by Aram Saroyan, and comprises a four-legged version of the letter ‘m’.

TONY: Damn. They’ll accept anything these days, won’t they?

TATI: Yes. You’re unbelievably quick-witted today. What happened?

TONY: What can I say? I’ve had my cornflakes. Anyway, back to your poem…

TATI: Back to my poem.

TONY: Yes. Were you worried that it might be considered a little on the short side?

TATI: No!

TONY: Okay then. I must say I do admire how you’ve managed to pack so much meaning into so few lines of poetry. That takes real skill.

TATI: Thank you. Again, do you need anything from the sex shop? There’s a big clearance sale on. Buy two, get one free. You can have the free one.

TONY: As long as it’s not a dildo then I don’t mind. You know, we haven’t even discussed the poem’s themes yet. I’m beginning to get the feeling you don’t want to talk about it.

TATI: What? You said you’re not a cat, and I can’t wait forever! And by the way, I will choose whatever I want for you, so beggars can’t be choosers!

TONY: This won’t take too long. I promise. All I want to know is what your poem’s about.

TATI: Life. Death. Spring.

TONY: Wow. You really unveiled the mystery there.

TATI: Tony, I’m late. I need to buy stockings and an eye patch!

TONY: I can’t imagine you in stockings. But you with an eye patch… now that would be way cool!

TATI: So, I may go after all?

TONY: Sigh. Fine. Go. Far be it from me to delay you on your all important quest!

Tati rushes out the door, slamming it behind her. She rushes back in mere moments later.

TONY: Did you forget something?

TATI: Yes, you idiot! I forgot to check my watch! The sex shop is closed already, so there is no point me going now!

TONY: Hey, that only happened because you wasted time not answering a simple question!

TATI: Sigh. Ask your questions. Anyway, there’s no fun at a hospital without stockings and an eye patch.

TONY: At a hosp—OH! I get it! You wanna indulge in a little Tarantino cosplay, yes?

TATI: No cosplays, silly Tony! Just some volunteering in the tuberculosis department.

TONY: Erm. Okay. It’s probably best if you don’t tell me about your perverted extracurricular activities.

TATI: Germane to the matter, I believe you had dozens of questions about my poem.

TONY: Oh, no no no! I’m done with that. I have no more questions. Besides, I’m tired. I think I’ll just rest here for a bit.

Tati finally seems to be lost for words. Tony plonks himself down on the sofa, his arms folded behind his head. Tati shrugs to herself, lights a cigarette, and plonks herself beside him.

TONY: Those will kill you, you know.

TATI: I know.

 

by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2018

Teti-à-Tête (With Tony) #14

crumble-cult-210

Tati as TATI

crumble-cult-106

Tony as TONY

 

ACT 103 SCENE 54
A SPOONFUL OF SARCASM & WOE

 

Two weeks ago…

Tony’s kneeling near the living room wall in sackcloth and ashes, wailing his sad little heart out. He’s smacking his brow against the wallpaper very hard.

TONY: No sleep, no rest for my tormented soul!

Tati walks in, licking a spoon smeared with cherry jam. She wonders what the hell Tony’s wailing and smacking about. She can see that the wallpaper’s taking quite a beating. She mutters under her breath.

TATI: And no money for new wallpaper.

TONY: Oh, I weep!

Tati sighs with great resignation. She senses a tedious conversation ahead. Time to make it interesting.

TATI: The only logical explanation for this is you’re rehearsing ‘Prince Igor’.

Tony stops smacking and wailing, and turns to face her.

TONY: Huh?

TATI: If so, I suggest you perform the ‘Polovtsian Dances’ in the second act. It’s my favorite part. I bet you have the voice of an angel.

Tony’s heart warms with gratitude.

TONY: Aw, what a lovely thing to say!

TATI: A castrated angel.

He looks at her like he’s been slapped with an electric eel.

TONY: Well, I never…

Tati gives her spoon another lick. It’s clean now, and she seems to be quite pleased with herself.

TATI: Never say never. Anyway, what’s gotten your panties in a bunch this time?

TONY: It’s our Patreon. Ah, me! Ah, woe!

TATI: Did you forget the password again?

TONY: No. I have it tattooed on my inner thigh.

Tati makes a mental note to change the password as soon as possible.

TONY: We’ve lost a patron. And now we’ve gone down a whole dollar! We’re going to starve! We’re going to die!

Tati looks at her spoon. That’s food for thought.

TATI: And you suppose your wailing will attract a new patron? I think not! More likely you’ll chase the remaining ones away. You could do something more useful than ruining our flat in an orgy of grief you know.

Tony puts on a petulant face.

TONY: Oh, and seducing new patrons with your saucy condiment licking skills is more useful?

Tati gives her spoon a musing lick.

TATI: There’s nothing saucy about jam.

Tony is quite exasperated now.

TONY: I don’t give a damn about your jam, Tati! We need more bloody money!

TATI: And you need to chill out. There’s always a solution to these things.

TONY: Then tell me what it is!

Tati looks at her spoon again. Unlike Tony, she seems calm and collected, almost contemplative even.

TONY: You and that fucking spoon…

Tati ignores him.

TATI: I’ll tell you what we can do to give our Patreon a new lick of life. We can make our own comic.

Tony’s voice takes on a sarcastic tone.

TONY: Comic? What an unexpected solution! Isn’t this something we do already? Oh, and by the way, the expression is ‘lease of life‘.

TATI: Yes, comic. But a better one. A super-puper wonder comic. One that’s exclusive to our Patreon. And maybe our Ko-fi too.

TONY: I don’t drink coffee!

TATI: Who cares? I do.

Tony rolls his eyes.

TONY: So, Super-Puper Wonder Woman, what is this comic going to be about?

TATI: Do you remember those two creatures you callously killed off in your ‘Crumble Cult’ webcomic?

TONY: Killed off? No. I’m afraid I’d remember something like that.

TATI: Think. They were tiny… and completely, utterly helpless.

TONY: This isn’t making me look very good…

Tati points her spoon at Tony in an accusing manner.

TATI: They even had names! How could you?!

TONY: What the hell?! No, I don’t remember this at all!

TATI: Exactly what a killer would say! Mork? Brandy Snap? Do these names ring a bell?

TONY: OH! Marth and Bramwell!

TATI: Yes, exactly what I said. Anyway, we can resurrect them. We can kill them on!

TONY: That makes no sense…

Tati ignores him.

TATI: They can be the main characters of the new comic we’ll write and draw. And I have an idea about the first strip…

Tati gives her spoon another lick before remembering that there’s not one dollop or iota of jam left on it.

TATI: Let’s discuss this over biscuits and jam.

Tony slowly gets to his feet, spreading ash everywhere.

TONY: I’ll go to the kitchen then.

TATI: No, you’ll go to the store. There’s no jam left in the house.

A sarcastic tone creeps into Tony’s voice.

TONY: Fine. What flavour does her royal highness want?

TATI: Hm. Peach. I’m feeling very peachy today.

1265542358_ornament

Present day…

TONY: Well, what shall we write for our introduction? We’ve got to let people know about our new comic strip.

TATI: Let’s discuss this over biscuits and jam.

TONY: I’ll go to the kitchen then.

TATI: No, you’ll go to the store. There’s no jam left in the house.

TONY: I’m feeling a sense of déjà vu. Let me guess… peach?
1265542358_ornament

Dear Readers,

While Tony tries to navigate his way through the supermarket revolving door, and Tati plays a hyperviolent video game where she kills waves and waves of mutant jam roly-polies, you have time to hop over to their Patreon page to read the first instalment of their new bilingual comic strip, ‘Marth & Bramwell’. And you can also read it on their Ko-fi page if you prefer.

This strip will be a free, ongoing feature that you’ll be able to read at any time. It will be updated monthly with a fresh episode. You can even bookmark their Patreon or Ko-fi page so that you won’t miss a single one. They have plenty of adventures in store, so stick around and please enjoy!

 

by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2019