Open-Source Poetry Two #4

Dear Readers,

Last time, we asked you about Shakespeare. Many of you appeared to be familiar with this well-regarded literary chap, so our diligent English teachers of school years past can sleep the sleep of the just. It seems they did their work pretty well!

It also appears that you were not only assiduous when it came to your lessons. You’ve also indulged in some extracurricular reading since those formative days! How else could we explain the fact that almost every one of you mentioned Edgar Allan Poe in your comments? Spooky, man!

(In truth, this made us very, very happy. We’re much more familiar with Poe’s works, you see. And it’s not that we’re proud of our ignorance when it comes to Shakespeare’s output—rather, we feel relieved that we at least know something when it comes to old-time book readin’.)

But anyway, let’s get back to the hip and happening 21st century. There are some quite good writers churning out quite good shit in this day and age, you know. Some of them don’t even have a sizeable following like Poe and Will do, and we think that’s a crying shame. Take Lakmi, for example, who will hopefully be featured in future school books and university lectures. Let’s keep our fingers crossed, eh? Such wonderful poetry! But don’t take our word for it. Check it out here.

Oh, and a little raven told us that Lakmi will at the very least be featured in the next instalment of our communal poetry writing feature. Which is… oh, fancy that! Right now! What a stroke of luck! And, hey, if any of you, our Dear Readers, would like to join in, just cast your eyes over the rules of this fun little game and have at it!

1) We provide the next line of the poem.
2) You write the following line.
3) You submit your line via the comments section of this very post.
4) We pick the line we like most and add it to the poem.
5) We publish every line to date in a follow-up post.
6) Steps 1-5 are repeated until we have a masterpiece!

So, what do you reckon? Shall we make a modern masterpiece together? It’s gotta be worth a try, right?

Вензель

She looks in the book like into a mirror
The face of her sister is there
She wears daffodils in her hair

She reminds her of Shakespeare’s Ophelia
Amid weeping willows along the shore
She lives in the memory of a love no more

She regrets a past whipped with hysteria

Вензель_нижний

by TETIANA ALEKSINATONY SINGLETHOM TNKERRFRAGGLE & LAKMI
© All rights reserved 2018

GUEST POST // Just Like Them by Stephen Philip Druce

They wished for a baby boy:

tall,
handsome,
polite,
clever,
precocious,
virtuous,
noble,
successful,
triumphant, but

the boy turned out
to be just like them.

Damn!
Damn?

Damn fools!

who else goes into the mix?

by STEPHEN PHILIP DRUCE
© All rights reserved 2018

nothing set in stone

he’s afraid to look
at the gorgon’s pleading eyes
lest her neediness
calcify his heart’s resolve
he rocked her, now wants to leave

by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2018

BUT IS IT POETRY? // a Pissed off Muse

Do you think
that your Muse is dead?
Balderdash!
She is tired.
She is just flat on her ass.
Yes! Dash it all, yes!

She couldn’t bear
your endless snivel,
hysterics,
binge drinking
You, pathetic Creator!
She dumped you, dumbass!

Two talented lines
aren’t worth two wasted years… yes.
Muses can fuck up.

1265542358_ornament

TONY: Tati, have you ever been pissed off?

Tati doesn’t answer. She keeps looking to the door.

TONY: Tati?

Still no answer.

TONY: TATI!

TATI: Huh? Yes, of course. Every time you ask a silly question.

TONY: Hey! All of my questions are individual quests for truth! Don’t be dissin’ my questions, man!

TATI: I’m not a man.

TONY: Anyway, there’s this really cool poem you wrote once. It’s called ‘a Pissed off Muse’. Do you remember it?

Tati looks at the wall clock, then says with a petulant gesture…

TATI: Yes, I do. I’m not such a leaky head. Not like someone I could mention in this room…

TONY: Hey! I only forget the stuff that’s not worth remembering!

TATI: Uh hum… Indeed, why should you stuff your head with nonsense like the due date for our tax returns, or when to pay for municipal services?

TONY: Look, I don’t mind living without electricity sometimes, and since when have we ever earned enough to pay taxes?

TATI: Well, this time I’m going to agree with you.

Tati keeps flitting her eyes between the clock and the door, then glances out the window.

TATI: So, do you really think it’s a cool poem?

TONY: I do! I think it’s bitchin’!

TATI: Uh hum… Well… Thank you, I suppose. May I ask why you recalled it just out of the blue?

TONY: Well, it strikes me that no one ever asks the muse if they even want to be a muse in the first place, and your poem seems to reflect this. It presents the muse’s viewpoint.

This seems to get Tati’s attention. She looks at Tony for a moment.

TATI: Yes. By the way, Tony, did you know that ‘muse’ can mean not only a source of inspiration but a creator or poet also?

TONY: Oh. Really? That… That doesn’t sound quite right…

TATI: Why?

TONY: Because muses are usually only presented as some kind of insipidly romanticised ‘source of inspiration’ (to use your words). But the whole thing’s not so romantic really, is it?

Tati’s eyes have gone back to the door.

TATI: Sigh. Never mind. Do you have a muse?

TONY: Nope. Why reduce someone to nothing more than a source of inspiration for my creative endeavours? They don’t exist purely to orbit and nurture my every brain fart, do they?

TATI: Not everyone is such an egoist, Tony! ‘Nurture my every fart.’ Many creators take their muses as higher beings, not mere servants of their creative labours.

TONY: I’m not so convinced! I can’t shake the feeling that a lot of muses are mere extensions of their creators’ egos, and therefore not considered to be the higher beings you sugge—Hey! Are you listening at all? I said ‘my every brain fart’, not ‘my every fart’!

TATI: No. I don’t sleep.

TONY: Huh?!

Tati shakes her head, as if to clear it, then continues to give the door, clock and window her full attention.

TONY: See?! You’re not listening!

TATI: Not at all. Pardon? Oh, of course, you have my undivided attention.

TONY: Are you sure? I’ve been talking to your nape for the last bleedin’ hour!

Tati sighs.

TATI: I only wonder if we can talk about something else…

TONY: Okay. Fine. What would you prefer?

There’s a knocking at the door.

TATI: Wait! Do you hear that?

TONY: You bet your sweet bippy. I wonder who it can be?

Tati starts to fuss around a bit. She goes to a cupboard and pulls out some slippers, then runs to the kitchen to brew some tea. When this is done, she brings out a huge pile of fresh newspapers and tosses them on the table.

TATI: Okay, could you get the door, Tony? I think that may be for me.

Tony answers the door. A huge, glistening penguin wearing a monocle and biting down on a pipe enters the house, brushing past him like he’s not there. It waddles towards the kitchen, its pipe leaving a trail of soap bubbles.

TONY: Oh, of course. Now I understand who serves whom, my Dear Genius.

TATI: Hush! Don’t piss off the Muse!

by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2018

hushabye (black & blue)

every man a cocksure monster
every tongue a flattering lie
so let my absence fill your room

now that i am required to leave
will you speak inside my fizzy head
one last time
set the record straight
and i’ll turn my eyes to the skyline
say, “that’s the door”

every cock a father figure
every dalliance is the one
so let my absence fill your heart

now that i’m being made to leave
will you smack alive my 8-ball head
one last time
let my answer be no
and i’ll turn my eyes to the skyline
say, “that’s the door”

every oke a cocksucking ogre
every tryst yet another nail
so let my absence fill your coffin

hushabye radge, i see a door
you’ll not grieve me any more

by TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2018