Miscellanea's Misbegotten Daughter (c)

[Expendable]

This is something I wrote for myself, a way of getting my frustrations out about counselors and therapists who say they're listening but aren't really.

Something Fun

He sits behind a big oak desk,
Puffing on a pipe.
He says he’s going to help me,
Now isn’t that a fright?

For I have seen the picture
Sitting ‘innocently’ on his desk.
I wonder if his wife knows
That he likes to wear a dress?

He says he can make me happy,
As I sink deeper into my chair.
He wants to make me normal
- couldn't wait to get out of there!

He wants me to take these pills
Before dinner every night.
A week or two later,
Then everything should be alright.

The questions that he ask
Aren’t as pleasant as they can be.
“There’s no need to be offensive,”
So he keeps telling me.

“So stop asking me all those questions,
And just leave me alone!
I am not getting too damned violent!
Put down that stupid phone!”

I swear he will not be happy
Until he has me all alone,
Sitting in a padded cell,
So drugged that no-one's home.

So he left me for a moment,
An appointment next Saturday,
He brought golf clubs to the office
- I think it’s time I learned to play.

My legs aren’t too steady,
But for a few moments I can stand.
My first attempt was horrible,
But my next attempt was grand!

“It wasn’t my fault” I told him
As he put me back into my chair
I thought the window was open,
It’s really not that fair!

Seems he’s suddenly not so keen
To have me come around.
He’s sending me to see his friend,
Because suddenly he's going out of town.

I lose more psychiatrists that way.

[MineGeorgi]

A quick little note first off - be sure to say in your introductions what sort of critique you would like to receive from people. This can be particularly important where you've written something close to your heart and don't want to see it torn apart. As you haven't stated it for this piece, I've just given a general critique

You've used a simple but effective rhyme scheme - it works, the rhyme doesn't feel forced, and seems to maintain a certain flexibility about it. It flows well, and has a strong momentum to it. I also quite like the elements of black humour that come across, particularly near the end. To be honest, I'm having trouble finding some useful criticism to give. Usually, I might suggest there is a lack of sensory detail, but I don't think this poem really requires it. Overall, nice job.

[Expendable]

I've had lots of time to work on it. I think it helps to put a poem or story away for a week to a month or so - helps you edit it without bleeding too much. But that's just my opinion.

[MineGeorgi]

Definitely. It's better to be able to cast a fresh eye over a piece after you've left it a while, rather than niggle away at it continuously (a habit I'm still trying to ditch ).

[SkyStørmSpectre]

In the future, please consolidate all your poems in one thread, it makes it more organized.

And welcome to the Literature and Writing forum.

[Jigglypuff]

Welcome to the forum. Sky has a point, since many times it seems like that if you post many poems at the same time but in seperate threads, only some will get attention. Of course the rules state that you may post things seperately, but if it's the same type of writing on the same day, things just seem to turn out that way. ^^;

"Seems he’s suddenly not so keen
To have me come around.
He’s sending me to see his friend,
Because suddenly he's going out of town."

Two 'suddenly's in one stanza are a crowd.

Overall, I think you got great rhye-pairs, but could use a little more consistent rhythm for them to work well. Watch out for the line-lenghts - if they change too much, the rhyme is suddenly gone, no matter how well the words fit together.

It's a good poem.

[Expendable]

Sorry - nobody's said anything about metal and plastic yet so I've cut it.

noirre - thanks for pointing out "suddenly" to me.

[Expendable]

norrie posted in my journal, so I came looking for my old threads.

turns out I did post my New Year's door poem, back when I didn't know any better to keep it all in one thread. http://www.animeleague.net/forum/sho...ear-s-Door-(P)

[Expendable]

***this is a flash fiction story I did a while back. I tightened it up a bit, and would welcome your comments on it***


I'd gotten a hot tip that the Tarantula Woman, the secret capo dei capi of the city's mob families was coming to St. Andrew's Homeless Shelter in person to make "a delivery". So I came in disguise with my hidden recorder and cameras, ready to catch her in the act. And catch her I did - dropping off a van full of hot food in steam trays.

"Vans come every day," Hank told me, in between shoveling food into his mouth. The man did not know how to chew with his mouth shut - or a good dentist. "See her sometimes. You gonna eat that?"

"Lost my appetite," I said sourly, shoving my tray over and getting up. And that's when she bumped into me.

"Oh! I'm sorry!" She smiled. "Mister...?"

"Smith, John Smith."

"Mr. Smith," she replied dryly, giving me a look before glancing down at the table. "Food not to your liking?"
"I'm not feeling too good, is all," I improvised, clutching my belly.
"Oh dear," she said, looking around, then pointed to the priest serving food. "You should go see Father Frank. I have to go now, I hope you feel better!"
"Thanks," I shrugged. This was the evilest woman in the city?

One of her goons shoved me when her back was turned before they escorted her out the door. I watched for a moment while Hank snorted, then headed towards the chow line. I stood there shifting from foot to foot for a couple of seconds, then stepped away to use the restroom beyond and wasted a few minutes in there, washing my hands. Then it was out the door.

Only as I stepped outside the church, a heavy hand grabbed my shoulder.

"Mr. Smith? Da lady wants a word with ya," the goon said, nodding towards the waiting limo.
"Why? I didn't do anything!" I yelped as he marched me down to the passenger door and opened it.
"Just get in," he growled, shoving me inside.

And that's how I found myself in the back of a limo with the Tarantula Woman.

"Mr. Hess?" she asked, giving me a sharp, penetrating look as the limo pulled out into the street. "I thought the Globe paid its reporters better?"

"What do you want?"

"I had a few questions I wanted to ask you, like why you're here of all places?"

"I've got a few questions myself," I said to my own surprise.

"An arrangement then?" she smiled coldly, then nodded. "You first."

"I got a tip you were going to be here."

"That must have been a surprise," she giggled. I gave her a sharp look but nodded.

"You help to feed the mission?"

"Not just the mission. I also feed the women's shelter and street kids. I give the city restaurants a discount on trash disposal if they volunteer the food."

"What do you get out of it?"

"Helping others isn't enough for you?" she asked, glancing at me. She shrugged. "Sometimes I get information. You'd be surprised just how much I can learn in an hour. I'm curious, where did you come up with 'Tarantula Woman'?"

"I uh, heard someone call you that."

"Oh really? One of the 'City Defenders'?" she smirked.

"Hey lady, they do more for this city...."

"Doing what? Preening at their press conferences? Catching some idiot who gets themselves a taste of superpowers so they go rob a bank?"

"The city would be better off if they locked up all your kind!"

"You really believe that!" she laughed, staring at me in surprise. "Mr. Hess, do you actually think all crime in this city would stop if my associates and I were locked up?"

"Well, yeah, the big crimes...."

"You can't stop crime Mr. Hess," she told me, shaking her head. "Certainly not the way the City Defenders go about it. It goes against human nature. I, however, control crime."

"Control crime?"

"Nothing happens in this city that I cannot find out about. Last week two men in a white SUV were hanging around the middle school, passing out 'free samples' to the kids to get them hooked. We gave them a chance. Police arrest them, yet they're back on that corner the next day. But they're not there today. Can you tell me we're not better off?"

"Did you...?" I swallowed.

"Did I what?" she asked, smiling blandly.

"But your people...."

"No. My associates and I do not deal in drugs. While I do pander to other vices, I make sure that those who sell drugs only sell to adults, and never around the schools."

"Why not leave it to the cops?"

"When the Scarlet Bowman left my file for you to read on his desk while he went to get 'coffee', did you miss the part about my kidnapping when I was fifteen?"

"How did you know...?" I began, shocked.

"My father went to the cops - and they wouldn't raise a finger," she continued, staring at the back of the driver's head. "He may have not have been a good man, but he was my father. And when he showed up to pay my ransom, my father's rivals killed him."

"How... did you get away?"

"They say you don't know what you're capable of until you're pressed. I desperately wanted to know what those men wanted with me - and found out when they touched me I knew what they were thinking. When Jimmy Vento shot my father and laughed, I discovered I could kill him and his men with a look."

She leaned forward and knocked on the glass partition. I swallowed as the limo pulled over.

"Mr. Hess, you will give me your recorder now," she told me, holding out her hand. I pulled it numbly out of my pocket and gave it to her.

"You'll receive a new one by messenger later."

"Yes ma-am," I mumbled, fumbling for the door latch. "I'll stop looking...."

"No. People will think I got to you. You can even still call me the 'Tarantula Woman'. However, I would prefer what I do at the shelters remain private."

"Yes ma-am."

[Expendable]

The Maze of Dreams

Lost in the Maze of Dreams
Chased by the Darkness that is me
By demons that snap mercilessly
So I stagger, going on.
And in the middle, to my surprise
Stood two mighty angels,
Guarding a place of Light.
Their glare at my approach,
Kept the demons' fangs at bay,
But when I tried to step through the door,
With spears they did bar the way.
I begged and pleaded,
But they stood there just the same.
Saddened, I began to turn away.
"Enter my child," I heard someone say,
And the angels bowed their heads,
At attention in silence stood.
So I stepped inside the place of Light
Where once only Darkness had ruled.
Light was all around me,
But one was brighter still.
"Am I dead?" I asked,
And I heard a laugh.
"Is this Heaven or is this Hell?"
The voice did answer "Yes,"
And handed me a shining key,
"Many doors will that open,
Many sights you will not wish to see,
But I'll ask you to remember
Not every door needs a key."
As I stood there all confused,
It spoke as it began to rise,
"Do not mistake it for your salvation,
But your way it may help you find."
Desperately I grabbed at it,
"Wait!" I did cry.
"Why did you risk coming here,
Where the Darkness has full sway?"
"Huddled in the deepest Dungeon,
For the Meanest of Crimes,
Tossed like a leaf in the mighty storm,
Still if you look deeply,
You may find a hint of Light."
So the Light did leave me,
And I watched it's awesome rise
Until the chilling howl of a Demon
Woke all from Light's brilliant spell,
And the chase began again.



in my journal, this is posted as the Labyrinth of Dreams.

[Expendable]

Braincell


Movement.

A fist, pounding on glass, the sound booming. Someone is hammering on a glass wall in front of me and yelling something but it’s so hard to hear. I draw breath, dimly aware of the cold fluid filling my lungs and yet I can still breathe. It had frightened me before…

…the voices in my head clamor, demanding my attention. So many voices, so many things to do. Calculations fill my head, bits of conversation all around me, droning on….

Movement again. Two people arguing and waving at me…. Voices calling me back…. Numbers flash in front of me, line after line and it’s my voice as part of the rest, chanting numbers into the darkness….

Breaking glass and pressure that had been a part of me for so long falling away while the voices in my head scream shrilly as I sag limply, held in something. A hand slaps me but there’s still fluid in my lungs and there’s no more air… I can feel the liquid in the back of my throat but only a little spills out and my lungs are so heavy and there’s no more air….

..and suddenly I’m free, gravity pulling me to the ground and I convulse, spewing liquid from my lungs in sudden silence onto the cold tile floor. I manage to gasp and a little air gets inside me, I can breathe…!

“Is she ok?”
“I don’t know,” someone snaps, “I’ve never ripped anyone out of something like that before!”

Things are being pulled off of me, out of me – and then someone rolls me over onto my back, leaving me staring up at a blurry light. A shadowy figure leans over me as I cough and shiver.
“What’s wrong? Is she dying?”
“She’s cold! You do your job and let me do mine, alright?”

“Tara? Can you understand me?” Fingers pry open my eyelids and I stare back at the blurry. “We’re here to rescue you – do you understand?”
Rescue? Tara?

My left cheek stings hotly again. “DO YOU UNDERSTAND?” he says again, loudly. I manage to nod, drawing my arms across my chest. Hand sit me up, then wrap me in something dry and warm before hoisting up and over a shoulder, giving me a strange view of the floor.

“Do you think you should carry her like that…”
“We don’t have time for this! She’ll survive. We won’t if we don’t get going!”

Someone opened a door, letting in the acrid smell of smoke and the sound of alarm and scared people.
“This way,” someone said, as I bounced on my rescuer’s shoulder and stared vacantly at the dense beige carpet and a pair of heels in motion. Another doorway slammed open and carpet gave way to dim light glinting off of concrete stairs – and then there was grass.

“I got a serious trauma, I got to get to my rig!” my rescuer yelled, twisting the grass dizzingly, then hands lifted me off his shoulder and onto a soft bed. Faces half-familiar leaned over me as they tightened straps over my body and I was lifted into the back of a waiting ambulance. Doors slammed and someone next to me said, “Let’s get going before they realize!”

“What… going on?” I managed as we lurched into motion.
“It’s ok Tara, you’re out of there.”
“Out of where?”
“Is something wrong with her?”
“Naw,” my rescuer snorted from somewhere up front. “She’s just confused. Sorry little lady, but we just pulled you out of the internet. Your employer was using your brain for a server.”

[Ioreth]

OK, I'm here to comment on your awesome stuff! Let's start with Braincell, since it is your most recent piece. Also because I really liked it. Similar to the narrator, I had an enormous curiosity of what was going on. How you articulated the overwhelming questions in her head, and situation altogether, was so thought-provoking. It was all very engaging to me, as the reader. So good job with that.

You also have a way of building this mysterious setting.

Hand sit me up, then wrap me in something dry and warm before hoisting up and over a shoulder, giving me a strange view of the floor.

“This way,” someone said, as I bounced on my rescuer’s shoulder and stared vacantly at the dense beige carpet and a pair of heels in motion.

Another doorway slammed open and carpet gave way to dim light glinting off of concrete stairs – and then there was grass.

The ground was a key element here and I thought that was really neat.

This was an effective short story, seeing as the ending was when everything became clear and that realization packed quite a punch. The whole time she'd been stuck inside a computer... such cleverness! Loved it, Expendable :3

[Mykalwane]

The first poem I have to say as grand. It does kind of piers off towards the end with the golf clubs. The thing that worked well was the rhyme. Big out of the part hit was the emotional cues in the poem. Most of that fallows the reason why I hate most therapist. Don't care much about helping them out, just focus on where the cash spout.

[Expendable]

OK, I'm here to comment on your awesome stuff! Let's start with Braincell, since it is your most recent piece. Also because I really liked it. Similar to the narrator, I had an enormous curiosity of what was going on. How you articulated the overwhelming questions in her head, and situation altogether, was so thought-provoking. It was all very engaging to me, as the reader. So good job with that.

You also have a way of building this mysterious setting.

The ground was a key element here and I thought that was really neat.

This was an effective short story, seeing as the ending was when everything became clear and that realization packed quite a punch. The whole time she'd been stuck inside a computer... such cleverness! Loved it, Expendable :3

thank you, I'm glad you liked it. I like appealing the reader's curiosity.

The first poem I have to say as grand. It does kind of piers off towards the end with the golf clubs. The thing that worked well was the rhyme. Big out of the part hit was the emotional cues in the poem. Most of that fallows the reason why I hate most therapist. Don't care much about helping them out, just focus on where the cash spout.

It wouldn't be "Something Fun" if I didn't break something with the golf clubs! ^ _ ^

I'm glad you liked this. I wanted to get more into rhyming and away from free verse.

[Expendable]

Stumbling in the Dark

The Queen has lost her crown,
It's nowhere to be found.
So in the Jail she sits,
While my brain is throwing fits.

The Heaven Gates are broken
Because I lost my subway token.
Out there I seem asleep,
But in here I'm buried deep.

The crooked streets I wander,
Where the tattered memories flutter,
Searching for that hidden spark,
While I stumble in the dark.

Behind the mental doors I open
Are moments that lie frozen.
Memories I had tucked away
Just to keep my naivete.

You could say they did deceive,
But I wanted to believe;
Crawling through this mental briar,
Who really is the liar?

Every blunder I ever made,
All the steps that went astray,
I must face each and every one,
If this sleep will be undone.

The crown I found at last,
My token home I pass,
"You who wandered are not lost,
But now it's time to face the cost."

So I awake to the unfamiliar ceiling,
Overcome with feeling;
The Heaven Gates are open again,
I do not mind the pain.


Written for the Poetry battle between Reine and myself.