Fish

For those of of you Expecting to read More of the tale But well unfolding About the sentient verse With the name Of Poem Though I am home And feeling good  With how I'm writing I need to take it off the schedule yes For it's own success Not that anyone was Because I'm sad to say That what I do Much but passes beneath Most people's notice Even though it;'s for free Who cares about poetry Outside of the poets Aye the answers' few And far between But I still have hope That this can change And I can be a minor star Of some good kind For those of you Expecting more of Poem I think today That he'll come on back But not too soon Likely after I've turned the coming age Of 48 Not too late in the month But days from now Charles Petrie Date 09-30-19 Time   23:49-23:59=10 Word Count 147

I shook my head and smiled, as to sigh would be making like I cared that he was about to get beaten down like the fool dog that he was because I certainly didn't care one bit if he took the beating of his life. Though being a poet, he'd surely gotten his share of beatings before. I could not be certain sure that the beating that I was about to put on him was going to be the worst he'd ever received. "I would say that beating you is going to hurt me worse than it will hurt you Paul, but no, I have been waiting to beat you once you refused to to just hand him over to me." I flexed my hands one more time and moved on him like the bitch that he was. Charles Petrie Date 09-28-19 Time   23:42-23:49=07 Word Count 138

"It isn't right Paul?" I asked, incredulous that he could be standing there before me denying the wonder that was him having created a living breathing being of verse who had the wherewithal to know what he wanted and that it wasn't him as his guardian because he could never give him what he needed, let alone what he wanted. "You are a fool Paul and why can you not understand that you will never be any good for Poem. "Fuck you! What do you know about anything? I don't even know your name, not that I want to. All I want right now is for you to leave." Charles Petrie Date 09-27-19 Time   23:51-23:59=08 Word Count 109

He looked up at me flexing and gulped hard,m knowing that the odds were stacked against him. "But it's my poem. Why should I have to give it up?" he asked, sounding so very pathetic as he did, more like a boy than the man that was. Well, he was a poet, so that was hardly the kind of man than most women would want, he was nominally a man. Just much smaller than me and insignificant in strength, speed and toughness. "Quite simply because he is not your property and has stated his intent to me quite strongly. he doesn't want anything more to do with you Paul and if you were smart, you would allow me to take him away without any further need for the very real feeling of pain that I will make you feel if you deny me Poem." I said, exasperated, but still having not laid a finger on him. I could only stop from wailing away on him  for so long. And fool that he was, he could not understand this. "It's not right!" He said, refusing to understand jus...

He stared at me like he didn't understand what I was saying and wanted me to stop talking because the act of speaking  was causing him pain. "It;s my poem sir and I'm not giving him to you. Now enough is enough sir, I don't want to repeat myself again okay? So you can leave." I stopped flexing and strode at him and dealt him a hard shot in the nose, not wanting to hurt him, at least yet, rather, wanting to make him think about the world of pain that he was in for. "Paul, do you really want to put yourself through the world of pain that you are asking me to put you through?" Charles Petrie Date 09-25-19 Time   23:54-23:59=05 Word Count 117

"What do you want with my poem?" He said as his tone turned sharp and he crossed his arms and made an angry face at me, demonstrating his clear intent to deny me what I wanted. What a fool he was. "Ha ha ha! have you not looked at me and seen the difference between the two of us?" I said, smiling as I did and flexing the fingers of my meaty hands that were made for wailing away on fools like him. Besides, he was a poet and there was few who could be as easily beaten as them. "I'm not giving you my poem mister, so you can go away because this is a neigbourhood with watchful neighbours that won't hesitate to call the police, who will be here very soon." He said to me, momentarily shaking off the fear in his eyes that he was not doing a good job of hiding. "Fool, Poem is more than just a thing of verse but is a living thing that called on me to save him from the shortness of your reach that will never be able to give him what he needs to be...

There once was a poem Yes given life By a goodly creator Who couldn't give to it What it needed yes And it caused the verse So much stress That it took sick And called his maker a dick Now the poet himself Wasn't a dick at all But Poem was a special rhyme And demanded more Than his poet could give to him And this he could not bear So Poem called out To the wider world And  asked for help Because he'd be damned If he'd stay with the poet Who couldn't give him Any of what he needed  To be a happy and healthy rhyme And that's where I come in. I'm Johnny Haskers-Crenshaw and I do unusual things and I've never done as unusual thing as rescue a sentient poem called Poem. If his poet is smart, he won't get in my way and try to hold onto Poem, not that I can blame him because if I was anything as sad as a poet, who'd just written a poem that had come to life, I'd want to keep him with me too. But I'm not one to be fu...

Spleck is back I know you missed it. 8-p

I will not end the day With a great good bang That just ain't the way  That it will be As I lacked the drive To write the words hard But that's okay Because that I did Yes earlier So I could almost take it easy And sadly that is what I did When what I wanted was To write as like My life depended on it Because I had a wish To end this day In the same good way I ended the last With homered blast Yes over the fence As that is what The good six thousand is But I barely hardly writ And this is nearly the end of it Though I've time enough To reach the height Of the second good peak Of the daily mountain That yes I climb Each new day Aye what else Would you call it When I seek to write Morning noon and night For the goodly thousands each Not just one and two But three four and six Which was the aim today And remained a reachable goal When the quarter began But the number was too damn high And I...

I'm here to kill some words Because that's what writing is We are hunters yes And words they be Our goodly prey Or is that much too much Of violence and anger Of which there is Too much of that And we should strive To better survive As the level of hate Endangers us all I say no This is just a thing I say to pump myself up As it makes me feel Like oh so capable And able to rightly conquer In my goodly dream Of writer's success So please to not But up and  cry How dare you talk Of killing anything Even words For everything is Oh so serious You can't say a thing Like in days gone by Though some of what Was fine in the past Was rather in the wrong And we're better now With cutting that shit out But there's a point Where rightful changes They go too far And we hit a stupid place Where you almost can't Do anything  Without a stupid result And here we are now I'm sad to say Though it doesn't affect my own g...

Write fuck write Though it's late at night And ain't the way You earn money eh And likely ain't but ever No matter how clever You might but be It's what they say of thee And they'd be right perchance If I couldn't make the words dance As I can make them yes And I'm banking on my success With this offer thus I will write and draw A million and a thousand  Respectively And all it will cost you is A pauper's sum To come along  For all or all the way Or so I say Like how damn dear Is thirty bucks For all of that It sure sounds like a deal to me But admittedly It could be dear to you And something you'd never do There's sure to be those Who think like that To which I reply I've got my other prices And even if  It ain't your thing I choose to believe in me And dare to try to be The Million Word Man Paid for a year To do his thing And if I'm wrong I'll be sad and pissed But glad I tried Yes a...

I'm newly returned home And while away I felt so super eh I felt like I could fly And the only cry That I'd let loose Would be but one To free the goodly beasts Of gooder words And reach the mountains tall That I seek to climb Each goodly day But I ain't got none of that now I'm like totally empty And can barely write a thing At least in the way When I was away I'll never fail to write As I haven't failed In the writer's act Since a distant May All those years ago  This very day And only twenty others Before that final when I didn't care to write Because I always have the time Even if it's only for Five minutes here Or ten minutes there Though it's always longer Because that's what my life allows And oh but how I use it Just not today As I've barely hardly writ And what I did was shit Save for this  I dare to say Because I feel the flow Ain't writing slow Like I was before And wish I had mu...

Something brief Even if it should cause you grief That you get but just a snack When what you want Is the whole damn meal Which just but goes To show you this We can't always get that thing That we want alas You get what you need And that is me Apparently Because here we are And you're happy yes About this thing So it must but work Or am I just spinning A salad of words And you hate salad most So this is where You check yourself out Well if that's the case You do you I'll still do The poet's thing For whoever happens by Until I don't Something brief And filled with grief Of things but lost So not but nothing fun That it should have been Especially when I'm in the post-film wake And should be riding high Thanks to that But that's us artist folk We're all kinds of broke With no easy fix Though money Sure would do A lot of good Something brief But lingering long Like damn that fish He's som...

It would have to be Some kind of fuckery To stop me from The reaching of this goal Which is to write of course For the 19th day Six good thousand words Though that ain't the part Of this good streak That fate would seemingly want To up damn end As twice I copied a And b was pasted Which is time but wasted Enough to make me drum my fingers Yes on the desk And loudly sigh Why oh why Did it have to happen now And yes you can scoff Because the kind of reaction That I would normally have Is far less happy go lucky And would have the anger simmering up In the easiest of ways For me to say A word that rhymes with duck But I said no I'll let it go And get on with the writing There's no sense in fighting Such a minor thing When I've word to write And which is more important To write the words When I have the goodful time And worry about the rest When I have don my thing Or goodly win Only to stupidly lose And clearly tonight I made t...

"No!" I said as I stopped feeling my face and jumped to my feet, not caring that the chair that I was sitting on fell to the floor, clattering loudly. I had the sinking feeling that more time had passed than I cared to even think about. So much so that I knew with a sick certainty in the pit of my stomach that the last day I remembered had given way to this one which didn't feel like the next one. And if that was the case, I would be furious and sad at the same time since I hadn't allowed a day to pass without the doing of what I was meant to do since I was much younger and less determined to keep the days as filled with writing as I do now. I balled my writer's hand into a fist and shook it in the imagined face of Jobo, though doing such a thing now would result in a fight that I could only lose badly. But he wasn't here and I was upset enough that I wouldn't care if he was. I would still shake my fist in his face even at the cost of what would co...

I'm here to say that here I was Because Well simply put I'm here to keep the string of days That I appear Remains intact That's a fact No to make you feel bad Not that you should feel sad But one never knows What a reader feels When they rightly know Why I am here So with that said And the writer's curfew That I have stumbled on Just Monday since About to fall in place For the sixth straight day I'll be quick And hope that you'll stick with me As you like my poetry And even Spleck Which is coming back You just have another week to wait And surely yes You can do that Because it's just one panel And hardly missed Since no one's said They're dying without it But I've long since given up On the sweet idea Of regular comments To give me a good idea Of how best to give My two readers What they most want So I guess it's best To just write for myself Which I've been doing Since July And any readership ...

Well well well Poem on a cell But beyond this start As I search my heart I come up dry No word of a lie I'm running on empty So the poetry Can only suffer yes And I confess I'm all tore up About this terrible lack Of words to write Which my post tonight Is gonna lack indeed Or so's the story Because rare is the day Where I will say With a serious bent That I am spent And have no verse for you Because this what I do I write in rhyme Like any time That I so wish I'm a little poet fish And you can count yourself Amongst the lucky ones Who get me for free Because this won't be The goodly case A year from now When your favourite fish Gets himself paid Aye paid to write What distant dream is this I would have said But months ago Before I came to know That this was where My future lay Though only for a time With the current plan Of writing a million little words And letting it all hang out Which I have no doubt Is ...

Let the good word fly Though before I die I'd like to make my living thus And my good plan With a site of my own Could well be that But if it ain't And it doesn't bring to me That which I hope it can Like not even  no A handful yes Though I'll feel bad And be rightfully sad I'll still carry on Aye it's what I do Though not for money yet Or ever as The nayful sayers love to say There ain't no day Barring disease or injury That I won't write Even if it never is but for That which we all but need Yes money don't you know I'll still go go go I'll just have to bend And while keeping on until the end Get myself right As I should always be Because while I ain't No Asimov Barker King Or dozens of others Who've plied their way With a good writer's drive I'm surely able yes To have success As I've had it before Let the good word fly Though before I die I'd like it to be for real That ...