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Cyun

Cyun

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Capulet



Sat upon the grass next to Julian's parents’ grandiose house
Pretending to be most unassuming and as quiet as a spouse
Their own clean dewy cut blades reduced to a manageable level
Suited for his parents to step onto again and again, dishevel
Again and again, leaving patches of dry strangled
Brown, remnants of our withered love under the
Depression of soul of soles of their handmade
Leather boots from Verona, Italy—as if it would
Impress me.

I glance casually at the inflated dancing vignette silhouettes
Against the orange window like dancing black marionettes
I see your mother, slim, tall and in the light eulogized serpent
With a matching tongue, wreathing and hissing feculent ferment
Unheard words of ill-informed judgment about
What kind of girl I am and oh what a handsome
Boy you are, you deserve better than that scum
On my lawn, how about that girl who has those
Wealthy parents.

You are there, too, slightly cut from view by the damnable plush
Curtains, your fetching suave extremity magnified and so lush
Despite the shadowy delineation demeanor. Your so called mum
Was right about one thing at least, you are impeccably handsome
And it almost makes me doubt whether I actually am
Fit for you… no, the virago vituperator is getting to me
It troubles me how such a fetid womb could produce
A putti babe such as yourself, yet it plants no seeds of
Doubt into my mind.

The voices grow forte and the streetlights flicker hither thither
On this midsummer night on Montague Row. I now can hear slither
And your defending bellows shaking the ostentatious chandelier
To and fro, I am grateful; you take your mother’s blood and smear
It in her horse jawed face, you want to be with me,
And I with you and nothing her austere intimidation
With her piles of blood money and mounds of mud
Runny from her meddlesome backside visage could
Ever change that.

18-Oct-2013 16:30:30 - Last edited on 18-Oct-2013 17:28:30 by Cyun

Cyun

Cyun

Posts: 2,389 Mithril Posts by user Forum Profile RuneMetrics Profile
You step outside among the fireflies and the porch light flicks on
The door slams shut, wisping clouds of dust like a battle won, done
From the shutting of the gateway between the tyrant’s palace and tawdry
Peasant, me, who takes her son away. “When everything’s honky-dory,
When I marry you in an orange grove Romilly,
My sweet, I’ll be changing my surname to yours,”
He says, helping me up from the growing grass,
I laugh, loud so she can hear me, let her hear, let
Her know I’m happy.

“You’ll change your name to Capulet?” I kiss his supple lips, and smile
As we walk down the path out into the night, “Your mother would revile
At you, but I’d like to keep my name, it sounds so romantic and all that,
Yes, deny your mother and refuse your name, or if you will not," I spat
“Be but sworn my love—I’ll no longer be a Capulet,”
Then we spoke of jovial things and silly jokes and
Stupid folks about, we carefree in Millionaires Row
Content in the dark road, betwixt false classes and
Prejudice conformities.

18-Oct-2013 16:30:39 - Last edited on 18-Oct-2013 17:08:37 by Cyun

Cyun

Cyun

Posts: 2,389 Mithril Posts by user Forum Profile RuneMetrics Profile
The Weigh Out



the train is late today thats my luck charming now ive got puddle water up my leg end end end why cant I just end and cease swim into the tide and never look back but damn it the train has to be late when I want it to be early that bacon over there smells lovely but no no need for hunger when your dead right on time thats all I need why wont the train come why does it have to be great Britain the place where the son never sleeps and the wife leaves with the wind that birdsong hits me like faulks emotional wreck but the train is about to come but the twittering is sweeter than whistling and that little boys lollipop is shining red rosy oh youth I wish I could do it again but time is a one way trip and im always late but if this train doesnt come soon I know im gonna back out side into the street where people meet and laugh and love and eat why would I live why would I die I don’t want to die I don’t want to die the train is coming chug chug chug jump jump jump jump jump jump passed rush wind sh*t I didnt do it I did it I live I laugh I love and I go eat that bacon sandwich and see my sun of my world and kiss his rosy cheeks

18-Oct-2013 16:30:56 - Last edited on 03-Nov-2013 20:14:00 by Cyun

Cyun

Cyun

Posts: 2,389 Mithril Posts by user Forum Profile RuneMetrics Profile
New Labour, Old People



“Aziadizaircut?” Mrs Drummonds murmoans forceforLee Pratchet, her brother.

“Nah”

“Wullwyazanti adizaircut? Getinabit… long init?”

“Nah”

“Yerfriggennahs proper doomeedin”

Mrs Drummonds is a re-tyred lollipop lady, having passed her test, and bought a fiat lux – a religious lady too might I add. She drives passed her ex-workmates and over small bumps with snotty noses, bloody. Kids. She’s not been convicted yet for hitunemenruninemova.

“Nahmind” Mrs Drummonds whollipops him on his skull with her stationary stick, two legs needed to walk. Him is called Mr Leroy Pratchet in black Times New Roman letters on his letters, but verbally he is known as Jacket. Him. Jacket. Lee Pratchet. Misster Leroy Pratchet is watching a documentally stimutoolateinghe’stoouneducatedtounderstand programme on Discovery about the Remus and the wolves story but it gets a bit boring so he switches off and fondles his balls on the sofa occasianly thinking of the Chinese presenter with her bulging chest of gold out, with bronze little pennies ontop, but the thought is interrupted by the lost treasure of the Kaiser programme which doesn’t have a whotman in it. Mrs Drummonds comes in with TtotalT with sugar and scissors.

“ere,” Mrs Drummonds squareks with a jaw clenched like a box. “ereizomO’thoze proper aircutinzizzers. Uzem.” She throws them at his right knee and he “ARFEkin ell! Ubattyfriggenbint” loudLee.

Jacket doesn’t pay for his tea or axes. He swear sand beaches a lot about life. He doesn’t no or know Mrs Drummonds kiddie murmurders.

18-Oct-2013 16:32:07 - Last edited on 01-Dec-2013 13:31:36 by Cyun

Cyun

Cyun

Posts: 2,389 Mithril Posts by user Forum Profile RuneMetrics Profile
Fiction



I think the best place to start this would be where the characters are, for the most part, untainted by the events that follow. I hope this allows you to see the cause and effect – for the latter, namely the character developments in some shape or form. The story will begin with examining the stiff man sat on his bed, as he bends uncomfortably to put his socks on. The socks are new, the feet are old. His wrinkled, nicotine-stained fingers fumble around the elastic and he winces as he covers his cracked Heel. He is balding, with wiry hair drooping down over his Kissinger glasses in the sheer, epic struggle. Notice the comparison to Kissinger * this may be significant as we learn further of his disposition and ideology. Also notice what will become a motif; the external and internal that you may have come across in Conrad’s Heart of Darkness. Perhaps you will wonder the significance of the capitalisation of his heel – if not, think of Classical mythology. The man appears vulnerable; pale, bare, fleshy, wrinkled, raw. His wife witnesses him coming down for breakfast after a while, and she sees his sweating face.

“You should have called me up,” She exclaims, before biting and chewing her toast thoughtfully, as if trying to feel with her tongue a solution in the starchy mess. Examine the metaphor, please, and think why it is effective. “Toast?”

“No thanks, dear.”

“It’s about time you left for work anyway.”

“Yes, dear.”

They kissed each other on the cheek coldly and the man fetched his bag and proceeded out of the door.

Let us stop here to think how the story might progress and what themes are present. Age, power, marriage, gender perhaps. Also think of how a narrator might twist the same facts of the story to pursue their own message when multiple could be equally present.

18-Oct-2013 16:35:02 - Last edited on 20-Jul-2014 14:02:55 by Cyun

Cyun

Cyun

Posts: 2,389 Mithril Posts by user Forum Profile RuneMetrics Profile
This sentence, for instance. However, this is not an unreliable narrator – so take note of their analysis unless you wish to look foolish in front of everybody – including the omnipotent being that has read this story already and is the St Peter of your education. For you see, the author can only have one interpretation he or she wishes to communicate, and that is the only one that is important.

18-Oct-2013 16:35:10 - Last edited on 20-Jul-2014 14:01:10 by Cyun

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