Okay, back in Beginning Poetry eons and eons ago (try a year-and-a-half or
so), we had to write a prose poem--that is, a poem that is set down in
prose form, using complete sentences, allowing the line to continue to the
margin, and such. I wrote this one but almost immediately scrapped it
because I knew none of my classmates would understand what was going on.
However, if you've gotten this far, you probably *do* know what's going on,
so I think you can read it. Don't own characters; make no profit; don't
really intend any copyright infringement--hope you enjoy.
SCIENCE-FICTION HERO
(for all the Doctor Who fans out there)
He was a little man with a fedora plonked on his head, as if it fell out of the sky and he just happened to be under it at the right time so that his wild black curls of hair could catch it. He was a little clown of a man who couldn't walk straight without falling over his own feet if he didn't use his black brolly with the red question mark handle for a cane, a musical little man who liked to play the spoons and listen to the blues-- 'there are no colours without the blues' he could tell you with a secretive smile--a kind-hearted little man who never ate meat and didn't like pears. He was a silly little man with big mournful blue eyes, and he pulled flowers and silver gleaming swords from out of nowhere, and he liked to make bird noises and flutter his fingers at babies to make them gurgle. He was an unassuming little man who stood with a gun centred on his chest, and his rough voice grated out with an anger that made his little body shake, 'Go ahead, end my life,' and the soldier found himself, without quite knowing why, unable to pull the trigger and end the little man's life.
SCIENCE-FICTION HERO
(for all the Doctor Who fans out there)
He was a little man with a fedora plonked on his head, as if it fell out of the sky and he just happened to be under it at the right time so that his wild black curls of hair could catch it. He was a little clown of a man who couldn't walk straight without falling over his own feet if he didn't use his black brolly with the red question mark handle for a cane, a musical little man who liked to play the spoons and listen to the blues-- 'there are no colours without the blues' he could tell you with a secretive smile--a kind-hearted little man who never ate meat and didn't like pears. He was a silly little man with big mournful blue eyes, and he pulled flowers and silver gleaming swords from out of nowhere, and he liked to make bird noises and flutter his fingers at babies to make them gurgle. He was an unassuming little man who stood with a gun centred on his chest, and his rough voice grated out with an anger that made his little body shake, 'Go ahead, end my life,' and the soldier found himself, without quite knowing why, unable to pull the trigger and end the little man's life.