Ah, Poet,
Now hast thou but three bare days to submit,
To Shit Creek's Horror Fest, whose deadline is
September 1st, three days to send in work
Or else thou must miss out perpetually!
Stand still, you ever-moving spheres of heaven,
That time may cease, and midnight never come:
Fair Nature's eye, rise, rise again and make
Perpetual day; or let this time be but
A year, a month, a week, a few days more,
That I may yet submit to Shit Creek's Horror!
O lente, lente, currite noctis equi!
The stars move still, time runs, the clock will strike,
The Horror Fest will come, and I not in it.
Oh I'll leap to my email! Who pulls me dowm?
See, see where Shit Creek streams in the firmament!
One poem would save my soul--half a poem. Ah, Shit Creek!
(The clock strikes the half hour)
Ah half the hour is past! `Twill all be past anon!
Oh Shit!
If I do not submit my poetry,
To SCR, that splendid online zine,
I see no end to my incessant pain;
For, when others submit,
Their poems are soon online in Horror Heaven;
But mine must languish in non-Shit-Creek Hell.
No, Poet: curse thyself; curse lethargy
That hath deprived thee of Shit Creek Review.
(The clock strikes twelve)
Oh, it strikes, it strikes! Now, send the bloody email,
Or Shit Creek will move on, leave thee behind!
(Thunder and lightning)
(Deadline Saturday 1st September)
[This message has been edited by Paul Stevens (edited August 29, 2007).]
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