Lit Review: Stalker
 

The 'Cowboys' competition was a twin triumph for Bazza (under his alias) and Chris O'Carroll who both won £150. I would put the winners here if I knew how. When Jayne gets her print copy perhaps she can do us a favour

The new competition asks for a poem of up to 24 lines with the title 'Stalker'. I suppose that could mean a stalker of people or a stalker of deer, or even Sherlock Holmes's hat. The address is

The Literary Review
44 Lexington Street
London W1F 0LW

or email editorial@literaryreview.co.uk

and the final date is 26th November or thereabouts.

The Girl, the Dog, and the Ogre

Trekking homeward after work,
She doesn’t see the ogre lurk,
Much less his mad and twisted smirk.

The ogre doesn’t hesitate;
Leaps at her female form as straight
As a tiger at an ungulate.

When, suddenly, a canine, loose,
As large as any horse or moose
Leaps hard and puts his teeth to use.

A ghostly dog, his hair a-bristle.
Under her breath the girl says, “This’ll
Teach you!” Now she hears a whistle;

It’s coming from the kitchen. The pot
Of tea her ma put on is hot.
That strand of dream’s a locked-up thought.

She turns and sees her puppy snoozing.
Her dread, like steam from the tea infusing,
Has dwindled, though it was bemusing.

She yawns and stretches. Then the pair
Heads to the kitchen. Sitting there
Midst cups and plates and silverware

Sits the ogre by the table, smearing
Cream cheese on his toast, and leering —
A mien that looks far from endearing.

John (+ everyone),

I posted the LitRev results last Friday, along with the next comp details, as I always do.
We ought to keep to the one thread for it in future, don't you think? If you look in 'Search' and write LitRev it will come up with the latest thread. I no longer have to wait for my paper copy, John; they email me with an electronic link to the issue now. This modern technology's brilliant, innit?

Martin,

Your 'uncoiling' should be an 'ot' rhyme to match the rest - should it n-ot?

You are right, Jayne. Thanks! (During revision, I left that end-word in there. I was in a rush to do an errand.) I've made a tentative fix.

Martin

Apologies, Jayne. I should have looked. Here's one from me.


Stalker

I know you love me though you never say.
The secret smile you smile is just for me.
Nobody understands us. That’s OK.
I know you love me though you never say.
Look up. Our stars are showing us the way.
No need to fight it, this was meant to be.

No need to fight it, this was meant to be.
Our Destiny upsets the applecart.
Twin souls and bodies bound eternally.
Our stars are saying what was meant to be,
Only Love’s prisoners are truly free.
Our Love was Fate. I knew it from the start.

Our Love was Fate. I knew it from the start,
As rolling rivers rise in little streams.
Stop. Listen. Can you hear my beating heart?
Drumbeats of Fate. I knew it from the start.
Together always. We will never part.
I brought you flowers. How long ago that seems.

I brought you flowers. How long ago that seems.
Too many stars are shining anyhow.
Blood is our covenant. The siren screams.
Sweet scent of flowers. How long ago that seems.
We are our most magnificent in dreams,
Together always. Nothing matters now.

Oo-er, John, that's really creepy - which is what's required, after all!

Yeah. I see it as a Peter Lorre number.

Anyone remember the Tom Lehrer song about the man who murdered his girlfriend and cut her hand off?

"I'm sorry now I killed you,
For our love was something fine.
Until they come to get me,
I will hold your hand in mine."

Ah, the old songs was the best.

Gail, that's very funny!

Here's my offering for the comp: It's a serious subject; will they go for something light-hearted, I wonder? They're not exactly known for publishing humour. (I did a reading for cancer patients and staff at a local hospice this afternoon; they liked it!)

The Stalker

Myrtle was... ugly, it’s no use denying,
but she once met a man who was gentle and kind.
He asked Myrtle out. (She could barely stop crying.
It explains quite a lot when I say he was blind.)

Now her passionate urges had started to stir.
When her quivering fingers were clutched
by this man it excited her. (He's a masseur,
and her body had never been touched.)

But, sadly, this romance was never to be.
A miracle happened; by chance his
sight was restored by a surgeon, then he
very quickly withdrew his advances.

Myrtle was outraged. She’d been so content
and imagined she’d soon be his wife,
so a barrage of menacing letters was sent
to the man who had ruined her life.

She followed him, phoned him, attacked him as well.
Her revenge soon became an obsession.
He’d made Myrtle suffer. His life became hell.
Yes, she taught that damned surgeon a lesson!