[Alan Wickes]

I've just been surfing the archives at SC and came across what I think is ger first post there in July 2002.

Ding Dong

Great Bast, today she pulled out all the stops,
all faff and fussle to impress her friends;
the bedrooms were a whirl of cloths and mop,
much bathroom bleach sploshed all around the bends,
great waspiness of Hoover on the stairs.
She wore a gypsy scarf to dust and clean,
to brush the suite and tut at velcroed hairs.
I split, aloof,-upheaval's not my scene.
She's donned a dress, a closet lecher's dream,
the pristine kitchen's pregnant with fine food,
the startled rooms and furniture all gleam.
Ding Dong. Her guests arrive in festive mood.
Ah, that's my cue to squat with blissful hiss
and souse the Persian rug with pungent piss.

There's just so much in this - a relish for the richness of language, a keen but humane sense of human foibles - I do hope somehow a collection can be pulled together. I'm happy to help in whatever way I can.

Alan

[Martin Rocek]

The Bast (cat) poem is quite delightful--unfortunately, in the discussion, she talks about her plans to
revise the poem; I don't know if she ever did, and if the revised version is available.

Martin

[Maryann Corbett]

I just found this terrifying piece on SC's sonnet archive 8:

.....A conversation with the dark

So tired of it, you bastard, tired of waiting,
tired of halt-breath time, anticipating
your cloven footfalls on my ribs--so blast
your eyes and ears--it's in my hands at last.
You sit like dust again behind the door.
I yank it wide to seize your hair, and roar,
I have you now! And slighter than I knew.
It was your shadow I had feared, not you.

I grasp you, grip you in my termite jaws,
you pissant prick. I seize you in my claws
and squeeze, you rat-turd, arse-wipe, moldwarp, minge.
The stalker stuck, laddo, too late to whinge.
I've grabbed you, gagged you, so don't try to beg.
Shut your throat and listen: Chicken. Egg.

.................................................. ....(Maz)