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The Creation of a Comic Metropolis


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[size=1]This poem is still unfinished. I don't know if I'm ever going to finish it. It's basically going to end up being an epic poem..whether placed with many poems, or one. Whatever the case, my point in making it is to have fun, and to sculpt my own "comic" metropolis, with its own heroes, villians, and so on.

I haven't read many comics, but I do feel I could get into them. When I was smaller, younger, I used to have a small collection of comics. I still have them, and have read them a bit here and there. Spider-man has always been one of my favorites.

So yeah..I'm wondering if this is even worth putting the time into. Because it's hard to write like this, I'm not usually found writing like this. But it's fun to do it anyway. Heh.

We'll see what people say. It's definitely getting stranger the more it goes on, lol. Which is totally me.[/size]

[b]Untitled at This Point[/b]
The two superheroes cascade round the 'scrapers,
and race each other to their headquarters.
All about the city mice scurry their way,
and young couples walk the night holding hands
while traffic scuttles in the broken streets.

A special city for a special duo is lit,
and the neon signs dance 'cross the sky,
signs about anything you can think of to buy.

Some of the city is in ruins,
broken by criminals, and ransacked by abuse,
a broken thing that's crumbling down.
Still some of the rest of the city is pristine,
and is light as a bulbing creature alive,
and it does breathe, and it does feel.

Its entire body is the festering mass
as they go about their ways,
and it's all glazed,
and over-drawn and hazed.

One man's reading a paper at a newsstand,
and he's looking mighty suspicious,
and his eyes are dancing this way and that,
maybe he's looking at the gals as they walk by,
but maybe he's got something more in mind.

Outside the newsstand the night is alive,
the sucking vampire that sucks blood and dines,
and everyone's walking like they're afraid,
the sky is starry as they pace their ways.

The cars are metal gnashers on wheels,
things that are nocturnal emissions,
and the stoplight by the newsstand is red.
A man too drunk to know his names sings
some country song too well-known
as he waits at the insidious red light.

He sits in his car and just nods his head,
and his eyes are spheres like planets,
and in them there's nothing and it's dead.
Like cold Pluto, or cracked Mars,
he isn't a star, and he's far away.
And he shuts his heavy eyes,
and finds rest in them.

The light turns green like a forest,
and all the trees are getting plenty of light.
Cars all in back just honk in the night,
the city speaks to waken the drunken man.
Cussing flies round the street like a hot sweat,
and the honk of horns mixes in the heat.

The man in the newsstand goes out to see the commotion,
with his newspaper still in his hand, he eyes round closely,
and he looks more suspicious than anyone's ever seen.
A smile crosses his face, a torpedoing submarine that's come to get air,
and he starts laughing haughty and mean.

He rips off his tucked in shirt and cordial tie,
and tips off his hat and it falls just like rain.
All round his torso there's tin that's stained
and he takes a mask from a cleft in the can round his torso.

His disguise is complete,
and now two modified beer cans mask his eyes,
and a Duff insigna of tin is his forehead,
and a tin can round his torso bulges with his gut,
and Duff paints the expansion of his belly, something like a stretched mansion.
His cape is round his neck, and it's silver to blend in,
and as he stands in dramatic pose,
his hands placed above to the sky, and his knees high in the air,
he bellows from his laugh and brings in air,
screaming, "The Tin Man is here!"
Then, "Or, for those who fear,
The Alcoholic Recluse."

There's a hussle and a bussle as people stare,
and all the gnarling cars open their windows,
shouting to and down, and all round,
and the noise is like the swishing of water,
and it recedes and goes.

"Shut up, you jackass," someone screams,
"Go back to the funny farm," another says,
And still another, and another,
and all about he is booed.

Still in his pose, Tin Man, or Alcoholic Recluse to those who fear,
looks down, and his eyes are quite dear under his aluminum cans.
He slowly reverts out of his spectacular pose, going back to limp,
and his disguise doesn't seem so grand, and it clatters as he regresses,
and he looks to the still shouting people, an eternal boo,
and he looks to the ground where the night is eating.
An endless abyss wells in his soul for a moment,
as it leaves, he looks in disgrace upon the people all snickering,
and he makes his voice louder than them all
"You dare boo a man!" he cajoles, and flings his fist in the air in rebuttal,
and soon he is back to his pose, and cocky as ever, and still the people wail.
"You scream like real fools!" he exaclaims, bringing forth gadgetry from another cleft
in his tin disguise.

He smiles in his mask even though the people yell, and he holds his gadget in his hands.
Holding it like an artist, he gives it a look, and knows it well.
It is a ray in the shape of a bottle of whiskey, and its murky glass looks hidden in the dark,
and upon it is painted, in bold letters that are most fine,
He holds it to the sky, screaming an apostrophe,
"Oh sky, I sense intoxic toxicity in your way,
the most imperative dice has been flung today,
these fools laugh like they know what comes,
but inhibitions have no lungs;
smite thee whom laugh!"

And Tin Man points to the still sitting car,
and the light is red again like a beacon.
And the car is still there.
"Did he do that?" someone shouts from their window,
another says, "It is impossible,"
and still others demean Tin Man more,
and still others have put their gnarling cars in reverse,
driving away from the scene in anger and hate.

A bold man steps from his car,
and walks to the stalled car, opening the driver door,
and looks inside and sniffs the air.
An endless permeation of intoxication fills his nose,
and he stammers back at the horrid smell.
Glancing about him, he sees faces all round,
and harks to them, putting his hands in the air.
"By God," he shouts,
"He's passed out in there!"

Voices begin to rise in amazement,
and some say their never-ending mercy to Tin Man,
but others are not so easily taken, and they still shout,
now with their fingers out their windows, a meek bird signaled.

The bold man steps back to his car, and is quick as he goes,
and Alcoholic Recluse to those who fear eyes him with amuse,
and with his ray, he presses down upon its bottom, and points.

A large sparkle of fizz escapes, and alcohol hits the air hard.
A smell so strong hits as some cover their noses in disgust,
while other stand it out as they must.
Under his Tin folds, Tin Man laughs an evil laugh,
and it has a wavering quality which is demonic,
and for effect, Tin Man goes back to his pose,
but this time he does a hand stand, and walks on his hands.

All during this, Mr. Tin holds the ray in fire,
and as he settles in his amazing pose, on his hands,
he finally stops shooting the man, and what a sight is seen.

The smell of alcohol leaves, but still hangs in the air,
and the fizz recedes as it goes from foam to nothing,
and the bold man is now upon his knees, chanting slurred about things too vague.

People are pointing now all round from outside their windows,
and the smile inside Tin Man's tin is quite wide as he is still in his hand stand,
and cleverly he does a back flip from his hand stand, going back on his feet.

"Haha!" he sings,
"Look upon this man?tell me, what do you see?"
And the people look, and they ponder,
and as sudden as they ponder, the bold man gets up,
and stammers round drunkenly.

People begin to laugh, and Mr. Bold grabs at the air,
chanting something about what is not there.

Tin Man walks over to the bold man,
and with his tin eyes placed on him he holds him by the shoulders,
and looks in the bold man's bloodshot eyes.

"Tell me, what is your name," he asks.
Drunkely, the bold man fights the grip on his shoulders,
and soon breaks free.

"Uh dun want no nam," says Mr. Bold, his eyes all scared,
"I DUN WAN NO NAM!" he screams, and all about people scream
at the loudness of his voice. And yet more now leave,
turning round away from the scene.

Tin Man, Alcoholic Recluse for those who fear, looks upon this bold man dear,
looking him over, he sees his eyes are full of wonder and scare.
"Do not worry," says Recluse kind,
"There shall be no Nam, not while I have mind."

"DAT GOOD! I DUN WAN NO NAM!" he still screams,
and people are all jumpy in their windows and some scream again.

Aside, Alcholic Recluse converses.
"It must be those weak of heart who scream,
most likely drama queens, those girls who are so easily afeared.
How scared it is to be drunken from beer I think I know.
About as scary as nothing else."

To the people in their cars, he now speaks,
and tells them a joke that has many kinks.

"I ask you in your cars to listen to a joke,
for it is stuff that is good to smoke.
Tell me now?it must be those weak of heart who scream.
Most likely those of drama queens. "

Some people admit to this entail,
but others deny they yelled about that at all,
but rather say they yelled at a racoon running round the road.

"A racoon? That is something a drunk would say.
I must say, I like your style.
Now on to the joke.

"There are four queens all in a row,
and all of them, they read drama.
They read Romeo and Juliet to each other.
And as they read them all together,
one of them plays Romeo.

"The one who plays Romeo,
her name is Jasmine,
and she has black hair.
And her voice sounds quiet dear
as she reads of her eternal love of Juliet.

'O, wherefore art thou Romeo,'
she says in tones most abused,
sounding so masculine she feels bruised.
'O, wherefore art thou,' she says again
most loud and most masculine.
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[COLOR=firebrick]Oh my....
I didn't know how to read it and so I was thrown back and forth. Laughing and giggling at the insanity and humour, then growing very quiet as you slipped in thoughts of sudden wisdom.
It felt as though I was laughing at someone who'd fallen on a patch of ice, only to discover that they'd broken their spine....
The scenery is well laid out, panning the surrounding with smoothness and an underlaying sharpness.

I'm not too fond of how you "ended" this poem/comic, the joke could have been left out, thereby leaving the reader looking forward to what madness lay ahead.
But like you said, it's supposed to be part of something bigger and if it's joint with its continuation, it should pass just fine.

It's interesting to see how you explore different approaches to writing.
Somehow you always manage to keep that chore, which is you.
Bravo !

- Mimmi [/COLOR]
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[size=1] Well Mimmi, the joke isn't even done yet.

Earlier I had some inspiration of how to end it...or make it, at least.

One of the girls will say, "O Romeo," and it would end up being some kind of sexual innuendo.

The entire purpose of the joke was so that Alcoholic Recluse could get enough time to perhaps intoxicate the entire entourage of people. We'll see though.

It's not finished...as I said. That ending part isn't even the ending lol.

We'll see if I pick it up sometime...but when I do start writing it again, I want to be in a as light-hearted of a mood as I was when I wrote it. We'll see.[/size]
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[COLOR=firebrick]Why does your reply feel like a giant tease to me ? [size=1]~_^[/size]

Well, hopefully I'll get the opportunity to read more of this saga.
But if not - then I will have to settle for everything else that you'll write [size=1]^_^[/size]

- Mimmi[/COLOR]
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wow. That is.....odd. Very humorous though. I like it alot. I might suggest that in some places you might want to change things a bit because I found myself stumbling along in certain parts. It became difficult to read and keep up with what was going on. Just my thoughts though. Nice work. I like the ending, although I don't see how it fits.
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