The Poem

I ripped the sheet from the writing pad

And screwed it up with a curse,

Nothing is worse! I’m fighting mad

When I can’t find a rhyme for a verse,

So the hour or two that I’d spent before

Had left Michelle in the air,

I hadn’t managed to rescue her

From the clutch of Jonathon Clare.

 

I tossed the sheet and it hit the bin

And I heard a cry of pain,

‘You’re not just going to leave me here,

Are you suddenly stark insane?

He’s got me tied to a chair down here

In a cellar, dark and damp,

But you’re just going to walk away?

And you call yourself a man!’

 

I pulled the sheet from the rubbish bin,

I couldn’t believe my ears,

Straightened it out, the crumpled mess,

The sheet was covered in tears,

‘You’re only a paper name, Michelle,

I’ve given up on your fall,

And Jonathon Clare, he’s gone as well,

I’ve screwed him up in a ball.’

 

‘You think,’ she sneered, ‘well he’s here with me,

And you’ve given him evil eyes,

You've left me stuck with a monster, with

A knife, you realise!

He said he’s going to carve me up

Do I have to scream and shout?’

‘He’ll have to wait ‘til I give my leave

And I won’t, I’ll cross him out!’

 

I took a pencil and crossed him out,

The evil Jonathon Clare,

Took the knife that he’d held on her

And cut her out of the chair.

‘Are you happy now, that you’re free to go,

I’ve done the best that I can.’

‘But leave me still in the cellar here?

By God, you’re a cruel man!’

 

I took the pencil and stabbed the sheet

And rolled my eyes in despair,

I shouldn’t have used the name ‘Michelle’

For I’d used the name elsewhere.

That girl gave everyone trouble, when

I scrawled ‘Michelle’ with my pen,

Always bleating her civil rights

When I rescued her, back then.

 

‘Will you just shut up, I’ve had enough

From a girl who’s make-believe,

You shouldn’t be able to question me

Or the plots that I can’t retrieve.’

‘So I’m not to be given a say in things

The hell that you put me through?

You treat me like a chattel of yours,

That’s nice! - That’s fine for you!’

 

I took the pen and scribbled a line

That would tie her to the stake,

Down in a Spanish courtyard back

In Fifteen Eighty-Eight,

I put a match to the crumpled sheet

And I said, ‘farewell Michelle!’

(Before I scribble that name again

I’ll burn in the fires of Hell!)

 

David Lewis Paget

Reviews

[Veronica Chandler]

Fascinating idea...the characters coming to life and talking to the writer. I would think if they are so very real to the writer, then they would breathe in the mind of the reader. With that said, if my characters come to life and start a conversation with me, I sense a trip to the loony bin in my immediate future. As usual I enjoyed the piece immensely.

[roarke]

Heh.
I think it's time ya took up a hobby, like flying door keys on kite string.....

But I thank you David for revealing to me the exact process for rendering troublesome, lingering characters ineffective and the method of sacrificial pyre to seal the spell.

But then again, that's what you get for being a good poet.....

[quinfinn]

i think i always use a name from real experience when i pen a verse. that way, i know who to be upset with when my block hinders my expression. though i should really blame myself, it is an easy out to an untenable situation. nicely done, David, a deep and remarkable victory.

[Marie]

My characters pretty much do as they please. If they come to a bad end, it's not my idea.
I like the name Michelle....I think I'll use it...

The sweet and beautiful Michelle/ was the town's most bonny belle...