Inferno in Oz - 3

High up in a ruddy tree,

Safe from harm (though terrified)

Lion watches o'er his woods

And all who dwell inside.

Goosebumps crawl across his flesh

As the sky grows dark and cold --

Something angry heads this way:

A rage so very old...

And yet, what's that the lion sees --

A furry creature, small and black?

"Toto's here," he asks himself,

"Does that mean Dorothy's back?"

But something doesn't feel alright...

'What's he doing sitting there,

And has he been eating more?

He's near big as a bear.'

Lion calls out to his friend

(Knowing Toto doesn't speak),

The hell-hound turns, bares ruthless teeth,

And Lion cries a squeak.

'He's getting bigger all the time --

Soon he'll grow as large as I!'

He calls to Toto once again;

And again, no reply. 

Hour by hour, the black dog waits

As Lion watches from the tree;

Until at last, he catches sight

Of Princess Dorothy.

Filthy, haggard and enraged,

So much different than before --

And when her Toto sees her there, 

He gives a mighty roar.

Here, the Lion sees the truth:

Toto's grown quite strong and tall,

But isn't getting bigger, though -- 

It's he who's shrinking small!

No larger than a kitten now,

He tries to roar, defend his place,

But no more than a tiny mewl

Comes from his tiny face.

'What to do? I'm powerless!

Regardless of my bravery,

I can't defend anyone,

Hardly even me.'

'Perhaps I'll ask Miss Dorothy

To help defend the Quadling lands!

The Good Witch trusts her, as should we

with Oz' fate in her hands.

Yet, he doesn't like the evil grin

That sullies Dorothy's pretty face --

Nor the Hellhound's furious growl

As Quadlings scream and race.

----

- © Jackson Cambridge, 2015

Confession - 4

Standing there out in the open,

An actor on blood-painted stage;

My business too bloody to gage --

Her young body twisted and broken,

(I must have attacked in a rage)...

I had to quit standing there, frozen, 

Or I'd wind up a bird in a cage. 

Who was she, this girl I had ended,

To deserve such a horrible fate?

And why was I out here so late,

But to carry out deeds most demented?

She died in so ugly a state

From the fury with which I'd descended, 

And now there was no time to wait.

I sprinted back home like a missile

(I needed to get to my truck), 

My panic was starting to sizzle --

I couldn't be no sitting duck.

At that, my neck hair was a-bristle,

My clothing was covered in muck;

Outside, it had started to drizzle,

I was soaked, and I felt like a shmuck.

I went back to gather her body, 

And saw all the pain I'd imbued;

Her murder was sloppy and crude,

A pity, for she'd been a hottie. 

I stripped her right down, almost nude,

And felt the slight urge to be naughty,

But couldn't do something so lewd.

I rolled up her body in plastic

To keep it dry, out in the rain;

Scared to the point of insane,

I hadn't thought out any tactic,

My head was exploding with pain,

I knew I had done something drastic,

And knew it would happen again.

 ---

 - © Jackson Cambridge, 2015.

Inferno in Oz - 2

Deep in lands of midnight blue

Where once ruled Witch of wicked cause, 

Straw man hangs in field of corn: 

Scarecrow, King of Oz. 

Knowing not how he arrived,

Or why he can't move but an inch --

The pins and needles of his brain

Have ceased to poke or pinch. 

'I know this is no nightmare, and

Suspect I am alive (not dead),

But something here is deeply wrong,

For this is not my head.'

He tries to speak, but has no mouth

Or nose, and but one working eye;

No clue how he wound up here,

And no idea why. 

'Have I not been wise enough,

To be a worthy Emerald King?

Have I made some grave mistake

To be left here to swing?'

Of course, no answers come to him

(At least none the Scarecrow hears);

What irony -- to hang here deaf

Within a field of ears!

Struggling, he cranes his neck

And sees the hundred thousand nails

That hold him there, and then his mind

Runs clear off the rails. 

Panicking, the scarecrow screams

(in silence, not in words),

But silence has no audience

(Save maybe for the birds). 

Curious, they cock their heads;

A murder, black and beady-eyed; 

Almost sympathetic, though,

As if they hear his cries.

'Who has stole me from my home,

And put me back here in the corn --

Whoever did I treat so wrong

To earn this kind of scorn?

A better question, I suppose:

How am I to wriggle free

Without a brain, or arms or legs,

And but one eye to see?'

Nightfall comes so cold and dark,

With Scarecrow weeping silently;

'I suppose I'm stuck here... might as well 

Hope for Dorothy.

I know she shall come for me

And cut me down just like before;

Her kindness, I am certain shall

Set me free once more.'

----

- © Jackson Cambridge, 2015

Interlude: Wading in the Stream

Hello, my friends. 

    As most of you know, I have begun the Herculean trial of writing the first draft of My Juliet's novelization.* My word count so far is 6,289, which is about 2,000 words a day, assuming it's my top writing priority. 

    Having said that, the regular poetry updates will slow down a little. I'm aiming for at least two poem updates per week, which is completely achievable. 

    Once the existing narrative poems are finished, I'll only be posting single pieces, because My Juliet is the product of every poetic thing I have shared with you all; the axle around which my entire body of romantic work revolves.** 

 

    I wanted to take a moment, finally, to thank all of you who have kept up with my work, and supported me through the past 2 years or so. Every single like on Facebook and Twitter star is soul food for me, and to those of you who have purchased from my store***, I am truly grateful. You are all tremendously wonderful people. Thank you.

- Jack.

----

* The 88+ sonnet Juliet narrative I shared with all of you is the novel's outline.  

** My darker work revolves around a different axle altogether, the outline for which is currently called Crawlspace. ;)

*** Hellbreaker is now available in my store in PDF and Special Edition formats, and more items will be added as I get time to finish them -- and, either of my poetry collections would be the perfect holiday gift for a loved one or any poetry fan. Signed copies are available, but time's running out. Grab them while you can!