Prompt 3
Please write a poem inspired by a poem on PigPen (not your own!).

I like TqB's recent 'Rat King'. It took me back to my student years and I wrote a sort of story. Sorry it's a bit long, but it's an easy read.

It's 2am. We're heading home. It's me and Sam and Greg.
We're full of beer. I'm very drunk. I stumble, bruise a leg.
Sam helps me up, then stops. 'Hear that?' he asks. A scratching sound.
It's coming from the bins behind the Balti, dodgy ground.

'Less go an' see,' I slur. 'Less not,' says Greg; 'it's just a mouse.'
'I wanna see the mouse,' I say. 'The mouse inside 'is 'ouse.'
'Alright,' Greg sighs. We cross the tarmac, walk towards the bins.
'Yuck, smell,' says Sam. 'Iss meat.' I sniff. 'And onon, onion skins.'

The scratching starts again. 'Oh, God,' says Greg. He's looking pale.
'Wassup?' I ask. 'The Rat King, Leaf.' 'In't that a children's tale?'
'No, urban myth. I've just remembered. Time for us to go.'
'Okay.' I'm scared. Sam wants to see. Greg tries to stop him: 'NO!'

Too late. He's seen. His eyes are wide. 'A ring of rats!' he shouts.
'It's thirteen tails, all knotted at the centre... whiskers... snouts...
and eyes. Well, twenty-six of those. But tails, they're like a brain!
My brain! The Rat King's in my brain!' He shrieks and shrieks again.

'Wass happening to him, Greg?' I ask. Greg's calling 999.
‘Get out!' Sam screams. His eyes are bleeding. Greg shouts, 'You'll be fine!'
The scratching stops. Sam collapses on the tarmac. Is he dead?
I rush towards him, grab his hand. And then I see his head.

It's all caved in. I turn away and throw up pizza, beer.
I think I'll faint. Just then Greg shouts, 'The ambulance is here!'
'Too late,' I mutter. Men in green descend. I'm helped away.
I'm blanketed. They ask me things. 'Rat King, Rat King,' I say.

'I tried to stop him,' Greg is saying. Greg sounds small and sad.
A man in green nods, pats his shoulder. 'Yes, you did. Good lad.'
They're lifting Sam. They've covered up his face, his head. He's gone.
Is this a trip? Why won't it stop? My thoughts spin on and on.

Another ambulance arrives. This one's for Greg and me.
They want to take us in. The shock. They say I've sprained my knee.
We're off. I'm shaking, don't feel right. There's cold sweat on my brow.
I didn't see the Rat King, but– I think it knows me now.
Inspired by Knot's Poem "The One that Got Away"

The one that got away.
What a figure in sheep’s clothing.
At least I understood what the people meant,
When they said that the mouse had left.
Getting away from the crowd and were sent
thataway to wherever it went.
See, I think I might have fallen in love
with the mouse that left.
I'm doing a combo:  Inspired by Alexorande's Always Space and just about everything rowens writes.

Rain falls and the blood of the gods
absorbed in the rock and clay
sown with the scent of a thousand desert flowers
is pulled out of the earth by a vengeful sun..

These are the glass houses
this is the rain
raped inside by an inner flame.

Yesterday a woman said I was dangerous
Because I’m in love with her.
Do women like danger?
I’m wrong about most things, so I’m asking.

Let’s not forget petrichor,
a.k.a. agrillaceous odour, the scent of rain
after a long dry spell,
named thus in 1964, 
subject of a French monograph in 1891,
the year Rimbaud died,
called “On the pure odor of the earth”.

A smell my son loved so well.
“All persons, living or dead, are entirely coincidental.”  Kurt Vonnegut
Thanks for your contributions, Maj and TqB  Thumbsup
All best,
'Inspired' by Leaf's 'After her fall'

... the wagon rolled on.

"This spring,"
said Helen,
"I'm slightly afraid
of the magnolia --

"Oh grow up"
said Flea,
"it's just a fucking plant.
Jesus, what is this shit
paint thinner?"


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