tabitha and the lawn

when tabitha died the whole street lit up like a neon wilderness

the birds fluttered crazy in the ghost trees and around the roofs

the small, simple man from the corner house opened his mouth

and from it poured radiance the likes of which we had never seen before

a creature moved in to tabitha’s place, something mossy and revolting

we called it the lawn because it had patches of grass and clover on its chest and elbows

but really it could have been called anything you wanted

after a while the place smelt like wet cardboard

and the kind of fear a man gets at the dead of night

the lawn started eating the children, then the adults, the houses and the trees

pretty soon half the street was empty, and the lawn just grew bigger

now we sit, huddled in number 63, scared shitless and crying for the sweet lord

sometimes we miss tabitha, because what we got was far worse

but really, she was a bitch and everyone knew it

◄ dramamine blues

he must be full by now ►

Comments

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Stu Buck

Thu 8th Mar 2018 16:41

cheers both! glad you enjoyed it

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Wolfgar Miere

Thu 8th Mar 2018 12:30

Now that is just lovely and hideously funny.

David.

Graham Sherwood

Thu 8th Mar 2018 12:25

I wish I could dare to inhabit your space for just five minutes!

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Stu Buck

Thu 8th Mar 2018 11:59

i may have coined a new phrase. least i didnt drop the r!!!

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Brian Maryon

Thu 8th Mar 2018 07:19

This is getting even more bizarre Stuart...you're introducing a shirt into it now!!!

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Stu Buck

Wed 7th Mar 2018 21:50

thanks martin. due to the comments here i'm going to expand this one and write a shirt story based on it. so thanks! and fingers crossed i'll get funding but even if i dont i'll find a way!

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Martin Elder

Wed 7th Mar 2018 19:46

I agree with Colin that this could be part of a novel or short story. It puts in mind tales of the unexpected or a kind of scary Sci -Fi tale
But either way it is very good as usual and good luck with getting funding for you masters

<Deleted User> (13762)

Wed 7th Mar 2018 08:28

The very best of luck with that Stu. Just to add to Suki's comment I had Jeffrey Eugenides in mind when I read this poem. Well, however and wherever it comes from, it's all good stuff. Fingers crossed for the funding. Col.

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suki spangles

Tue 6th Mar 2018 22:40

Hi Stu,

This poem reminds me a little of 90s Douglas Coupland or Brett Easton Ellis, actually more the latter. Perhaps an excerpt from his "The Informers" novel.

It's interesting that you say this poem was inspired from a dream you had because that's how it came across too. Nice one!

Suki

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Stu Buck

Tue 6th Mar 2018 22:12

cheers guys. i dreamt about the lawn the other night. something horrifying and shapeless that was stealing children from a circular room with 5 safe areas and one exposed bed for the child who had performed badly during testing. the dream itself was completely surreal (as dreams are) and wouldnt have translated at all well. so i just bunged the lawn in to something i was already writing.

thanks brian, i appreciate you reading and completely understand the piece not clicking with you.

oh yeah colin, i am starting to write more stories, i like the surreal flow of my thoughts, i feel they fit quite nicely in to prose as well as poetry. ive just started applying for my masters actually, so many more creative writing exercises ahead (depending on whether i get funding which is a big IF unfortunately!)

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raypool

Tue 6th Mar 2018 21:42

This sounds like a chemical lawn derivative taken orally which produces hallucinations - but that doesn't of course explain it Stu. There is a sort of seventies horror flavour, with that clapperboard house with the three attic windows (can't recall it now). Murky and enjoyable in a shivery way. Does blood come from the taps? Tabitha is a scary name - too perfect to be true. Don't eat the magic mushrooms.

Ray

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Brian Maryon

Tue 6th Mar 2018 20:06

Stuart I love the last 2 lines...the rest of it is a bit mystifying for me I'm afraid.

<Deleted User> (13762)

Tue 6th Mar 2018 19:35

I've read this several times today and each time, like Pat, I head off in different directions. Any chance you could write me a whole novel like this? Col.

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