Mr. Monster

Billy stood like Galahad,
like from the myths of old.
Arthur's only true friend,
or so Billy was told.
But Billy didn't feel much like a Knight,
he'd been in that Spanish heat so long, he only felt the cold.

His 357 shone like silver in the sun,
he walked a little lighter knowin' he held that heavy gun.
Now perhaps he'd never killed a man,
but he wanted to before the Day was done.

Oh Billy! Don't you kill that man today!
Lord knows it's gonna be the Devil that you pay.

Billy'd never take a life, but he weren't afraid to die.
He'd fought his share of battles with a world that liked to lie.
So when he saw the Desperado commin',
he just wondered idly if this'd be the coffin where he'd lie.

The Desperado stood across from him,
unaffected by the heat.
His brown hardened skin led
to calloused hands and feet.
He wore a belt of bullets,
the barrel of his shotgun and Billy's eyes would meet.

But Billy stared into his Doom and laughed away his fear,
His soul bore no regrets, and his mind willed away his tears.
His balls shrunk into his stomach, but still, he grinned ear to ear.

And all the land would remember the cry,
of Billy's sacred holy words, "Eat shit and die!"

Billy drew his gun.
He drew his gun. And he fired.

Oh Billy! Billy killed a man today!
And now...he's got Hell to pay.

All six rounds exploded
in the Desperado's chest,
as blood poured out from the holes,
gone was Billy's jest.
Little clouds of bone flew into the air,
like so much dust or smoke.

The taste of blood entered his mouth,
as he watched the stranger go.
He no longer wanted water,
he just wanted home.
He no longer thought about the stars,
or old forgotten Rome.

Throughout the years,
he never left, in spirit or in heart.
The pink wet embrace of woman
didn't free him from where his Hell had start,
and as he drowned in Whiskey River,
he couldn't out swim his thoughts.

Oh Billy! Why'd you kill that man that day?!
Ohh, now the Devil done collect his pay.

ATTENTION: those of you reading this and finding gramatical errors, just know they're there on purpose. As are the typos. It's intentional. Just wanted to clarify some shit.

erikestabrook

now this I liked mr.Monster, however I find it starnge that eat shit and die would be reemembered not something i would wnat to but your obviously from a different way of life an dstyl eof poetry which i'm beginning to like just needs the rigjht plavce like a western theme not alove poem or a crazy notion like that you write gritty and straight-forward

Mr. Monster

Thank you, thank you kindly. Yeah, showing off your skill never appealed to me. That's why I don't listen to Opera that much. It just bugs me that this person is singing just to show how high they can sing. They don't feel the song, they don't put any soul into it, and it's almost as if they don't care about the song as much as "astounding" people with their high-notes. No no, give me Black Sabbath. Ozzy can't sing half as well as Pavaroti, but he puts what he has into that song. Anywho, rambling. Yeah, I am pretty gritty and straight-forward. I guess I'm more about conveying the message then technique.

Oh awesome, a Viking smiley!!! BERSERKER!!!!!!!!!!!

And this guy!

erikestabrook

thats fine some poets consider me straight-forward too although I don't believe them, i'm no opera fan, although I do like some bands who color their music more, however you know poetry is an age-old science a little technique never hurt anyone, glad to meet ya and getting to like ya already

MsJacquiiC

Well I'm an opera fan --- Bizet's Carmen is the shiznit... Puccini, Rossini and especilly Wagner's stuff is ALWAYS on point, no matter how old...

Now let me read the poem and I shall endeaver to critique... ALSO just for future reference - The Critique Saloon is not a place to get to chat each other down and have lovely little t-cakes with uniced & creamed tea

1. AWESOME piece of writing... The story you weave Mr. Monster is with the best - Rumpstiltskin (sp?) couldn't begin to outthink you and your amazing posse of wit...

2. I do have a couple of suggestions
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Billy stood like Galahad,
like from the myths of old.
Arthur's only true friend,
or so Billy was told.
-----------
-----------
This stanza is right onpoint and right-away captures the readers' attention... I'd like to have seen more reference to Galahad, perhaps even more reference (old-timey sayings of old) of Arthur and how the fall lead (no pun of course) to the Magnum being pulled. Perhaps a reference of "itchy trigger-finger" could be called into play or some such.... Perhaps a reference to Samson with slingshot or some such...

But then again the rhythm of your poem is so onpoint (again) that the His 357 shone like silver in the sun line corroborates in the following stanza.... Very nicely done!
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For some reason I'm wanting more "in-depth" for this stanza - Yeah Yeah Yeah - I know it's repeated but whatever ----- I'm wanting to hear the clicks of the heels:

Oh Billy! Don't you kill that Man today!
Shoot him dead as fallen prey in booted heels spurred
with malicicious intent. Lord knows
It's gonna be Him that pays...

Perhaps I wanna weave a different story LOL - but still - That particular stanza is wanting of something. I'm thinking you'd possibly want to distinguish (maybe with separated lines) between the "Lord" and the "Devil"

Somehow I see spurred boots and the ungodly click of heels in the mix...
------------------

The Desperado stood across from him,
unaffected by the heat.
His brown hardened skin led
to calloused hands and feet.
He wore a belt of bullets,
the barrel of his shotgun and Billy's eyes would meet.

possibly rewritten with emphasis on punctuation and linebreaks... And continuity of line length...:

The Desperado stood across from Him.
Unaffected by the heat, His
brown & hardened skin
products of calloused hands and feet.
Ready with belt, bullets barrelled:
He with shotgun. Billy's eyes he'd meet.
--------------------------

And all the land would remember the cry,
of Billy's sacred holy words, "Eat shit and die!"

perhaps after this stanza - 1 single line stanza:
Showdown:

Billy drew his gun.
He drew his gun. And he fired. ----> He as Desperado (name "him")

Perhaps even a breakdown of that particular stanza:

Billy drew his gun (slowmo)
Desperado - such an old lovely song
(Horses and such) - bucked
off game, pistol in hand.
He drew his gun......

hope that makes sense LOL
-------
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Anyway - just suggestions - perhaps I see this piece totally different and don't want to know the ballad of Desperado's Magnum...

At anyrate - LOVELY piece - Awesome storyline - I'd be excited about publishing this one!

But seriously - with the last stanza:

I'd definitely want to "hear" the click of heels - I'd want to know that it's not just a story-poem - I'd want to shiver after reading your very last line...

"Pay" to me is something thats especially touchable, feelable, gripable... It'd be a type of Texas Justice perhaps:

Oh Billy! He done killed the Man today!
Shot him dead as fallen prey in booted heels spurred
with malicicious intent.

Lord help us.