[stylist] Need to publish your stuff!! - RE: Poem "The Death of Sweet Pea" - Firstish Draft

Sun May 17 14:07:48 UTC 2015

Hey William, Mister Bill 

Sad, sad, piece!!! Too real. Good job on a bad happening.

And so hey, the Writers' division' magazine  is looking to showcase members
work. We've not ever published you and your stuff!!! How about a short BIO
and some poetry? I'll attach the guidelines to this message. You are an
interesting writer, let's share you and yours to the membership and then get
it on our website, for the rest of the world to read.
(Anyone else reading this has the same offer!) 

Respectfully yours, 
Robert Leslie Newman 
President, NFB Writers' Division (for a couple more months)

-----Original Message-----
From: stylist [mailto:stylist-bounces at nfbnet.org] On Behalf Of William L
Houts via stylist
Sent: Sunday, May 17, 2015 8:16 AM
To: Writer's Division Mailing List
Cc: William L Houts
Subject: [stylist] Poem "The Death of Sweet Pea" - Firstish Draft

Good Morning, Blinkies,

Just finished a poem I've been meaning to get to for years, about the death
of my grandmother's favorite pet, Sweet Pea.  It's not a very pleasant poem,
but I think it has it's good points, even now. Your mileage may vary, of
course.

--Bill

---

The Death of Sweet Pea

A Shetland collie with papers, Sweet Pea in youth

was proud as an empress,with rich brown eyes

and a coat white, blackand tan, and thick

as a llama's.I don't know where Granny got her,

unless from some Enlgish lord loafing in Tacoma,

unlikely,grand and grey. For years, she dwelt

with Sugar, Babette and Fidella,

as well as Jet and Goldie, Granny's eldritch cats.

For years, she dined on kibble and eggs: people cuisine, almost,

and we loved her like a favorite aunt.

Then one day we found her, Mom and I,

by the hedges. Wheezing like a chimney winded by winter's

storm-cold breath.A nurse since the Crimean War,

or nearly it seemed, Mom knelt by the dog

and fingered her mouth, her throat.Sweet Pea breathed

gusts of rusting nails, and up came blood. She lay

on her side,and her caremel eyes were deeps

of fathomless trust. Mom probed her side with asurgeon's

harsh care, and found a hole in that heaving flesh.

A large coin's width, something emerged:a white blind head,

it lurched to and fro,a horror,a puppet obscene.

Mom hissed. "Get tweezers and alcohol from the bathroom!"

I ran, sickened andweeping, and urgent

that outrage should not go unopposed.I returned

with these tiny, these hopeless tools against the terrible ending.

We fought for our dog, weeping as Mom drew out innocent murder from Sweet
Pea's battleground side.But more, she fought for us,

such valor she showed in her wheezing,the peace in the death-wind's gale,

and the trust in those caramel eyes.

-- 

"Oh, Sophie!  Whyfore have you eated all de cheeldren?"

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