Four Men

there are four men inside of me
and they are always at war.
the boys drink their whisky and
plug big round red holes of hate
in each other. when they get
low on ammo they patch each other
up, pass around the bottle and
take potshots at passerby.
after awhile they make enough
to go buy some more ammo and
whisky. when they leave I run
out and pick up the shells.
if I hold one up to my ear
sometimes I hear me whispering.

Workshop if ye be men of valor, for the entrance to this cave is guarded by a creature so foul, so cruel that no man yet has fought with it and lived! Bones of full fifty men lie strewn about its lair. So, brave knights, if you do doubt your courage or your strength, come no further, for death awaits you all with nasty, big, pointy teeth.

Comments and conversations on this post

  1. As requested by Mr. Adam “would also help if you left this info as comments” Harvey, I post this email discussion of said poem:

    L: i think you should blog about something interesting and deep today.

    AH: done and done

    L: damn.
    you’d make a good wife.

    AH: no really, i’m already done

    L: i know.
    dork.
    i like the last two lines.
    deep.
    and interesting.

    AH: is the misspelling too much?

    L: it may throw a person a bit.
    i was wondering about that myself…

    AH: i want it to sound childlike though…

    L: real quick–i wonder if you’re gonna misspell “four” in the first line whether you may wanna misspell it in the title as well?
    and actually, i didn’t get that. i thought you were going for rednecky. heh heh. though that just may be that i didn’t read it close enough. although. if you were going for childlike, i wonder, would a child have such depth of reflection and understanding of the people warring inside of them… also, would they have knowledge about whiskey-drinking and stuff (i think that’s what leaned me in the direction of rednecky).

    AH: i changed the title before you sent this. hehe.
    and okay. will think on the gimmick a little more.

    L: also, might you want to misspell something in the last two lines as well? just wondering b/c they kinda set themselves aside by the preciseness and crispness of the language which is a bit different then the rest of the poem. i do like them lines though.

    AH: perhaps i should f— up the grammar instead of just misspelling then. cuz the last line has fucked up grammar

    L: wow. my grammar clearly sucks. what’s f-ed up about it?

    AH: “me whispering” “myself whispering”

    L: oh. heh heh.
    eh. grammar shmammer.

    (*weeping quietly to myself for my grammar suckage*)

  2. Way to censor my first usage of the word “fuck” but not the second one.

  3. Way to yo mama yo mama.

  4. i got the redneck vibe as well, but felt that it still worked that way.
    i might alter the beginning to:
    “the for men inside me are always at war”

  5. hick/child both have ignorance associated with them, so i guess that works.

  6. I’ve revised this to be a bit tighter, and spelt everything correct-like this time. the short sentences at the end are still a bit too choppy i think. the front flows more.