Archive | The Writing Corp Prose and Poetry RSS feed for this section

Super Human

14 Aug

I spoke to all our heroes, and this they said to me
Don’t define us by our power, just the angle that you see
For each of us is a human so normal, behind our collective super face
And you don’t see who we are,
For the course that is par,
Of our feeling’s there’s never a trace

I spoke to the man who is Spider, of red-and-blue nylon and mask
He was angered when I addressed him so, indeed he took me to task
“I was picked on in school”, he shouted at me, as he sprayed me with web from his hand
“So I might be cool now,
All the boom and kerpow,

Sad Superman.

Sad Superman. (Photo credit: Mark_Coughlan)

But I never could be in a band”

I spoke to the man who is Aqua, an Atlantean is he born and bred
And I belittled him so for his powers, what are they when all has been said?
He can speak to the fish, that power he claims, he can talk in the day and the night
But I said to him true,
As I say it to you,
What use is a minnow in flight?

I spoke to the man who is Bat-like, a sulky and sullen night creature
He forced me to speak to the shadows, so that I would not see his feature
He was angry I think, though I cannot be sure, for he claims no real superpowers
And because of that thought,
All his efforts are naught,
And all his sweet victory sours

I spoke to the Hulk who’s Incredible, he conversed in his pure human form
For he can’t really speak as his green side, his grammar is lower than norm
Though a scientist, truly a genius, no one knows of his vast knowledge stash
If the man must be had,
Then his fans are all sad,
For they vastly prefer the hulk smash

I spoke to the man who is Super, great hero is he here to us
Though I guess he’s just normal for Krypton, they wouldn’t make much of a fuss
Here he is strong, and a hero so long, he possesses a super acumen
But I say this to you,
As he said to me too,
“Naw man I’m just super human”

What is a Writer?

7 Apr

what-is-a-writer

I asked myself the other day,

Why am I a writer, what made me that way?
That question’s ad hominem, it asks about me,
But it’s true of all writers, counting you thine and thee
Because when you sit, and examine that question
Writing’s more than a job, not just a profession
A person who writes, whether tiny or small
Is always unique, from the first word they scrawl
So now, let me see, we’ve defined some new terms,
A writer’s a creature, not a snail or some germs
But how do they form? Do they pass some hard test?
Or perhaps are they hatched, from an egg, in a nest?
Now I still don’t have an answer to the question I asked,
But now I have new ones, they are rising quite fast
Is there more than one kind, is it decided by age
Can a man be a writer if he’s not old and sage?
To answer all this we might have to digress
Because it is I who must also confess
I don’t have the answers, I don’t know who’s a writer
I just know that I am one, more than lover or fighter
And I don’t know you, I can’t tell if you are
I don’t know if you rhyme or your thinking’s bizarre
Yet one thing I’ll say, and this fact I ensure
If you think you’re a writer, then you are, to be sure
This poem was written by an author of The Writing Corp. To see more poems by the same writer, hop on over to nesherehrman.wordpress.com/
%d bloggers like this: