GURPS Poetry of Steven MarshNo, this isn't a book of GURPS poetry rules. It's a page of poems I've written that have been inspired by GURPS books. I developed something of a reputation in the Creative Writing department for picking the most bizarre things to write about. These are, probably, no exception. Usual disclaimers: This is considered publishing; these are mine. Don't submit them to Poetry magazine or your teacher. That's just wrong.
Fly in the Cold War IceIn addition to sabotaging machinery, spies can sabotage events. These operations often resemble enormous practical jokes. . . . [One] such incident occurred at the Chinese Communist Culture Exposition in Japan. CIA posters advertising that event promised, "Lots of free Chinese food." Over 18,000 people appeared for an event expected to involve 400. -- Thomas Kane, Espionage The free world was protected by pranksters, the ones once vanquished to corners in conical hats and forced to "think about what they'd done." But war made for strange bed fellows, and the global powers made experts in short-sheets. We slept at night for their heroic efforts: the East Berlin Doggie Doo Drop, the Krushchev UN Whoopie Cushion Plot, the Korean "I've Got Your Nose" Maneuver. Episodic, these years were spent waiting, waiting for payoffs, punch lines, the inevitable that never seemed to come, except by surprise. Children hid under desks, frightened and snickering; the terror of the U2 falling with its clown nose payload, shot down by a Soviet pie launcher, the slow menacing spread of Sarcasm to China -- North Korea -- Vietnam, the Cuban Exploding Cigar Crisis. But the wall was torn down, destroying graffiti that read, "There once was a man of Datong. . ." and the pranksters are old and forgotten. These times are tame, with little to think about. We don't live in fear of Brezhnev's handshake, but no one smiles anymore as they're shot in Dallas. Leaving Ed Wood for the NightThere's little that can be said about the legendary Tor Johnson, except that he was a big, scary-looking guy. -- Paul Elliott, Atomic Horror Children pounce and giggle when he comes home. Daddy! Daddy! they squeal as he scoops them up in arms tired from carrying women, picking up cardboard walls he'd bumped into. Dinner's large and ready when he comes home. Pot roast, potatoes, rolls and corn, with promises of pie and a warm bed, loving woman later tonight. He says grace, large hands folded on themselves. The television hums and flickers when he comes home. The tiny screen tells of Eisenhower's heart, failing in Colorado as the stock market crashes and he nods in silence, understanding. The shower spits and hisses when he comes home. The sweat and dirt of Lugosi's lab melt away like the stranger's question of what he does for a living. He always replies, "I frighten children." Last updated February 10, 2000. |