"Desperado" drabbles by Michael Cunliffe
Desperado IV
Desperado #4
Unhappy with the porridge,
angry at my lot,
I wrote the judge a letter.
This is what he got.
'Your Honour, I beseech thee,
I've done a fair old time,
With the help of your correction,
I think my writing's fine.
How can I proper thank you?
For the wisdom you have shown,
Your timely intervention,
has made my writing grow.'
Then I got his letter,
Opened it with dread,
Gazed upon its content,
Could not believe 'I read...'
'Impressed with your endeavours,'
'I release you from your cell,'
'Call in at my print shop'
'We'll publish you as well.'
Desperado III
Desperado #3
Sentenced for my non-work,
I'm out on day release,
I headed out to beach head,
Looking for some peace,
There with pen to paper,
Enshrined in amber light.
My leg tag starts a-flashing,
As sudden, day was night.
In minutes I'm surrounded,
By twenty decaled cars,
And a sea of blue correction,
Collects me - under stars.
So on my way to station,
I write romantic lines,
Tales of blue affection,
Concern to see me fine.
They sent it to the judge-man,
Who added five more years,
And all around my ditty,
Were stain marks from his tears!
Desperado II
Desperado #2
My second time before him,
He's not a happy man,
He twiddles with his gavel,
Glares at me - in stand.
'I've heard the case before me,
and I'm left to understand,'
'You're posing as a writer,'
'You're such an idle man.'
'I've rumbled you - imposter,'
You barely write at all.'
'Call yourself a writer! -
'How do you have the gall?'
'You're sentenced to a respite,'
'This time for twenty years,'
'It's in the public interest'
'You never reach their ears.'
'In your incarceration,'
'I trust you'll find the time,'
'To come up with a ditty'
'And finally write a line.'
Desperado!
Desperado #1
The Literary judge dons the cap,
And calmly then pronounces that,
'Drabble is story, never verse.'
'You're not a writer but something worse.'
He lifts the gavel and gives a rap,
'I put it to you, your writing's crap.'
'I sentence you to a respite week,'
'Writing drama - then we'll see.'
'At least ten votes, there'd better be,'
'or you'll be back in front of me.'
'Yes, your Honour,' I hear me say,
Knowing ten votes don't come my way.'
So here I am in chosen cell,
Trapped within my 'living hell,'
... When I write I pray as well?
