Tag Archives: Transformers

#GloPoWriMo 2018 1 – Bravo


Shall I write of thee on this April’s day?
Thou art more lovely and more of plastic:
rough joints may plague thee– but hey!
some of this at least has been fantastic.
Sometime too hot the orange palette shines,
and often the pale complexion yellows
and every fair of toy sometime reminds,
by chance, of your franchise’s changing fellows.
But thy eternal glimmer shall not fade
nor lose possession of that mode thou ow’st
nor shall rust brag thou crumbl’st in its shade
when also in eternal lineart thou grow’st.
So long as haters seethe and eyes can roll
out loud I commit to you my own soul.



(After Sonnet 18; following Napowrimo.net prompt.)

NaPoWriMo / GloPoWriMo 2016 5-14: Travel Haikus

  1. Recarsi al gate
    numéro quarante-trois.
    Have a good flight, sir.
  2. Chicago. Drive, drive,
    drive, Indiana, drive, pause,
    drive, drive, Kentucky.
  3. America runs
    on coffee, sugar, and size.
    Look up, take in, gulp.
  4. Fast! Fast food, fast lane,
    fast track, fast! Quick! Get to the
    next thing, do it fast!
  5. Americana,
    Ethiopian, pizza,
    Mexican. Omnom.
  6. Pit stop: goldfish in
    a bag, flag cake mix,
    chilli nut cookie.
  7. Where Batman began,
    and Transformers wreaked havoc,
    I rise, high, and soar.
  8. Fellow robot fan,
    father, driver, artist, host.
    Good human, and friend.
  9. Travel bugs should not
    bite while on ten hour flights.
    *Cough* blurgh *passes out*
  10. It may be cheating
    but horizontal poems
    are all I could do.


NaPoWriMo 2015 Day 29 – Where


Where have my robots gone?
Is there another shelf for them
or desk on which to lead
their silent plastic lives?
A room that is one
and two and four
and a space that is more than
what it seems, more
than what it sounds.

Where has my artwork gone?
The wordland, the doctor,
the space between will and power
and better angels still?
No room for one more
as the walls are
laid bare again –
to prosper perhaps beyond
the boxed papers whispered
by faceless passers by
and sudden saxophones.

Where have my covers gone?
Are there no more layers
for them to build upon truths
and cushion the inevitable fall?
There is room for more
than one person
more than one body
to lie away
from the streets
more than one spirit
to inhabit the shape
left behind by another.

Where have my words gone?
Were they lost
where I last saw
where I last heard

Where will my room
find its space
find its sound
find its place
once it’s gone?

NaPoWriMo Day 18 – A True Fan


You must observe the figure
take in the curvature
the refraction of light on chrome
glint of flash on tinted plastic.

You must touch the figure
insinuate your fingers beneath
panels, permeate with life
the lifeless textured plastic.

You must lick the figure
savour the sweetness of the cracks
and edges of bittersweet ratchets
and salt tears of joy and plastic.

Then, and only then
you will become what I have been.
Then, and only then
you will be.. a true fan.

Prompted by yesterday’s NaPoWriMo.net suggestion, and inspired by something that a weird fan said once, on a discussion board. Weird fans are pretty weird.

“Transform me like one of your French bots”

NaPoWriMo Day 24 – Not Comics


Not the covers, not the titles,
not the issues, not the hardcovers,
not the limited editions, not the trades,
not the retailer incentives, not the covers A and B,
not the crossovers, not the events,
not the retcons, not the reboots,
not the deaths, not the rebirths,
not the shock-factor, not the wow-factor,
not the cliffhangers, not the reveals,
not the frames, not the gutters,
not the pencils, not the inks,
not the colours, not the letters,
not the splash-pages, not the spreads,
not the digital, not the prints,
not the previews, not the reviews,
not the sketches, not the toys,
not the conventions, not the signings,
not the TV series, not the films.

Not art, not literature, not both.
Pas de BD, non i fumetti, no las historietas.
See, what we’re really looking for
is good stories.

NaPoWriMo Day 17 – to Tell a Story


The text:

to Tell a Story

Come, Mon Amour,
let us make a Last Stand
against the Dark
with our Blankets.

Let us Drift towards the End
of the Horizon
before this Venom
takes us,
this Haunted Dance,
by the Circle of our Chaos.

Let us reach Complete
and find Asylum
from the Wound Within us,
our Civil War Reborn.

Let us Disguise
a long Unwritten History
of Heartbreaks
of Mysteries
to Protect each other
from Wrath.

And, as they All Fall Down
we will speed up time, for
The Arrival to the obvious

We Wanted Life

All the comics above – their writers, pencillers, inkers, colourists, letterers, editors and cover artists.

NaPoWriMo Day 10 – Battle!


Boom! kaboom! krakaboom! krakathoom! krraakle! crack!
snap! snip! slash! smash! splash! crash! bash!
flash! fling! twing! zwiiing! fiii! sfiond!
spoom! zoom! whoom! shoom! thoom! thwock!
shock! sok! shazam! pzazz! p-taff! pewpewpew!
pow! kapow! vap! bratatat! ratatatatatat…



The battle continues
in the next issue.



(With thanks to Written Sound.)

NaPoWriMo 3 – New Comic Book Day


What will it be this time?
As you trundle down the streets
you hold tight onto the change
you fought so long to have:
dishes were washed,
rubbish carried out,
rooms tidied and cleaned,
you even looked after your sister.
Small prices to pay for the prize.

What will it be this time?
As you trundle down the streets
you mentally check the pile
it took so long to have:
hiding, under the bed,
number after number,
in a bag, in a box,
away from your sister.
A small but prized possession.

What will it be this time?
The King will send you
on journeys through galaxies
and titans, worlds of wonder.
The Man will send you
on truly believable adventures
in cities full of problems.
The Mage will send you
to the realm of dreams
and creatures and things.

What will it be this time?
Your mind swarms
with caped crusaders and men of steel
Amazonian princesses and walking dreams
mutants and spiders and lightning
robots and monsters and aliens
…almost giddy, you open the door.

What will it be this time?
Bell rings, smile on your face,
you walk by the wall of wonders,
and stop at the counter almost too tall
for your arms to reach.

‘Sorry kid, shipment’s late.
Try this time next week.’

A Love Poem


I want to show you
just how much you
mean to me.
I want to prove to you
that all will be fine.
I want you to say
that you’ll always be mine.
Because I love you
like Optimus Prime.

Now, I know what you’ll say
with that look of dismay
on your face, your eyes rolling
‘Well, that’s romantic..’
(When what you really mean is
You’re sad. Grow up.)
But hear me out!

See, if love poems should always start like this:
Roses are red
and violets are blue..
Well, Optimus has those same colours too!
So, believe me, please do,
when I say that I love you
like Optimus Prime.
And that this is my poem to you.

And if in any way I’ll hurt or wrong you
I swear to you I’ll change…
into a truck
and with some luck drive us away
from this place where we’re stuck
and we can…
Love each other.

And even if we hit a rough patch,
there is nothing that can scratch
the body of our alliance.
Because we’ll be fully equipped
with hidden arm cannons and a laser gun
so no-one will question us. No-one.

See, I know that I’m lucky
to have you by my side,
as I realise that you may come from Venus,
but I am definitely from Cybertron.
And that’s a lot to take on
even without Megatron.

And it doesn’t harm
that even at this speed I can
easily read the signs:
Danger! Curves ahead.
Because when all is said and done
I know that you love
and I love that you know
how to have fun.

So come on.
Admit that you love
that I love you
like Optimus Prime.

And that there is no doubt
that all will be fine.
And when this is over
we’ll talk spark to spark.
And without a word or without a sound
we’ll transform, and roll out.

Plastic addiction


It first started when you were a kid
but you didn’t notice it seeping in.
It’s a phase, they say, he’ll get over it
and they turn their gaze onto their own little things.
You remember the first time you held one
the car, the truck, the wheels turning
and something stirring inside of you
gears and cogs, clicking and whirring
something shifting, ever so slightly.
But still, you didn’t notice it seeping in.
How could you, after all?
All it was, all they were, just toys.
Yet something more,
beneath the surface, always
more than meets the eye.
And for a while they became
your fantastic friends, guardians
of plastic memories, unscrewed pains
and loosened joys of coloured limbs.
All that time, it was seeping in.
That was then. Now, at twenty-two,
you dive your hand into
a sea of phases, fading into
an ocean of childhood obsessions
of a kid’s achievement and parents’ despair
in the shapeshifting forms
of cars, trucks and planes.
With care, you choose a fraction
from his collection, it becomes
a subtraction from your brother’s
affection as it joins your faction,
an addition to your own collection.
Although there are millions
in hiding through the world
this one is yours, and yours alone.

But all in all, as in any addiction,
one shall rise and one shall fall.
It’s either you or your plastic creatures.
You notice a change in their plastic features,
they’re begging for more, more comrades,
more plastic, my god it’s fantastic!
Is this what the matrix of leadership feels like?
Do I have the touch? I feel just.. prime!
I want more I need more they need to be mine!
As the frenzy builds up, you scour the net
you bet you can find one to complete the set.
A final addition, you promise yourself,
but in fact, as you look at the shelf
it’s just another token
of your plastic addiction.
Since it started, since the beginning
it’s always been either you
or your plastic creatures.
So far, they’re winning.