TeaTimeSunday / SONNETS
BUFFY-VERSE SERIES (105-108)  SONNETS #109-112 of 154  (113-116)
|
|
|
INSPIRED-BY MIS-HEARING SOMETHING SPIKE SAID IN BtVS #119/6.19 "SEEING RED"] |
 [R.I.P. SEPT '02] |
SONNETS #109-112 for Tea Time in L.A. #40 - Spike's Special Blend (of Tea?) ORIGINALLY POSTED AT (UPN) WWW.BUFFY.COM ... BEFORE ALL FORUMS WERE DELETED 9/19/02 ... CLICK THE BRONZE SKULL TO SEE ARCHIVE COPY OF (NONCOLOR) VERSION (FOR COMPARISON) |
|
Rhetorical verse for Tea Time in L.A. #20- (Talking about Buffy as Shakespeare would have. [g]) Posted by: forensicpoetry - May 08, 2002, 5:32 PM
NOTE: Regarding Spike's mention of "tea" (in episode #119/6.19 "Seeing Red"). . .
. . . WHAT HE REALLY SAID WAS [smile] "pick his teeth . . ."
BUT, you know, I still really like the IDEA of Slayer Bone Tea. [ewg]
rhetorical verse in Shakespearean sonnet form }
{BVS_109_01.02}
to brew our cups. It's not my cup of tea.
{BVS_109_01.03}
Strange flavor, this. Perhaps dear Spike deceives
{BVS_109_01.04}
about these "leaves" . . . my gullibility . . .
{BVS_109_01.06}
OH NO, dear friends, no don't think that I'm gay. {ewg}
{BVS_109_01.07}
IT'S JUST this thing he has. I like his style.
{BVS_109_01.08}
Slutskaya's got her spin. And Spike his play.
{BVS_109_01.10}
Like Cyrano, Spike moves with passion's heat.
{BVS_109_01.11}
He speaks poetic'lly . . . TO DAWN: "The birds
{BVS_109_01.12}
are flying (once) again" . . . to frame the sweet . . .
{BVS_109_01.14}
WE SIP OUR TEA . . . I ASK: "WHAT LIES BEYOND?"
{BVS_110_02.01}
SPIKE SMILES THAT SMILE, and says he can't reveal
{BVS_110_02.02}
the storyline . . . or Joss would ring his neck.
{BVS_110_02.03}
He mumbles 'bout a "non-disclosure deal."
{BVS_110_02.04}
THEN SMILES AGAIN: "I know this discotheque."
{BVS_110_02.06}
from fingertip to lips . . . and licks the dregs.
{BVS_110_02.07}
HE INDICATES perhaps I lick mine, too.
{BVS_110_02.08}
I SMILE as I decline . . . then stretch my legs . . .
{BVS_110_02.10}
SPIKE'S MOTORCYCLE ROARS, and I hold tight.
{BVS_110_02.11}
NO, not because I'm gay{ewg} . . . I am astride
{BVS_110_02.12}
a two-wheeled missile . . . heading into night.
{BVS_110_02.14}
of Sunset.{the street} Screaming engine. Muffler burns . . .
{BVS_111_03.01}
(REMEMBER THIS: Don't let your ankle touch
{BVS_111_03.02}
those pretty, bright chrome tubes along each flank
{BVS_111_03.03}
of motorcycles. You won't like it much.)
{BVS_111_03.04}
WE HIT THE SUNSET STRIP . . . and then my bank.
{BVS_111_03.06}
If you know Spike, you know the cost is yours
{BVS_111_03.07}
for his attention. Clear? You pay. Not him.
{BVS_111_03.08}
And if you buy his beer, it won't be Coors . . .
{BVS_111_03.10}
BUT YOU'RE WITH SPIKE . . . why would you ever b*tch
{BVS_111_03.11}
about the costs? YOU'LL SEE YOUR NAME in print
{BVS_111_03.12}
in tandem with a bold-face. What's the hitch?
{BVS_111_03.14}
if you want fame, you're at its beck and call.
{BVS_112_04.01}
A LONG LINE'S WAITING at an 80's club . . .
{BVS_112_04.02}
BUT YOU'RE WITH SPIKE . . . you will not wait this time.
{BVS_112_04.03}
No one complains. This is no corner pub
{BVS_112_04.04}
where ev'ryone's the same. 'Twould be a crime . . .
{BVS_112_04.06}
There's other famous faces in the mix,
{BVS_112_04.07}
and L.A. coolness rules say it's a sin
{BVS_112_04.08}
to stare at some celebrity for kicks.
{BVS_112_04.10}
I BUY TWO BEERS (my own of lesser kind).
{BVS_112_04.11}
WE FIND A BOOTH . . . where we won't be disturbed
{BVS_112_04.12}
(by sculpted buns and lips botox refined) . . .
{BVS_112_04.14}
A bit part Marsters burned into a star.
|
 (JUST SOME NOTES) |
|
|
 
|
|