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J. Elk-Baptisté

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2019

J. Elk-Baptisté

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Welcome the Night

In the middle of winter

Under the big sycamore

There in the park on Cranach Street

A girl from Latvia

Took a shine to my sister

There are rules where we come from

She said and we turned from

Thinking of differences

Any slighting of, Starlight

For, such was her name

She played with our feelings

And our, Annie whispered,

Asking, What should I do?

You can come meet my father

Said, Starlight and laughter

Filled air and space and all about

Time itself was caused to still

And high above a light descending

Took us up and we remembered

Where we came from and still belong.

[The above represents a false claim]

Statutory Declaration

The very first to befriend the P.O.D.

There’s been a lot of false claims made of late. The following is intended to assist in setting the record straight.

When the P O D come in, hitting the atmosphere at like a million miles per hour, they make a sound like you never heard—a long and terrible drawn-out, squealing shriek. Hell of a sound and upon first hearing it you might wish you were dead. Some people bleed. Blood pours from their ears—they can bleed all over and it’s a horror for them. It’s easy to understand why some folk hate the P.O.D., and sure … with passion enough to kill.

I’m writing of the girl, by the name of, Sunny Talbot-Topo. Sunny is different, of all girls she’s special. For one thing, she is not one of those haters.

Sunny Talbot-Topo always loved her P.O.D., right from the time they were introduced; Sunny was over the damn moon.

Now, the P.O.D. in question is a real piece of work. Your classic redhead with freckles; much the same as any redheaded earthling might have, but this girl is no Earthling. Heck—you already know it—so I’m rambling, I guess.

Now, the first P.O.D., and we’re talking the very first of them, way before anyone of Earth, first heard of P.O.D.—came down in the town park of a little place, name of White Creek. When she was found, she did not admit to being, P.O.D.—it was like no such thing existed. She was a real girl, she claimed, and no bones about it—she intended nothing but the very best for the gal who found her there. They would be friends forever and that was that.

The P.O.D.—Starbright, by name—told our, Sunny, she was an immigrant—a person from Yugoslavia.

Now, Sunny was not at the time, a widely travelled individual. She was not knowledgeable with regard to foreigners, countries or lands. But, all the same, she was no fool. She knew “different” when she saw it. With their pronounced elfin look--their sharp, little pointed chins and their sharp tipped ears, not to mention the hypnotic eyes with the gazillion years of knowledge and wisdom shining through, emanating from behind them—P.O.D. should give up lying about their origins. You could say, “different” confronted Sunny that day and Sunny stared, unflinching, right back into it; face to face and, something just seemed to click. The two were inseparable from then on. It was, “Starbright and Sunny”, and apart from such easy going compatibility, they were named for stars weren’t they? And there was something kinda magical to all of it.

Sunny’s brothers, Trevor and yours truly, Gene Talbot-Topo, were with Sunny in the park that day. As, Trevor later described it, we boys felt we were pretty much, along for the ride. We were there with Sunny, but it was Sunny the P.O.D. was interested in; she had no strong connection, including the telepathic, to either of us.

Just so you all know and remember never to forget it—our girl—my sister, Sunny Talbot-Topo, was the very first of all the girls of planet Earth to be contacted by the P.O.D.

Let this stand as a reminder and fair warning to any and all attention seekers out there who’d like to steal her thunder by making false claims.

This day: [UNDER OATH], Gene Talbot–Topo


Strangers are out tonight

On Long Swamp Road

Diving and cavorting,

Bucking the system

Making trouble

Naked daughters

Volatile sons

Singing on couches

In derelict houses

Other people’s furniture

Lying in other people’s gardens

Sifting through

Events of an afternoon

Of blindness

Making up stories

Assuring each other of righteousness

Telling how the old man has no right

Absolutely no right!

Doing anything of the sort

It’s his house…

But other people have their rights.

And so Long Swamp it is

The narrow road

Treacherous with turns

When least expected

Treacherous making promises

Of fine mornings of

Sleeping in without remorse

In time to a metronome

Ticking out timing

Have your fun


Why not go for broke,

And settle the score with Sam.

At the servo?

The snacks you took,

When he fell for your friend’s distraction.

Sam is okay.

He’s okay.

The voices of invisible people,

Inhabiting my room say,

Sooner or later

A helicopter will crash.

We will stand in the kitchen,

Or, out on the lawn,

Watching when it comes down burning.

We are not wishing for death, naturally.

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