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"Hello, hello!" Swerve said, adjusting the mic stand. The chatter in the room rumbled down to patient silence. "Welcome to poetry night at Swerve's, which, if you recall, we only started doing since Mirage is dead."
"Boo!"
"Hey!" Swerve snapped, "I didn't kill him. Anyway. You all know the rules. No heckling. Clap for everyone no matter how bad they are. Must buy a drink to get up on stage. Open mic, so whoever's up first, go on ahead." He hopped down from the little stage and the dim spotlight over it, back into the dark room and behind the bar.
"Would anyone mind if I went first?" Megatron asked politely, "I've written a villanelle this week."
"That some kind of villain poem?" Whirl asked crassly.
"No," Megatron answered coolly as he stood, "It's French. I've been trying to appreciate some of the little poetry the humans have written."
"You actually read the stuff I sent you?" Rewind asked.
"Of course I did," Megatron responded, "You sent it to me."
Rewind sat up, appearing a little taken aback, but he settled back into Chromedome's side in their booth as Megatron stood up on stage and cleared his throat, closing his optics.
There are times when your life ends but you do not
Where your soul will break before it will bend
Your body may live but your heart will rot.
You crush who you can to climb to the top
And sever ties that you never can mend
There are times when your life ends but you do not.
Your soul lives in paper to be sold and be bought
The value of your life, easily penned
Your body may live but your heart will rot.
You remember the people you wish you forgot
Until your clenched fist is your very last friend
There are times when your life ends but you do not.
A war won't be won with no battles fought
Appealing to people whom I will always offend
Your body may live but your heart will rot.
Poetry is an art I'd never be taught
And though I've prayed to a god upon whom I could never depend
There are times when your life ends but you do not
Your body may live but your heart will rot.
Megatron paused to dip his head politely to the scattered and compulsory applause. He returned to his seat beside Minimus.
"That was beautiful," Minimus commented.
"You say that every week," Megatron replied, corners of his mouth twitching toward a smile.
"And every week it is true," Minimus replied easily. "I have a poem this week, though it is short." He rose from his seat to take his turn on stage and waited patiently for Megatron to get up and bring the mic back down for him.
He took a deep breath and began.
Is the I that I am the I whom you see,
or am I my own perception of me?
Am I the lock or turning key?
Am I the fisherman trying to flee
Or the storm looming over the roiling sea?
Am I the guard or the man finally free?
Am I the answer or the enquiry?
Am I the dream or reality?
Am I truly the me that I mean to be?
He gave a short bow to the applause and returned to his seat.
"That was lovely," Megatron told him.
"That was great, Minimus!" Rewind called, beaming. Minimus smiled back, glad they had begun to finally get along.
"Why don't you go next?" Minimus suggested, and Rewind sat up straight.
"I think I will," he replied, "Since the mic is already down and everything."
He hopped out of his booth and up onto the stage.
"I wrote this in 4th Cycle 004," Rewind said, rolling back and forth on his pedes a bit nervously, "But- I wasn't able to publish it then because I wasn't- well. You know. Couldn't own poetry then, and I couldn't publish it in one of Dominus's books because it- well, it was too obviously about me. But I've kept it saved in my database anyway and hoped I'd have a chance to share it."
I was forged in the misty autumn chill,
Soft and small and shapeless still,
From living land, with the taste of grit,
I'd see the setting sun and fall in love with it.
I lived a life that would not be mine
Stubbornly dreaming that I'd own sunshine
But dreams wear out as we start to age
And I sing for the bird that dies in it's cage.
One day I wed that setting sun
The bravest thing I've ever done
Given a brand new life to start
Free from chains but not my heart.
Rewind finished and was quiet, before he raised his head. The clapping this time was much more assertive than it had been prior, and Rewind's shoulders relaxed as he stepped down and returned to his booth and a hug from his Conjunx.
"You did great," Chromedome whispered, "I know that's a hard topic for you."
"It felt good," Rewind said softly back, and snuggled against his side beneath one of his arms.
"I got one," Brainstorm said, shoving his glass away. Rewind looked up at him.
"You do?" he said, "You don't go very often."
"Yeah, well," Brainstorm mumbled, crossing the room from his table, "You inspired me." He adjusted the microphone back up to standard mech height. "Well. If you don't know, I'm an MTO," he said awkwardly, and then sighed. "Alright."
Carbon steel and a spark-deep ache
The ingredients it takes to make a fake
At night I listen to my engine shake
And pray I don't die before I wake.
Dead men live in no man's land
Where no man knows what you have planned
Your ideas are great, your goals are grand
And someday soon they'll understand.
Well, I've read Towards Peace and After the Ark
Though better, perhaps, to remain in the dark.
All observable matter begins with a quark
and gives life to a weapon with a beating spark.
A moment of silence followed before compulsory applause, but as Brainstorm stepped down to return to his solo table Rewind waved frantically at him.
"Come sit over here," he insisted. Brainstorm glanced up at Chromedome, and then turned to join them in their booth in silence.
"Well, fuck, if we're getting serious," Whirl shrugged, pushing himself to his feet.
"Are you sure?" Tailgate asked. Whirl waved dismissively.
"Yop," he chirped, and took the stage. "Let's call this one no lifeguard on duty, huh?"
The siren song of the rust red sea
Beckons sweetly and calls to me
The shimmering shoreline destroyed by erosion
Laps at my feet while I drown in slow motion.
The moonlit waves roll over each other
Bringing words of love from my deadly lover
"Step forward, my dear, there will be no mess,
Come lay with me and you may rest."
"Another day," I say again,
"I'll see you tomorrow, and maybe then."
"Your turn, Cyc," Whirl said immediately, before anyone could even clap, as he quickly jumped down onto the floor and retreated to his seat. Cyclonus took pity on him and gave him a gentle brush against the shoulder with his claws as he passed him.
He cleared his throat.
Rapid-pace rain
A temperature of twelve hundred degrees
A fallen tree and a fractured heart
Poorly painted portraits of pointless people
The staff soaked in blood
That strikes down the singing bird
Beckon through the leaves
Hidden and hesitating in the bark
Bright stars that collapse inward
And die out unmourned
The broken knife in the master's door
I see you
And am seen
"Perfectly weird gibberish," Whirl whistled, clapping obnoxiously loudly. Despite himself, Cyclonus smiled, and stepped down.
"I've prepared one this week," Drift said, standing to take his place.
"A haiku," Ratchet scoffed, "Which only barely counts."
"As you say," Drift said easily, stepping up onto the stage, "But you don't have to appreciate it. Only I do."
A sword in motion
A beating spark that has stopped
Feet moving forward
Death lays behind me
I consider surrender
Forward momentum
My debt to the dead
Infinity in inches
My burden; a sword
There was a pause before anyone clapped, as if no one was certain if he were finished or not. Drift smiled pleasantly and the clapping began, finally.
"Hey, I got a haiku," Ratchet hollered over the little crowd. Drift perked up, looking over at him.
This format is bland
I do not understand it
Five more syllables
Drift burst out into laughter, beaming, and back at his table Ratchet chuckled despite himself, grinning as Drift returned and sat back down, giving him a chaste kiss for his trouble.
"If we're done with all the good poetry," Chromedome said, clearing his throat, "I've got one."
"You do?!" Rewind gasped, and then shuffled out of the booth so Chromedome could get out, "You didn't tell me!"
"Yeah, well, it was sort of a surprise," Chromedome chuckled nervously, "So don't laugh."
"I would never!" Rewind insisted, and Chromedome took his place on stage.
I want to write a poem for you
Where I say mushy things to turn you to goo
But I'm not very good at poems and such
So I really do hope that you don't mind too much
If the quality of my work kind of offends
I'm here on this stage in front of our friends
(Embarrassed as hell and put on the spot)
To remind you again that I like you a lot
And that I'll happily pack up all my stage fright
And look like a fool every Tuesday night
Just because you asked me to write something too
And I figure you know, but: I really love you.
He finished to chuckling applause and Rewind with his hands over his mouth plate, visor flared and giggling. Whirl slapped the table as loudly as he could, whistling like he was at a strip club.
Chromedome returned to his conjunx and a plethora of giggly kisses.
"Is that everyone?" Megatron inquired.
"Actually!" cried Whirl Jr, jumping to her feet, "On the topic of mushy lovey stuff- me and Connie wrote something together!"
"What!" Whirl hollered, "Well, go on, then! I wanna hear!"
Whirl Jr giggled and grabbed Connie's organic hand, tugging her along and up to the stage, the two girls that had been raised on the Lost Light quite different from the present Cybes, and at the same time, not so much so at all. At the Scavenger's table Misfire whooped and waved, and Connie waved back.
Whirl Jr bounced on her feet and pulled a rumpled paper from her arm, smoothing it out and holding it in front of her as she cleared her throat. " Ahem. Here we go:"
Dear dad:
I want to thank you for staying up with me on every late study crunch night
For letting me win when I was too proud to admit I knew you were right
For every time you held me when you knew that I'd bite.
Whirl was sniffling back at his table with Tailgate and Cyclonus. Junior passed the sheet of paper to Connie.
Dear Dads:
I want to thank you for being there for me when it wasn't easy to do,
For taking good care of me though I'm nothing like you,
For telling me I'm normal and making it true.
Everyone at the Scavenger's table was cheering inappropriately loudly for the dimly lit poetry night event, but no one called them on it.
"That's our girl!" Misfire hollered. Connie giggled and then the two girls leaned forward to finish the poem together.
Dear Dads:
Thank you for giving us a chance no one else did
I'm so so glad I got to be your kid!
Everyone in the room clapped with genuine enthusiasm as the girls dropped down to return to heir respective dads and their tables for appropriately overzealous hugs.
"Is that everyone who wanted to go?" Swerve asked. No one insisted otherwise. "Alright then. Thanks for coming, everybody, remember to tip your waiter. And, you know. The bartender. Don't forget him."