General Chat

I'm not into sci fi, Rollo, but I do like poetry.

Some of my early memories include Someone, The Windmill, Jabberwocky, The Highwayman, Cargoes and such like. Also, one that I learnt much later, 'I love a sunburnt country ....'

There's a rather poignant war poem with the words, 'Here is no waste, no burning might-have-been,' I remember the first time I read those words.

Yes, I do love a poetry book where the words are the springboard for my imagination.

Across the ground something small and metallic came, flashing in the dull sunlight of midday. A metal sphere. It raced up the hill after the Russian. It was small, one of the baby ones. Its claws were out, two razor projections spinning in a blur of white steel.
The Russian heard it, fired, the sphere dissolved ino particles. But already a second one had emerged and followed the first. The Russian fired again.

A third sphere rushed up the Russian's leg, clicking and whirring. It jumped to the shoulder . The spinning blades disappeared into the Russian's throat.

Now there were murmerous metal spheres crawling over the prostate body, dull metal globes, clicking and whirring, sawing up the Russian into small parts to be carried away.

"What a lot of claws" Scott murmured.

Philip K Dick