Poetry 101

*** NOTE- this is my first ever Spike fic...I hope you guys like it.*****

DISCLAIMER - It's all owned by Joss Weadon. I own nothing!




He walked towards the door confidently, not a hint of fear as he did everything, fearlessly. A few feet from the door and he paused, doubt fleeting through his mind. For several moments he did a few steps forward and a few steps back, while he argued with himself.

"Bollocks! Just go in." He growled to himself.

'No they will all laugh at you.' The git said in his meek stuttering manner.

'If they laugh we can eat them.' The demon roared, as always, hungry. He shook away the voices and took the final steps to the door, opening it and stepping in, the swishing of his leather duster, soothing him with its familiarity. There were already a few people there, they looked at him, obvious surprise at someone like him being here. He took a chair near the back and waited. On the blackboard at the front of the room was written "Poetry for Beginners". It wasn't often that a man with bleached blonde hair, chisled cheek bones, black Doc Martin's, black jeans, black T-shirt, tight across his chest and a long black leather duster, joined a poety class. He look conspicuously out of place among the group. There were a few senior citizens, obviously trying to fill some retirement time, a few mum types, probably trying to get away from their families for a couple of hours each night. One guy, with his black hair greasy from too much hair products, probably trying to find a way to get laid.

"You are a right tosser." He muttered to himself. Looking down at the black binder he had bought for class, filled with fresh pages, he had several pens and pencils in his pockets. "Such a good little student." Several more people entered the room, until there were about 15 in all. All of them sitting in the first few rows except himself, he really felt like the bad student now, he considered moving up a few seats but decided he should maintain his "don't give a shit" attitude. The door opened once more at 7 pm and in walked who he assumed was the teacher. She smiled at the class and introduced herself.

"Good Evening I am Ms. Gwendolyn Chambers and welcome to Poetry for beginners. During this course we will study works of the greats as well as some lesser known poets. Not to mention you all will learn the craft of writing poetry and verse and I hope you find inspiration to not only create poems for this class but for the rest of your lives. So first we will do attendance then I will hand out the books needed for the course and then we can get to know each other better."


'She looks more like an accountant then a poet.' He thought to himself. She was wearing a grey pants suit with a very sensible jacket. She had her hair pulled back into a low ponytail, secured at the sides buy small gold combs and she had glasses on that she pushed up occasionally while she spoke. Poets, were supposed to wear long flowing skirts, messy buns, and one of those blouses with big billowy sleeves. He should know about the sleeves, he actually wore them when he was William.

"William Williams?" Ms. Chambers called out. Spike stared straight at her, "William Williams? Is that the right name?"

"Present." He called out, remembering the name he had used to enroll with. He'd made up the name on the spot, and now thought it was a ridiculous name. She finished taking attendence, she put the paper down, looked at the class and began to speak.


You left me, sweet, two legacies, -
A legacy of love
A Heavenly Father would content,
Had He the offer of;

You left me boundaries of pain
Capacious as the sea,
Between eternity and time,
Your consciousness and me.


"That is "You Left Me" by Emily Dickenson. What is it about?" She asked, no one answered, they all looked around nervously. "Come on now, give it a guess." She picked up the attendance paper and called out a name "Heather?"

One of the mums looked up from her books, she had a messy brown pony tail and dark circles under her eyes, Spike figured she wasn' getting enough sleep."Well..the writer is sad because the person is gone, left them?"

"Is that your answer or are you asking me?" Ms. Chambers asked. Heather just nervously shrugged. She repeated the poem and then looked expectantly at the class. Spike had quickly copied down the words as she had spoken them and reread it. He understood the poem too well. It reminded him of Buffy, and the time they spent sneaking around and fucking each other in secrecy. He had loved her, would have laid down his life for her, had given his unlife for her when the First Evil seemed like it would win, Spike couldn't let that happen. Dying for her, for nobility and love was something the poofter would have done but even the demon inside of him loved Buffy and wanted her to live. She had come back wrong, back from the dead and though her heart beat, she was dead inside, she didn't feel anything except with him. And after spending hours apon hours thinking about it, what she felt when he fucked her was nothing more than self-loathing and disgust. He fancied himself in a relationship with her, her boyfriend. When she told him it was over he felt exactly like the words in the poem. He cherished the love and the memories, a pure and sweet love that everyone scoffed at, including her. And a gut wrenching, maddening pain that left him broken and bitter. But still he was her's, like a lap dog he was, always trying to be the man she wanted, redemption he had thought was his path to her heart. He didn't get it from her, even after burning alive to close the Hellmouth, he still hadn't won her heart.

"William?"

"Spike." He answered, his voice a bit gravelly from the surge of pain.

"Pardon?"

"Call me Spike. She's in pain. She has loved, a beautiful love that even God himself would approve of, perhaps even envy. But then it was gone, taken away and her pain and agony is huge and unending." He hadn't looked at the teacher while he spoke, he still had to fight the shame that came to him when he spoke of poems and hearts and flowers. He had killed hundreds, drank their blood and tortured them...what did he know of pretty words?

"Very good Will...Spike. Your first assignment this week will be to write a short poem about love. But right now we will go over the basics of poetry and letting go of the notion that all poems must rhyme." He tuned out her voice, she was fiddling with the combs in her hair, her hands were small and delicate looking, smooth white skin, topped with perfectly manicured pink fingernails. William deep inside of him began to whisper words, he always was a sucker for women that ignored him. He jotted down the poem, smiling at the words that the deman wanted. What would Ms. Chambers think of a poem about arterial blood?


"Thats it for now class, I'll see you all next week. Thank you so much for joining me." She said as she dismissed the class. She said good-night to each one as they walked through the door, Spike took his time collecting his penicils when he noticed the Giggalo wannabe standing too close to her. Spike attuned his vampire hearing to listen in on their conversation.

"I'm afraid I can't get involved with a student, Vince." She was saying.

"Come on, it can be our little secret."

"I'm sorry it wouldn't be ethical." She was obviously angry and nervous, but with her back to the wall, she had no where to go.

"Well Teach, you can fail me if it makes you feel better." Shaking his head, Spike walked up behind the guy and haulked him away from the teacher.

"She's not interested Mate." Spike told him.

"Mind your business, Billy Idol." Vince said straightening up to his full height that let him tower over Spike.

"Vince, Spike, let's both calm down." Ms. Chambers tried to smooth things over.

"Too late" Spike answered, with his back to the teacher he let his demon take over just a bit, letting his fangs grow long and his eyes flash yellow. Vince's fast paled and he started to back away.

"I don't want no problems with you. I'm going." And then he ran out the door. When he turned to face the teacher, he had his blue eyes and normal teeth, he smiled.

"I'll walk you to your car." He said.

"I didn't need rescuing." She told him but he could smell the fear that had been coating her body.

"I know, just trying to be teacher's pet." he joked. She smiled then at his joke.

"Alright then."


At her car she said goodnight and Spike walked to his car, his one last memento of Wolfram and Hart. Angel had agreed to have his old Desoto, fixed up. It allowed Spike to move around whenever he wanted, no longer limited to the night. The specially treated glass that Wolfram & Hart had developed had been installed in the Desoto, along with a new car stereo, a rebuilt engine and a paint job. After the big battle in Los Angelus, Spike had parted ways and somehow had found himself wandering the country.


tbc