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The Pirate Draik's Lament
Starvation has a name.
It's scribbled on these torn waves
and connected in the stars.
It slides across these slippery decks
but fails to fall every time.
Captain and me have seen it,
we've seen it reflected in each other's eyes,
in the crew's eyes,
in the stretching skies.
Every time we aim the cannon
at our enemies,
filling it with fire and spite,
we wish we could write starvation's name
on a map and shoot it on over,
but we don't have the time.
We just don't have time.
Starvation has a family,
and you see, they travel a lot.
First in my mind, then my belly,
then my heart, then my belly again.
I guess sometimes it gets too cold,
too warm, too small, or maybe they
just get too greedy,
because soon they're in Captain or the crew,
or in all of us, and we just can't scare 'em away
like we can 'em Weewoos.
We've never found any treasure.
Just a few tattered maps,
new islands, new emotions.
We never bothered with 'em emotions,
but we did camp out on those islands
a few times,
watched the moon capsize out at sea.
We'd light our fire and sit around,
tell the stories of our strength so loud
and our faith so silent.
Then we'd get on our good ole ship 'gain
and realise that we smuggled
those emotions on after all.
Starvation has a name,
and every pirate on these waters knows it.
They've muttered it in their sleep,
they've chanted it in battle,
they've held it their hands,
just to admire it for a second
and then found it sticking
to 'em like a situation.
Captain, crew, and me didn't know it back
in Shenkuu, but we know it now.
Well, we knew who it was,
we just didn't let it on the ship.
But it found its way on somehow
and it's the only crew member
we can't throw overboard.
We scream, we shout,
we pick it up together and show it the sea,
but it always triumphs.
Starvation has a name,
and we're the ones
who named it.
The Techo Fan Bobblehead
My Techo Fan Bobblehead
Is sitting on the shelf.
I'm too afraid to move him,
For if I do, he'll yell.
He's got a soul, I swear he does;
He stares when I get near.
I huddle in bed after dark;
My heart is gripped in fear.
My sister thinks I'm crazy,
She flicks her tail and smiles.
She says it's all just in my head,
Proof that I'm still a child.
Yet as soon as she leaves the room,
The Techo starts to creak.
His head is bobbing back and forth;
My knees start to feel weak.
I don't know if I'll make it through --
The night's still going strong.
Morning seems so far away --
Can I last that long?
I swear, tomorrow morning,
I'll tell my mom I'm scared.
But in the darkness of the night,
The Techo Fan still stares.
00 Hog has the brains and the skill
That make him quite tricky to beat.
When he sits at the table, it's really a thrill
To watch him: the master of Cheat!
He picks up his cards and he gives them a glance;
His face shows no tell or emotion.
He stares at his hand as if he's in a trance --
His foes haven't the slightest notion
What cards he is holding, or how they will fare.
The Moehog is passive and cool.
Brucey B and Kalora are given a scare;
Their tension serves only to fuel
The cunning and sharpness of 00 Hog,
Who betrays not a thing on his face.
He leaves all his foes in a daze, in a fog.
When it comes to Cheat!, he is an ace.
When the game is concluded and Hog walks away,
His pockets stuffed full of his winnings,
He finally smiles. It's been a good day,
And tomorrow is nearly beginning.
The Spectral Vision
Eerie echo, distant howl,
Through swirling mist, a cry.
Something lingers in the dark,
Tormented, it's nearby.
Haunted Lupe sounds in the dark,
His cries bring vicious chill.
His life found no conclusion, though,
And so he walks here still.
The phantom of each famous myth,
Through mist and fog doth swoop.
For he exists but does not live,
The famed one, the Ghost Lupe.
Eerie paws leave swirls of mist,
That past each limb, entwine.
This wraith's eyes gleam with pallid light,
Surreal, they seem to shine.
A spectre cast in cold Lupe form
Who walks the night alone.
Transparent and as a ghost,
A vision is what's shown.
Does he walk a path of light?
Or as a villain seem?
He who wanders, spirit-like,
And dwells just like a dream.
Burning (To Tyrannia)
Let me tell you of heat.
Let me tell you of a place where to breathe
Is to swallow the powdery dust
Of earth that has given up on life
Being too dry, too sun-baked,
To sustain it.
Let me tell you of wind.
Not a wind to fill sails
And curl spumes of foam on seas,
But a wind that seethes with fire,
As though it were the sun's direct breath.
Let me tell you of sky.
A sky that presses, too blue, too heavy,
And grinds flat the peaks of mountains
So that all that remain are plateaus,
Save for one defiant summit
That disgorges molten rock
And etches a plume of smoke into the blue.
Let me tell you of a place
Discovered through an aberration,
A crack amidst Terror Mountain's ice plates.
We knew not until then what knowledge
We were missing, we knew not until then
That we hadn't experienced what it is
To be breathless through the swelling song
Of a wind's dry whistle, to be reckless through
A sky line pressing into a broken horizon,
We knew not what it was to be thirsty
Until we found heat's controlling mania,
We knew not the place where clouds go to die,
We knew not of magnitude
Until we found Tyrannia.
Total Poetry Pages : 2008
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