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Ode to the Grey JubJub
A whimper is heard, you look around,
You cast your eyes down to the ground,
And looking back, with eyes so pink,
A small, sad creature makes you think.
He's huddled there, a lump of grey,
He has nothing to do or say;
He knows no love, he knows no kind,
And sad thoughts fill his sad, grey mind.
His days are filled with endless rain,
The only thing he knows is pain,
And as you watch and look and stare,
You wonder if he knows to care.
You realise you can't depart;
You look into his sad, grey heart,
And all you see is misery,
You know that is no way to be.
You cannot leave this ball of grey,
He cannot be just a miserable stray,
So you pick him up and take him home,
And for once he will never be alone.
Legend of the Snowager
Waiting down in caverns cold,
Deep inside the mountain's heart,
Lies an ancient beast of old,
Whose icy blasts tear thieves apart.
But if you ventured while it slept,
Many wonders thou did find,
For this is where its horde is kept,
Guarded by its watchful eyes.
Oh venturer, if thou does seek
To journey into caverns deep,
To seek out peril at its peak,
Of icy treasure piled so high.
If by chance you bring me back
A token from its icy lair,
Not so much to fill a sack,
For a treasure small is all I ask.
Sylva, the Ghost Lupe
Years ago, on Mystery Isle,
Or so the legends say,
A boat packed full of colonists
Capsized near the bay.
Only near two-thirds of them
Survived and swam ashore.
They knew that they were stranded,
That they'd be there forevermore.
One of them named Sylva,
A young and brave Lupe knight,
Had been the ship's first mate,
And was traveling with his wife.
Each night he kept a journal,
About their fights to live,
And then some bad thing happened,
That he could not forgive.
One night his bride was kidnapped
By natives from the woods.
He ran and stumbled after them,
He did everything he could.
But then the natives stopped him,
Just when hope for his wife was near.
He turned into a ghost,
Full of rage and spreading fear.
He became a monster,
Plotting his revenge,
Against the ones who'd slain him,
His wife he would avenge.
When you're on Mystery Island,
You'd best stay in a group,
Because you might encounter
Sylva, the Ghost Lupe.
Just One More Punch Oughta Do It!
The sweat is dripping from my brow,
Fatigue is weighing me slowly down,
I look at him, I wonder how,
How do you defeat this smiling clown?
Punchbag Bob, they say he's so easy to defeat,
A weaponless fighter stuffed with hay,
Well, fighting him is no easy feat!
I've been at it this whole day!
Just one more kick! One last bite!
His hit points are falling, but not fast enough,
What will it take to end this fight?
Perhaps I'm just not made of the right stuff.
Using my weapons I try to outwit,
He defends himself; I have to be quick!
Another shove, another attack--
One more punch oughta do it!
And yes! There he lies, a mass of fabric and strings,
His stuffing thrown about so messily,
I jump with joy! To think, of all things!
I have won a great victory!
I walk out of there,
Sort of smug, most pleased,
And when my owner asks how it went,
I'll say I won it with ease.
The Bringer of Night
Evil courses through every vein,
Chaos flexes his massive muscles,
Destruction is his avocation,
Malice echoes in his brain.
Every thought causes the air to wail,
Each step causes the earth to tremble,
His roar makes your heart skip a beat,
His eyes reflect the flames of evil.
Devoid of all feelings,
Except for hatred and revenge,
If you should cross his path,
You'll get his evil dealings.
He is the Wronger of Right,
He is the Ending's Affiliate,
He is the Destroyer of Day,
He is the Bringer of Night.
Total Poetry Pages : 1962
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