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Jun 2019 · 258
Grass
McLeod Jun 2019
Thin as paper,
Green as a bush,
Doesn’t talk like a dictator,
Ground like mush.

Swaying in the wind,
Whistling like above,
Staying there as if pinned,
Swaying like a dove.

Crunchy for a bug,
Disgusting for us,
Running like a sparkplug,
Yet makes no fuss.

Reborn as if new,
Rustling as if happy,
A new place, it grew,
Not like a tree, not sappy.

Like a forest,
Where it blows with the air,
Singing a chorus,
That’s never there.
A Grass Poem I made for school.
May 2019 · 6.9k
Champ
McLeod May 2019
A new day, press play, a challenge for one.
Solo for I, never won.
Spawned like magic, 100 people? That’s tragic.
Less would I prefer,
From the bus, I jump and glide
From the wailing heights, I go to a bush and hide.
Found a camp, a player I’ve tramped,
One closer to being a champ.

Many people less, beginning to stress,
Loot everywhere, what a mess!
In this battle, I thought I would be fine,
But in the distance, I saw a white line,
With the numbers of sixty-nine,
A soccer skin! A soccer skin! Oh God, oh why?
Building fast as the speed of light,
All I knew that it could be a hard fight.
Because, with death in my mind, I didn’t know what to do,
Thoughts boggled up, like the texture of goo.
I placed a trap on the wall of wood,
I waited suddenly, wondering when they would,
Yes! I caught them with my trap!
One closer to being a champ.

Found a vehicle of an interesting shape,
Bouncy like a ball, all around, on the landscape,
A Baller! Yes! Now I’m glad,
But no need to use it, I got a launchpad!
However, I could bounce around, Boom! Bam! and Pow!
Then I could tell them, “who’s laughing now?”
However now, I’m in the final two,
I shot his build down, if only he knew,
Now it is over, show off with a ramp,
Now I’ve become the champ.
This is a Fortnite based poem, written at the beginning of season 9

— The End —