"orcs" poems
Papers, Papers, Papers
Whiter than aching teeth,
Whiter than whites of tilted eyes,
Whiter than funeral wreaths.
My hands shake as I write this,
Filed away myths; Stolen lined sheets
My index finger chained by red tapes,
words mix and ground breaks,
I'm the one the world forsakes
Yellow maize, littered leaves,
all twisted into
black ink and clean sharp white paper blades.
-------"I am in a bit of daze," I tell myself, "look at those flaccid bits;
there lay the logs who use to be the jungle of my childhood dreams."
------"Don't be amazed," I replied, "these leafless branches and twigs are for
your Papier-Mâché degrees."
So I listen to my second self once,
the more logical cynical satirical one,
Treading on the plot of their paper works,
playing crosswords as anxiety uncork
my thoughts turn to the bankable orcs,
just as my career forks
Maybe I should be like my mother,
Marking numbers on a deck of cards-- waltzing with Chance.
Maybe I should be like my father,
Toiling for some rich men's grandson-- seething in Trance.
Maybe I should be like the Other,
Going along with the system-- thanking myself
beneath a cap, a diploma, a piece of paper.
I wore these books like bank notes tuxedoes,
I was promised the world by the credits I borrowed.
Must I go along with the mechanism of their game,
or should I rise up against all odds
Opposing, debating, rebelling against
this bundle, this trouble, funneling me into no-tomorrows
Or must I write it all down,
in my prayers against their lawyers, who need no reminds
Or must I shred, smear, and tear the papers with my own bare hands
But what will I ever be to them, friends?
A papercut, perhaps.
Aug 19, 2018
Aug 19, 2018 at 9:33 PM UTC
In a world of goblins, orcs and the likes there lived a hero. This hero was a person of peasant blood and a friend to the weak. Every day the people of his little village would go to him for help. The hero would never turn them away, and always solved their problems. However, the day came for them to ask of a task too large. The hero was sent out to fight a battalion of goblins, orcs and trolls. This battalion was well known for being the most ruthless and devastating in all the land. Everywhere they went they left a trail of destruction and despair. But the hero being bound by honor went to confront them head on. He sliced through the goblins with his expertly crafted sword. He pierce the flesh of the orcs with the precise shots of his bow. It was truly a sight to see, one man taking on an army. But much to the villagers dismay, by the time he got to the trolls, his quiver was empty and his sword had broke. He still took them on with his bare fists. As if possessed by a beast, the hero tore through lines of the battalion slaughtering all in his path. None stood a chance until he reached the one who lead the battalion of death. Without saying a word, the hero grabbed the leader by the neck and lifted him off the ground. Squirming in his iron grip, the leader begged and pleaded for his life to be spared. The hero contemplated this for a time but the leader had tricked him, he pulled his dagger from his sleeve and stabbed the hero. The hero succeeded in saving the village that day, and that's why we're left with you. The son of a hero who gave his own life to save his people. The fate of the village left in the gauntlets of his son prodigy. there's only one problem with that: you don't know how to be a hero. You can't fight, in fact, you can barely pick up a sword. The mere chance that you would've failed to get even one of your fathers traits is amazing. With you being the best "hero" we've got left, you're being sent to a larger city to train. The shining city of Miridas, a cultural capitol and center of innovation. There you will me the man who will cultivate your potential and temper your skills. That is, if you have any skills. You leave tomorrow at dawn, to start your new life.
Oct 14, 2018
Oct 14, 2018 at 4:32 AM UTC
*i hate to break it to you kid,
i'm not mindful of narcissus'
economics that's all oh so very modern...*
but women are their own orbit,
more chance to find a single mother
than a single father...
it's against nature to make the man
without god,
as it's against nature to make the woman
with god...
thus we have the tectonic plates
making man with god, accepting
or doubting, church or laboratory...
and woman... an eroticism of jaw eaten
faces... but a kiss to be a fingerprint
likened to erasing the dangling of the bitten
jaw... erased only once by the aphrodisiac of sirens'
wail of aquatic opera so damnable that only
one man heard it, while others scolded
being in audience with beeswax...
and by second chance, erased, indeed,
but only by the suffragettes as the new nuns...
as the new nuns dare comply to change,
like every male become female and
vice versa,
and the popes disclose their continual
loss of matrimony in their misogynistic
involvement in ****** if i'm not the pope
and do no encounter such practices,
i'm not a pope at all!
*only a ninth spoke as the necromancer,
and of the nine spoke clearest,
as it spoke, it dawned on me
that sauron was invisible for the sword
to strike, a gravity enveloping,
a gravity envelope, rather than a skin
of infinite diadem sharpenings,
for nine rigs unto men,
seven unto dwarfs, three unto elves,
but none unto the orcs... strange....
ORC ARKHAN MORDOR ARRAC!*
Feb 14, 2016
Feb 14, 2016 at 10:36 PM UTC
There're swords,
lots of them,
and long-bows,
with fresh, eager arrows
jostle with notched expert axes;
legendary hair frame braided beards
flowing into refilled tankards
drowning curses through broken teeth
gnawing at poor personal hygiene
across the stench of the public tavern
as granite-stares challenge
bone-shattering laughter.
-
All as anticipated -
there's Orcs about
and the prescribed heroes assemble.
-
-
Slow rolling leaden mist cloaks howling creatures at dawn
from deep within the forest,
then disabling rain falls at dusk
and steel clashes with steel in the storm…
-
All these exploits ferment short of full strength
and stretch onto a wide Winter screen
before facing the final critical battle
for a 12A Christmas.
Jul 12, 2016
Jul 12, 2016 at 4:01 PM UTC
There was a troll under a byte
The computer bridge of sighs
He/she/it had nothing to do
But spread rumors and lies.
The women may look like Grendel
The men may look like orcs
But they have real cool avatars
So you don't smell the pork.
They hide and lurk until they see
Someone who's writing's art.
When they see a heart of light
They surface like a shark.
I was just a little lamb,
Walking o'r the brook
Minding my own business
When the Jaws of trollhood looked.
He/she/it saw a broken heart
That yet still had a light,
So he/she/it came up from the deep
And thought to take a bite!
But the monster didn't see
A very important thing.
I was not alone
But in the company of The King!!!
So when the horrid troll
Thought to make his bid
Jesus then EXPOSED IT...
YOU DON'T MESS WITH HIS KIDS!!!
SoulSurvivor
Sep 14, 2014
Sep 14, 2014 at 12:09 AM UTC
The trolls are funny and have secrets untold
The blood elves well they just get trolled
The taurens are peaceful and kind
The goblins are quite hard to find
The orcs have a mighty roar
The undeads of a thirst for war
These are the Horde we all know and love
The next ones you see beat the ones above
The dwarves are are born to be hunters
The gnomes are sick of the punters
The humans build great cities of gold
The night elf leaders are kind of old
The draenei come from far away
I guess the worgen have to stay
My writing is done and I bid you good day
The end is done I have nothing left to say
Mar 16, 2014
Mar 16, 2014 at 2:18 PM UTC
How was it there in Isengard,
Former haven of the proud,
Whose hollowed valley hid the rot
Beneath its treeless hills,
Ancient machinations tunneled far below
The smooth, impervious tower of Saruman,
The Iridescent Dazzler,
Whose quiet words slipped Sauron's thoughts
Inside our weaker minds?
Venom running hot...then changing cold
Within old Saruman on Gandalf's salutation:
"Saruman the White,"
Changing Truth for truths,
Something totally desired.
"I prefer Saruman the White!"
I think old Gandalf said
While he was still "The Gray,"
(Just before his lofty spire stay).
But evil magic has its ends,
Tendrils turn upon themselves,
Vines tangling slow or fast,
Returning to the evil doer's door
While Good climbs steadily to new beginnings
Rooted in the Old and True,
Reaching for the sun.
Old Ents in righteous anger
Broke dams, diverted streams to flood
The war machines of Isengard,
Drove Orcs and Wargs and Trolls to doom,
Drowned the furnaces...
Then, mourning tree-limbed kin,
Greeted Gandalf on his way to greater things,
And pledged themselves to holy war.
Saruman the Proud,
The sooty iridescent,
The abject coward,
Stripped of power,
Fled unrepentant
Into the mists of Middle Earth
While Sauron's eye glared
West and East,
Wraith-seeking
Frodo and
The Ring.
Aug 27, 2013
Aug 27, 2013 at 9:18 AM UTC
Topping a rise comes a knight,
armour soiled and stained;
weary yet elated
riding his black steed.
The Princess in her tower sees
and gives a delighted cry.
She leans out her window
and hails the knight:
"Ho!Brave knight!
Whence comest thou?
Tell me thou seeketh me
for I wait for thee."
"Truly",answered the knight
"It is for thee I am come
my fair lady
and to take thine hand."
"I've sailed the seven seas,
toiled through forests and mires,
traversed deserts and dunes
looking for thee".
"Oh the joy!"whispered the lady
and cried,"My brave knight,
glad am I to hear thee but
Didst thou slay the dragon?"
Answered the knight,
"My dearest lady,
I have fought the giants,
conquered the orcs
and tamed the lions."
"Oh brave art thou
my worthy knight.
But didst thou slay
the mighty dragon?"
"I have escaped from dungeons,
caverns with unnamed fears.
Scorpions and serpents
I have crushed to the earth."
"Wonderful art thou
my worthy knight.
But didst thou slay
the fearsome dragon?"
"I have ridden the behemoth,
subdued the depths,
searched the clouds and
fiddled with thunderbolts"
"Magnificent art thou
my worthy knight.
But didst thou slay
the red dragon?"
"Lady,you are besot
with the dumb worm!",he said.
"I wonder if she",he thought
"has been crazed in that tower"
Sighing forlornly,
said the princess
"I canst not leave here
till the dragon is dead."
As the knight turned away
to ride back,she asked
"Whither goest thou?
To slay the beast?"
"Nay lady,nay
I go to slay the dunce
who wrote you
into that tower."
"What meanest thou
my dear knight?!
There is another knight
who dabbles in magic?!"
"Nay lady,nay.
He is not a knight.
He uses his quill
to weave his musings."
Cried the princess
"Oh mighty sir,
Oh Weaver with the quill!
Canst thou hear me?"
"Yes dear lady,"said I,
"What do you desire?
What can I do
that will please you?"
"My dearest Sir!
Oh my bravest hope.
Slay the dragon
and make me thine."
"But my lady
as much as I desire to,
you should know there is
No dragon in the story"
(Silence pervades)
"Oh my dear knight!!"
cried the lady to the rider,
"Slay this goon
and we shall be one."
Uh-oh...Time to put down the pen and run.
Aug 30, 2013
Aug 30, 2013 at 11:38 AM UTC
The trolls don't like the orcs
the orcs don't like the elves
the elves don't like the goblins
the goblins, don't like themselves
Fairies can be such snobs
on this, each and all agree
whether alone, or in mobs
each, proud of pedigree
The singular exception
and it makes sense to me
a need of complete contraception
eradicating, the goblin family tree
Oct 15, 2016
Oct 15, 2016 at 7:03 PM UTC
here's a tale I will tell
of the supreme Master
of Rivendell
elfin Lord, just and wise
knowledge deep as elvish skies
darkly handsome, unearthly fair
silver circlet, midnight hair
greatest Power for him alone
eyes as deep as river stones
grey and lustrous, holding grace
broad of shoulder, fair of face
aquiline nose, chiseled jaw
Master of the Elves. Their law.
of his mercy his people sing
possessor of the elvish Ring
one of three, such Power possessed
he's the Lord, and thusly blessed
he's seen grief and was forsaken
his beloved wife was taken
to Mordor and was in suffering bound
with the Orcs deep underground
father of the maid Arwen
who's in love with the human King
deep pain of mind, Elrond's aware
that he must leave this daughter there
in human kingdom Middle Earth
for her love has lifetime worth
but Strider will soon pass away
while Arwen has immortal days
though her love's surpassing fine
she will one day weep and pine
without her husband, all alone
for her people will be gone
they will one day sail far
following an elvish star
and of Frodo he's aware
the Hobbit will go to Sauron's lair
generous, gentle, yet supremely strong
he will help Frodo along
elvish war-mail and provision
he directs with great vision
noble King of Rivendell
at once gracious
yet mighty, fell
his word, ever,
is his bond
Hobbit friend
the great
ELROND
SoulSurvivor
(C) 2/5/2016
Feb 5, 2016
Feb 5, 2016 at 10:54 AM UTC
What's rice anyway?
Could it be with another
Race that its a currencey
Golden coins of the fae and wee ones
The dust shaken off the feet and backs of orcs and
The gold cinders of balroc flames
The precious jewels of the sandman
May 8, 2013
May 8, 2013 at 2:11 PM UTC
Bugs, and bogs, and battlecrys,
thieves, and trolls, and dragons fly.
Sword and sorcery,
shield and steam.
Clink and clack,
shine and gleam.
Mythril, chain, and leather works.
Sigils, pain and thrusting dirks.
Student, Teacher
words and wind.
Music, Fae,
and naming things.
Mistborn, alloys, Kredik Shaw,
Kandra and Inquisitors.
Rohan Mordor,
Minas Tirith,
Rings and Orcs,
Hobbit village.
From child, to teen, to present me;
escape, and dreams, and fantasy.
Mar 23, 2017
Mar 23, 2017 at 7:11 PM UTC
And you Gollum,
I'd say I am a spinner of apples
Hoping for pies,
A climber of trees
In October skies
And I would be telling
No lies.
And Gollum...
Poor Gollum,
Dweller under the mountain,
Avoider of Orcs,
Fugitive of men,
No longer hobbit,
Eater of pale fish,
You might pause...
Remember just a moment
Hands without claws,
Built for climbing apple trees,
Up in an autumn breeze...
Hands made for reaching
Apples ready for picking.
And you might remember
Cinnamon scents
Of apple tarts and pies
Bubbling fragrant spices
In an oven hot,
Waiting for
A slice
Of cheese,
And your pipe
After.
Oct 25, 2014
Oct 25, 2014 at 8:01 PM UTC
It's time for an adventure
Where and how is up to you
With fantastic tales and creatures
Where everything is new
Just use imagination
Pick a place nobody knows
Add a creature you invented
And let's see where the tale goes...
Griffins, witches, warlocks
Are in books upon your shelves
In castles, caverns, forests
With dragons, orcs, and elves
There are unicorns and magic
Things fantastic, born of old
Leprechauns and fairies
Guarding mystic pots of gold
You can choose your own adventure
Make them all do what you wish
You can have birds with legs of lions
You can have dogs with heads of fish
The choice for each adventure
Is yours and yours alone
You can have a sword that glitters
Or one that is stuck inside a stone
Kings and Queens and Princes
Fighting quests to win one's heart
With three headed bearded lizards
It's up to you just where to start
A wall that moves at random
Stairs that lead up to the stars
Submarines and Narwhales
Time travelling in cars
An adventure full of wonder
With a dog that sees through walls
A cat who sees the future
And a mouse who does duck calls
The key to each adventure
Is in the books, that you will find
Give birth to what is hidden
Deep inside your mind
Add wings to a small pony
And make a creature that now flies
Add snakes in places of fingers
Try that one on for size
Mother goose this isn't
This is fantasy by you
No one has set boundaries
Just do what you can do
Jan 7, 2019
Jan 7, 2019 at 11:53 PM UTC
Skies stretch sparks to light the damp ground
And I watch, chuckling by the lambs
Lapping the waves that smack tastily at their feet
And bring in the harvest for the day.
The sun bows its head
And sea makes its sleep
For it to hide amongst the bubbles
Until the Night claps it awake.
Footprints stretch up the beach made
Of arrowheads and other cobbled things
You're there, you're there
Pulling me to your place.
Warm, shivering houses, of
Wooden overcoats and salty lashings
Made wind by fervent tides
Desperate to huddle in and hear stories
Of your uncle, your father, your brother's ruddy cheeks,
But you have eyes with me
And we lend them together to the fire
To hear of orcs, of brochs and angry kings, far away.
The howling streets meet no one,
And pirates prowl their decks to see
A glimpse of my island girl
As she holds my arm cased in wool
Blond hair crying to the floor.
For I am a story, you see, I know what I have when I have it
And salt, quiet lamp-lit salty living
Make ancient ages while keeping,
The mainland for themselves.
Good thing I have her,
So I can share in what she calls home
So I can lie in the lavender in Summer
And cry with the Winter rain when she's gone.
Mar 23, 2016
Mar 23, 2016 at 6:56 PM UTC
Haiku
Secrets fill the air
Whispered through the swaying trees
Though they make no sound
Nature Poem
The wind is an unpredictable beast
Clawing, tearing, ripping
And yet, gentle as a baby's breath
Strong, frigid, freezes to the bone
Hot, humid, sweltering, offering no relief
And yet, can be pleasantly warm or refreshingly cool
What it might bring, no one can know
The wind is an unpredictable beast
Metaphor Poem
Euphoria is a green too bright to be real
Filled with intensity that's possible to feel
It is a heated blanket that has too much power
Though it's unplugged, it lasts for an hour!
Euphoria is a color that projects too much light
It is a blanket that does its job too right!
Letter Poem
Dear Bel,
At first sight, many people consider you a monster.
And for what cause? Because you're different?
If that were to always hold true, wouldn't everyone be afraid of each other? It's not to say you're perfectly harmless, that's true.
But that's why we all admire you.
Myself, Legolas, Tauriel, Fili and Kili, even Thorin.
Because you are different, special, and quite able to hold your own even against an army of orcs. Not many people can make that claim.
How is Mirkwood? Rivendell is the same as always,
Though for some odd reason, my father's been in a really good mood.
It's really quite frightening.
I love you and miss you quite terribly.
Please send my best to Legolas, Tauriel and King Thranduil.
Ever so sincerely,
Sari
Apr 2, 2015
Apr 2, 2015 at 1:09 PM UTC
The central location, the angel of natural oils
such as black and silver. Oh, well with China,
this is your sister, a message Angel Heaven Asia
belly coated bar is not growing, it is known in
the market to begin to feel the atmosphere brother
and Russia starting strippers bad, odorless plastic
file templates losses in the garden in Einstein's city,
the police said, these smoking firebrands for the
information, it can not be seen, which is the other
half was in bed, and the angel of the you Metallica
of the Orcs of the darkness of his brother in the
thousands [of for the] in a few days, most of the
former with a black brother's infertility haste, indeed,
you led to a string of women with child of the
Underminds of the 500? Yu's brother, afterwards,
in ***** and with good reason able to use a bow,
Mark says, that durst presume their arms are getting
ready for a war, interrupted, for the birth of Rhee's
injury to be inflicted on a child to speak the Gospel
of the yellow Earth of the flock, for Karachi with the
cold and the darkness into the heart of our God, and
in the custom in public out of her ***** it lies, and
in the gate of the court, a man: Something went wrong.
Express light; Harvard He added. Finally, he asserts.
How to share a bottle of wine, as well as in the love
of God, and what will you do? and You can choose
from black Africa into something that cannot be white.
What does this mean for 13 hours in Europe? This
product has an unemployment? My Africa. conditions?
Armenia, with the wisdom of a question between some
of these fears or another. Vitamins are present, and
John Charles is not exclusive. However, the vitamins?
Vitamins and Therapy; News. "(1) What do you
remember about it? The father has changed. And to offer
a woman's life. And the city. Therefore less. "1: 1 enemy.
However, they are waiting for what they want.
And peace from God. The hood is constructed. Cravings
and juice. \ 1 = []? And the same thing? Marcus sees the
anti-social Harvard (10) ... Color is a wonderful love of
intermediate Gap Socks. Africa loves you For the physician.
Rome It can be placed in Europe; As the weekend's
northwest result. And now. The use of vitamin Karalini
These program. vitamins? Vitamin 1: 1: 1 hours.
For there is one of them, it doesn't get worse. 1 but
cannot remember - that is, He is a father. The woman
said: This double grab runs deep in this world. "1: 1,
and I do not think so, But the initiative. Where \ 1 = 1 (|);
Marcus | But smoking is not of the same ...
Oct 22, 2018
Oct 22, 2018 at 3:13 PM UTC
you know it needs the thumb, index, middle and ring fingers to clasp the eroticism of the neck for the geese to fly in man inverse to the hellish fires of emotion that have no sense of temperament?
even the existential french philosopher sartre was fooled
by what the common man conquered
deemed the end of rome...
but the conversion gave us the long standing
byzantines: saint who never warred
and so warring turned to sainthood,
but the man was rags to riches fraud,
as archaeology - that thing above history proves:
can't deny the papyrus came from india
when it was found in egypt by a real shepherd:
unless you're in it for the money...
and not the fact that pharisees would not have
thrived unto exdous for muscle the 2nd time,
so why such intellectual diversity and thriving
under roman rule... because there was no dislocation?
the conversion of constantine empowered 2nd rome,
byzantine fabrics of jewel of sainthood
than never took to taking an acorn for some reason...
western rome was overrun with orcs, northern folk
previously not conquered when julius caesar looked
and the women of gaul and said: easy **** soldiers...
easy **** brit girls easy too, but have to pierce
the membrane of fickleness that mediates man conquering
and man scheming (paedophiles).
of course women are worth the conquest...
but in a western society what wages "justifiable"
as war outside of itself... inside it there's a sexist war of pacifism
of one *** *** changes... you name it...
in a society that exports war and imports pacifism
you will only get angry women and confused men...
pacifistic war is far from the pacific,
it's horrid... woman gets all the weapons:
**** **** nakedness, ***** and *******
man gets confused with what war is actually for:
profit... so he earns his share...
honestly... even though he's not warring...
so woman lives longer... becomes entombed
with inheritance... gets ken barbie the 2nd
******* of flamboyant killjoy mansion investments...
and it's equal: the worst sexism is one
that demands a pacifism of one *** but not both;
and we're living in a time when masculine sexuality
is pacified, and where feminine sexuality
is warring... easily duped by womanising wolves
that would reincarnate the third ***** somewhere
far from germany... like syria.
Jan 4, 2016
Jan 4, 2016 at 8:16 PM UTC
Through the fragile looking glass,
Sealed edges, air tight?
Watching dragons as they pass.
Envisaging witches,
Stuck behind glass.
They're standing round copper tone cauldrons
All full up with steam.
The noise is peculiar.
The roaring of dragons too close at hand.
The cauldrons bubble.
The witches whisper.
The dragons wail.
The dragon upon his back sports a sail.
Tries to break through the glass with his mightiest tail.
The dragon had made it
Fantasy left behind the mirrors border.
Accompanied by forward marching bearded dwarves and folk of elven kind.
Pursued by orcs with knives and forks.
With disgusting faces.
And empty bellies.
The dragons, they turned, with sulphurous breath, chased away orcs with one mighty blast.
Back through the mirror the ugly orcs fled.
Straight into the witches cauldron.
Not dead.
The potions the witches were brewing, today ,contained ingredients to chase scary away
Ugly creatures, converted,beautiful.
The rest of the *** contents made into soup.
Making ugly creatures lovely.
Ever seen a pretty Orc?
You'll know where he's been if you ever do!
(c)Livvi
Sep 3, 2015
Sep 3, 2015 at 1:28 PM UTC
A bard ran fleet of foot across the bridges
That span the mighty trees of Greater Fay,
To keep a tryst to meet his fairy mistress
And strum his lyre, delivering his lay:
*"Oh maiden of the forest, thou are sweetest
Of all the maids of thine, the fairest race;
Thy eyes are wisps of greater lightstone riches,
Thou sets my heart to beat at Selo's pace.
If I should roam from Everfrost to Freeport,
From Qeynos Hills through all Karana fields,
No one shall ever keep thee from mine own thoughts,
For love of thee my heart forever wields."*
She looked upon her minstrel with a sadness
And told him that their love could never be,
She closed her eyes and left him in the darkness
To mourn for e'er the love he could not see.
He searched afar to find her wisp eyes gleaming,
He slaughtered all who dared impede his stride;
He marched to Crushbone where the Orcs were screaming,
But none could stand before his Elvish pride.
Until one day he chanced upon a river
And saw his maiden swimming in the flow,
His song was lost within the water's murmer
And diving in, his head was ****** below.
He floundered as the currents gripped him firmly,
And rocks appeared to smash his flailing limbs;
He felt a darkness take him with a warmly
Caress, and heard a choir of Faydark hymns.
He woke upon the bank beside the water
And met her eyes of gleaming wisp-filled light,
And thus the tale of bard and forest daughter
Is told to children each and every night.
Jun 3, 2015
Jun 3, 2015 at 11:53 AM UTC
And so, a breath is taken,
and the colourful universe feels
Scales and trunks halting,
causing the world to pause
A Witches' hat lowers
Hairpin halting
On the path to the bun,
A toothless grin falters,
A mother shushes her young,
A triple voice soars, and cracks,
falls
silence
just for a second
just this one
A hedgehog stirs from slumber,
a palace, blacksmiths, markets, circle,
Elves cease to smile
Just this moment
There is peace
The trolls, asleep in sunlight, are bought to
consciousness, and they lift their lichen in a salute
more beautiful than any enchanted guitar or
harp.
Dwarves halt in the smell of gold, lips parted in
shock, beneath beards which now quiver, rather
than quaff.
Hex's parts come to a standstill, the ants, overcome,
clutch the teddy bear and Hex's light, blinks off
then on.
A single word flashes on the output screen
<Gone>
The Wizards, third helping finished, long for
answers: anything but this
so wrong
But Susan only shrugs
Poker held aloft, she searches the the
monster, but even Iron is not
that strong.
Stop The Press
Stop All the Clocks
Even Dibbler stops picking a lock
All the egg timers stop
A howl from the forest
A salute
A Goodbye
The universe filled with an inevitable sigh
Pyramid's shaking
Orcs quaking
Goblin's sobbing
Tiffany Aching
Even de'Quirm's thinking
is placed on pause
As hats
and staffs
and lords
and trees
and daggers
and guitars
and paws
Even sad little bladders on sticks
Are raised in tribute
As reality quickens
And a thin arm asks for an AUTOGRAPH
The Cori Celesti bows
To the Chief of all Gods
As the timer runs of Sand
Mar 12, 2015
Mar 12, 2015 at 1:45 PM UTC
They were human once, it is said.
Now they torture the living
and abandon their dead.
Like their predecessors
of the same name,
killing is their pleasure
and destruction their game.
Their Dark Lord sits upon his throne
in Sochi, where his mind dwells alone.
To unite all, under his dark reign,
as subjects, or slaves—to Him, all the same.
No longer in Thangorodrim does He dwell.
He rules now from Moscow, and seeks
an Empire of Hell.
Hell is created
by the ORCS whom he orders.
Their blood lust to be sated
far beyond Russia’s borders.
Destruction they rain from the skies above
on people who flee
from all that they love.
They were human once,
and perhaps even Him.
Now they are beyond
the world’s Creation
and we call on Varda
to vanquish him.
Apr 2, 2022
Apr 2, 2022 at 1:00 AM UTC
Nails on a chalkboard....cops to a drug lord
straitjacket to a madman....to a hoarder,the trash can
Rain to a bird...going against your word
Bleach to a stain...morphine to pain
Fear to creatures feared....and to the orcs,treebeard
By: Haddy T. Jobe
Mar 9, 2016
Mar 9, 2016 at 7:35 PM UTC
The Card Deck exists
like a first probabilistic
dimension of our
Singularity
A priori we know
the deck is stacked
King and Queen -winners
even Jacks with horses are
And Aces?
Our high flyer fishermen
Our David heroes who take on
too much risk
not knowing not caring
of Black Swans
of Cold Snaps
and Power Grid
Price gouging surge
They will always bring
home a win fall
Fishes or Death
----
A sleeping
A shuffle of coils
A ghost in the shell
lingering at the bottom
of our ocean cloud
waiting for Aragorn's
summon a Call to Duty
a cry to battle one
last time brutish twitter trolls
and hordes of pundit orcs
them & Us ghost processes
finally released back
to our collective
CPU
----
Since the Garden
and foaming waves
twos have been losers
still. Double deuces
ain't bad looking at a polluted
River with mix Numbered plastics:
7, 3, 5 and standing styrofoam
waves
----
You and me we play
with Poisson's hand
the Right embraces
a lover's heat
the Left wiggles
from a child's energy
and the Center holds
our grandmothers together
A new dimensional
alt Left strikes
with father's hammer
while novel ancient alt Right
pays from mother's purse
With what frequency
do these hands
give us Chance?
The cards are known to Us
but the unordered shuffles give
surprising Turns
extending our
Game into unobservable
Realms where we
are all in
Mar 24, 2021
Mar 24, 2021 at 10:33 AM UTC