Go north. Go east.  Get lamp.  Get food.  Get key.
Get sword.  Examine sword.  It's glowing blue.
Say "plugh".  You watch the world around you flee.
You're standing near a boulder marked "Y2".
Put Auntie's thing in bag.  It doesn't fit.
(By Infocom.  Wherever games are sold.)
Such antics are the price for us to sit
where Thorin sits and sings about his gold.

You're standing west of house again.  You see:
a robot and a door.  The door sees: you.
You're carrying some fluff, some shades, no tea;
Be careful.  You'll be eaten by a grue.
Oh, now you've gone and fallen in a pit.
You're carrying as much as you can hold.
In Bedquilt.  You see shadows through the slit,
where Thorin sits and sings about his gold.

But Activision's little shopping spree
had turned the world to wanting something new.
It's sad, but still, I think we'd all agree
the Z-machine's demise was overdue.
The day when all the world went sixteen-bit
the era died.  I think they broke the mould
when pictures took the place of words and wit,
where Thorin sits and sings about his gold.

Prince of the numbers, worlds have watched you knit
the memories of processors of old;
you've made a better planet, I submit,
where Thorin sits and sings about his gold.

King Under the Mountain?
Hardly so.
Longed to be king?
Certain sure.
But treasures lost...
He, dragon-sick,
Trusted no one,
Swung an Elven blade,
Lies buried holding Orcrist,
Elven Treasure.

"If the world cared more about home than gold the world would be a jolly place"
Maybe if everyone else thought the world wasn't gold
It could be a home to a jolly place

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