This is a snatchet of an ancient song sung by Aeden on Tome: of Sword and Dagger. I have his permission to post.
Before the mounds of rusted gold
And dead men moldered in their crypts,
While the first were not yet old,
We sailed the sea that has no ships.And tho’ the sun forgets the moon,
And tho’ its light dries darkness dry,
And tho’ all earth forgets too soon,
We cry,Remember us.
A land, a land I know, just over crystal hills,
Just over crooked mountains and their crooked kings
And trolls and lords and filthy beasts and so on and so forth.
That is, a land I know, so far away it chills
My blood (to think of talking rocks and trees and things
That never ought to have the nerve to talk considering),
Still haunts me in my sleep: how is Ella?
A wolf howls in the night, his fur-lined-muzzle song
A dirge. A rock tells me my wrongs, and wolves can sing
A duet with my land. A-howl, a-howl, a screaming howlish duet in the night.
And morning breaks all cheerily with sunbirds – wrong.
The books, they never tell of misty mornings rolling
Over misty nights, with not-so-much a tweet; the smoky-golden sun
Now haunts me as I march: how is Ella?
The backwash of some rude reptilian demon sprawls
Across my path. A lizard is no gentleman
To dull-sworded warriors or their lesser-mettle’d counterparts.
A wolf is more polite, though bard, than one who crawls
Away from- Away and leaves no step or floorplan
For the weary (or the lonesome, or the lovely woman left alone).
It haunts me when I think: where is Ella?
A rock-brained wolfish lizard beast who takes a bit
Of dull-edged metal and his courage, livelihood,
Money, portable belongings, deepest savings, heirlooms, love,
That is, a man who kissed her (there they sit,
But not ‘they’ and just ‘her’, upon the stoop, alone and good),
Left her. No man, no man would mix so fair with crystal hills.
Ella? How is Ella? It haunts me in the valley all alone.
Away, away!
The trumpets are calling!
Away, away!
The wheels of time rolling!
Away, away!
The war gongs are booming!
Away, away, away!
Lost in the forested hills in a clearing,
Lost in the bramble of all new and old,
Found all a’never but to those a’searching,
Questing Hall waits for adventurers bold.
Come, all ye weary. Come, see my cheer.
Eat of my food and get rest in my bed.
Come, though ye wander afar or a’near.
Your feet find a footstool, a pillow, your head.
Away, away!
The horses are neighing!
Away, away!
The armor is shining!
Away, away!
Yet come back ere morning!
Away, away, away!
(And don’t forget to visit the site this poem speaks of: Tome: of Sword and Dagger.)
Once upon a time, long ago in a land far, far, far, far, far, far, far, far, far, far (well, you get my point) away, so far away in fact that it was actually close, there was a group of little grey hills, and on the little grey hills there sat a little house made of plywood, and standing outside the house (so it wouldn’t blow over on him) was a little man named Edwin. Edwin was so boring that I cannot bring myself to describe him to you, all I can say is that he was extremely poor, he had no friends, and he had only one relation: his brother. His brother lived two hills away from Edwin but they hadn’t seen one another for thirty-three years and the last time they had seen each other it was by accident. It wasn’t that they had any reason to be upset, they just had no reason to visit (and besides, they had both forgotten each other’s names).
As I mentioned earlier, Edwin was very poor; he had no money, no food, no bed, and no clothes (this last one was the only one that bothered him a bit for he had to wear a barrel around his waist). His house blew over so much that he finally decided to live beside it rather than in it. He had once been a famous banker, but he had been fired right away so he switched to the idea of settling down with his wife and having many children. He had no wife though, (this presented a problem) and the only woman in that country had warts all over her face and was already married to his brother. Edwin then decided that he should become a farmer, so he bought seeds and planted them in every place he could find; he bought twenty cows as well. All he ended up growing were weeds (which are not very good for anything) and all his cows disappeared one morning.
There was one thing that lived on the hill with Edwin, but he wasn’t friends or business-partners or anything else with it; a unicorn named George lived on the other side of the house and sometimes they saw one another. George was white with black spots and he had black eyes and a silver horn. He liked to sing at nights:
“Oh I live beside a plywood house.
Rum-te-tum
I have a silver horn.
(Bum-bum-bum)
My hooves are black and white
Rum-de-dum
And I eat a lot of corn.
Tum-tum-tum
That was how his song went (he was very proud of it) and every night he made up a different tune for it. And that is how they both lived every night and day for years and years till one day something very exciting happened to Edwin. (This next part will not make much sense to you if you do not know much about the land they lived in. Everything was grey because there were always grey clouds covering the sky, and only one person in history had claimed to see the sky ever in that part of the world.)
George was sleeping on his side of the house when he suddenly felt a tap on the shoulder. He woke to find Edwin standing excitedly over him.
“Hullo there,” George said sleepily.
“Hullo,” said Edwin.
“Well whatever-your-name-is? What could possibly important enough for you to wake me?” asked George irritably.
“I saw the sky!” whispered Edwin.
“You did not,” retorted George.
“I have so. Come and see if you won’t believe me,” said Edwin.
“Nonsense,” snorted the unicorn, “I’ll do nothing of the sort.”
“Very well,” said Edwin with his feelings rather hurt, “don’t then. But I did too see it and that’s more than you can ever say.”
Then he went back to his side of the house and the unicorn fell back asleep and forgot all about it. The next few weeks passed by without anything exciting at all happen, which didn’t seem unusual since that was what usually went on; then one day Edwin was woken up by an excited George.
“Hullo,” said Edwin.
“Hullo there,” said George.
“Well whatever-your name-is? What could possibly be important enough for you to wake me?” asked Edwin irritably.
“I saw the sky,” whickered George.
“You didn’t,” retorted Edwin.
“I have so! Come and see if you won’t believe me,” said George.
“I’ll do nothing of the sort,” snorted Edwin.
“Very well,” said George, “don’t then. But I did too see it and that’s more than you can ever say.”
“By Jove,” said Edwin, “that’s not fair. I’ve seen it too.”
“You never said,” George said in surprise.
“Well I have,” said Edwin triumphantly.
“Very well…then so’ve I,” trumpeted George.
And suddenly they both looked up to discover yet another blue patch of sky in the clouds.
“Climb up on my back,” said George, “and see if you can see touch it.” So Edwin did, and he discovered that he was only an arms-length away from it. But all he said was:
“I can’t reach it.” For he couldn’t.
Then George went back to his side of the house and they both fell asleep. Then life returned almost to normal; Edwin and George never felt inclined to look up at the sky anymore and they seldom saw one another. But every so often when they did happen to come upon each other they would sit for a minute or two and remember those days when something exciting happened.
Then the helm-smith, Hargith Macehand,
Son of Borad, brave bone-biter,
Saw the rushing, red-blood fighters
Grim and hateful, bent on hurting.
Macehand flyted, though heart fearing
“Wyrd is with us, weep not, Sommal
Some of Sommal, all of Sommal
Brace your weapons, we will victor!”
Reckless foe-men fell upon them,
Then they trembled, turning inland.
Evil kindred, Sommal kinsmen,
Left their hall-lord, hurt and helpless.
Fallen Hargith, helm full-splintered,
Saw the whale-men with their axes.
Crying “Traitors!” took a duck-call,
“Quack quack quack quack” cried the quack-call.
Guck the goose-son, grave and hardy,
Guck half-duck-son, dove to rescue.
Foe and fhennman fell afflicted,
Hargith Macehand rose to muster.
Guck the beaky, brave and honking
Slew the bearded, bent them homeward.
Guck, half-mallard, half-goose birdie
Drove the deadly dinn to doom-land
Gallant Guck-bird, bright and gloried,
Fallen fighters feared and trembled.
Guck up-winged, to the Western,
Left then Macehand, master helm-smith
dedicated to Dr. Rose
In Restless Grove, the fickle thicket, we
The restless grovelets dwelt, with many turn and rove
And wandering to gaze upon the sea.
We never felt at home in Restless Grove.
The mild winters did not freeze us, spring
Contentment killed, fair summer blasted not,
Fall launched no fury, only mellowing.
The seasons circled, banding in our lot.
Enough, but not in excess, so we wore
Away, until we left the Restless Grove
To sail our ship in search of better shore;
Myriad lands we’ve set and sailed for want of better trove.
We’re lost and mapless now, yet hope to learn
Someday the way to Restless Grove return.
-Not content, or happy, yet we find,
That happiness is just a state of mind.
This article is on the ape, something which I know virtually nothing about. The ape’s structure resembles something slightly like that of a pony; the pony is very much like it. That is to say, they are similar. The pony is used for transportation and sport, same as the ape.
Ponies are on great demand, whether, I shudder in anger to say, as dogfood or glue, or for rich Grandmothers to buy for their three year old granddaughters named Emira Ann Sylvie Snookum on her birthday, while all the other underprivileged guests watch in jealous hatred as she waddles up on the horses back and shouts as she rides very slowly in small circles. She doesn’t offer her guests a ride either, and of course the doting Grandmother does not see any reason why her fat little granddaughter should share. The party goes on for too long, Emira Ann Sylvie Snookum throws a fit, and the pony is given to the butler to take care of. Emira Ann Sylvie Snookum will not give another thought to the wellfare of the pony after this. Her grandmother has just bought her a pink poodle named Fifi.
written during a slow period of life to no-one in particular
If ever fish were made to sing,
Or birds could swim as well as wing,
Or spiders served at meat;
If ever turtles taught at school,
Or eagles learned the Golden Rule,
Or packèd-rats were neat;
Should lizards learn to hoola-hoop,
Or snakes grow arms and paratroop,
Or ants admit defeat;
Then man will might his manners learn,
His fortune maybe work to earn,
And life will be complete.
A man went to the king.
"King," he said. "King, I wish to address a certain issue with you."
The king nodded sagely and said nothing.
"King," he continued. "O king, why must I hoe the fields all day, and muck the stalls, and sweep the floor? Why can you sit all day, saying little and doing nothing?"
The king listened but said nothing.
"King," he elaborated. "O kingly man, my arm is flesh as is yours. My mind runs and my heart beats. The only difference betwixt us two is our clothing. Give me now your crown, O man, for I deserve it equally as you."
The king considered silently. He rose, removed his crown, and, handing it to the peasant, stepped down from his throne’s dais and sat in a chair by the way.
"Soldiers," called the man. "Stand around my throne. Cook? Fetch me some fish. You there–hey, boy!–clean my shoes. Where is my fish? Somebody light the torches before I go blind. Ring up a painter; this room is a dreadful hue. How long does it take to cook a fish? I like being a king: it makes me feel grand. I have a pebble in shoe. Someone get it out. Call a tailor to make me some new clothes. I am hungry. Cook! Get me a fish at once!"
This continued for the space of four minutes, twenty seconds. A defenestration occurred. The king remounted his throne. He picked up the crown where it had fallen on the floor, adjusted it on his head, sighed, but said nothing.
O Toad, you solemn little beast!
Which on flies and bugs doth feast–
Can you, can you tell me this
Why on Frog, not you, they land a kiss?
O Toad, why do the beasts pass by
And do not see your teary eyes?
But when Frog, green Frog happens to chance
Upon him their gaze doth glance.
O Toad, don’t weep, my little friend!
For you to me your luck did lend
I am quite the same as you
Ah, yes, m’dear tis very true.
Though you do hop and I do walk
We both have frogs that steal the talk.