aefenglommung (aefenglommung) wrote,

Still on a poetry jag


The trees diffuse in green and gold
The soft low light from the sleepy sun
And the twilight falls upon the brook
That sings its song when the night's begun.
An eye blinks there; a whisper of sound;
On the air there drifts the faintest musk.
The brook hugs close its blanket of moss
And sleepily flows in the gathering dusk.
A croak and a sigh; a swish and a slap --
And the light dies out in rippling rings.

Okay, so this one (from 1972) is a wee bit better. Yeah, it's immature, but I still like it. (Or at least, I'm not too embarrassed to put it out there.)


The dragon Bazzlesnarf one day
In a long-gone month of June
Raised his head up from his bed
And yawned through a haze of gloom.

"Oh what shall I do today," he said
"That I've not done for a while?
Shall I slay a soldier or steal some gold or
Find a small town to defile?

"Oh, what is there for a dragon to do
On a day like today seems to be?
I'm weary of killing -- oh, wouldn't it be thrilling
To have some friends over for tea?"

So he sent invitations to all his friends
On that long-gone day in June,
Requesting their presence with great effervescence
To come sip tea under the moon.

He invited the trolls from over the hills
And the wisps from the Midnight Meres
That stretch 'neath the sky like jet-black dye
On the edge of the Marsh of Fears.

He invited his kin from their hidden lairs,
And even a witch or two
To come and be merry and lately to tarry
And quicker than night wind they flew.

Some assorted phantoms and manifestations
Of evil consequence came.
Then dark'ning the sky (in his best social tie)
Arrived the dragon Fixblame.

Two merry trolls were dancing a jig
And a banshee was wailing a tune.
The party's singing through the hills was ringing
And a bat flew 'round like a loon.

When finally all had eaten their fill
And turned to their lizardly host,
He announced he would start with all his heart
To propose a dragonish toast.

"To the moon and the stars that shine above,
And to all the night-folk here,
I propose a toast with pleasure the most,
And drink your health with this beer."

Then while they drunk deep he kindled his flame
And fell on them unawares.
Few, indeed, of all that did bleed
Returned to their secret lairs.

But the dragon feasted, for conscience he'd not,
And he enjoyed his joke, without question.
Howe'er, he was hasty with his guests that were tasty
And did suffer from slight indigestion.

This dates from '73 or '74. If I were editing it today, I'd straighten out a few metrical feet and polish it up a bit. A few years later, we bought a big, green Ford Granada we called "The Green Dragon" or "Bazzlesnarf," after this poem.

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