Two Untitled Verses
Copyright 1981, 2008, 2011 Ernest Bloom.
1.
We hate ogres, and they hate we.
We kill ogres very carefully.
We stack their heads in pyramids.
We find their lairs and kill their kids.
2.
Dianel was an Ungodly King:
Of him the kindly sadly sing.
The last to rule great lands in Fear
Between the mud flats and the mere.
The Wisp's Destruction
Copyright 1982, 2008, 2011 Ernest Bloom.
"Heed the will-o'-wisp!" said adventurer wise,
he called Guldo of the Staff.
"Think twice before answering fearful maiden cries,
for to do otherwise would prove you daft.
"In mires they dwell, making most realistic imitation
of errant venturers astray in the wilderness.
And the unsuspecting soul who seeks this apparition,
his company his wiser companions will shortly miss."
Upon hearing these words the healer named Metless
trembled uncontrollably, for such was his way
of reacting to such news which, as you might guess
always resulted in his acting quite fey.
Elladan i-Arturian, a foppish man of letters,
self-proclaimed worker of magic, well-constructed in the head,
completely failed to respond to the lore of his betters,
being already in fact quite predictably dead.
In the martial arts Anarion by no man was exceeded
but by Tholcrist, who was rumored an Archer for a God.
Anarion shuddered in his boots and imprecations uttered,
whilst of the end of the will-o-wisp Tholcrist mildly thought.
In snowy forest most cold and crisp
forayed we were by fiendish beast
contesting our journey south to east.
But under the standard of Furble the Bold,
who single-handedly (or so we are told)
saved our lives and procured gemstones rare,
for he alone slayed after finding its lair
the dreadful will-o'-wisp!
Curse Him
Copyright 1982, 2008, 2011 Ernest Bloom.
We were eight
Hot on the trail
Of the source
Of our dreams.
Far from our homes
Seeking our fate.
For should we fail,
We would perforce
Fall short of our schemes
To save the entire world.
But in debate
Did we later wrangle,
For, of course,
We were imperiled
By gnolls and gnomes.
Upon a dark horse
Brightly and richly detailed
Under black of night he roams,
Neither more nor less than he seems.
Zangulv he's called, worker of wrong,
Taker of lives, petrifier,
Vampire, friend of will-o'-wisp!
Here now I end my song,
But not before prior I tell of nights cold and crisp,
When Zangulv invaded and plundered,
And all that rhymes is "wondered". . . .
Fifteen More Uses for an RFD
Copyright 1982, 2008, 2011 Ernest Bloom.
1. Its obvious use (i.e., its intended use)
2. Kills bedbugs
3. Tricks highwaymen
4. Gong
5. Target for shot-putting
6. Attracts monsters worth many experience points (see #4)
7. Fab hubcaps for wagons
8. Iron source
9. Conversation piece
10. Jelly bean dish
11. It's magic (see #3)
12. Easily connected with metal poles
13. Use to signal aircraft, once they're invented
14. Gambling (land up or down)
15. Bird bath
[A/N: "Rabbit Food Dish."]
Bloody, Bloody Home
Copyright 1982, 2008, 2011 Ernest Bloom.
From distant lands did I set sail
With courageous fem in bikini chain-mail
Upon dreary seashore I did assail
And proceed to nuke a bloody whale
Back, back, take me back
To my bloody, bloody home.
Adventuring reeks, it rots, it stinks,
And I can't stand sleeping alone!
Later that night we were assailed
For my servant once again had failed
Yet in spite of all I was not paled
For then the fifty trolls I nailed
Back, back, take me back
To my bloody, bloody home.
Adventuring reeks, it rots, it stinks,
And I can't stand sleeping alone!
Hobbits
Copyright 1982, 2008, 2011 Ernest Bloom.
Hobbits are a distinguished race.
When men's ways fail they set the pace.
They eat fairy-cakes and drink popcorn wine,
and they smoke weeds in pipes and write a line
or two when the days are peaceful and calm,
and nothing rhymes with that.
Adam is a hobbit brave:
he dwells in a house, not in a cave.
Furble picks locks and that's not all;
and he's short: he's not too tall.
Periatan is his son, an assassin in training
who walks in Malandris, sunny or raining.
The Unpublished Guldo, Pt. 1
Copyright 1982, 2008, 2011 Ernest Bloom.
There was a young cleric named Metis
Who found profound urge to eat lettuce.
In this idiosyncrasy we obliged him,
But later came to despise him,
As once when excited he wet us.
Anarion was a fighter from Marcus
Who made many a foe a carcass.
But one night we learned him a cad,
Being most wicked and evil and bad,
Secretly sampling slain Boojumus snarkus.
There was a professional called Elladan
Who was omni-inferior in all the land.
He searched for Serah,
But committed so many faux pas
That the Arch-Mage soon made him un-manned.
Once there was a thief so famous
D.E. held him most crafty and heinous.
Furble rose up after ale and meal,
And with holy wrath and a good blade of steel,
Stabbed Mr. D.E. proficiently in the anus.
Atanimir was a sorcerer of such renown
His tale was told in every town
Concerning how he conjured a majickal mist
(Some say by spell; some say he. . . .well, you get the picture)
And so blinded Bahamut and brought him down.
There was an introspective warrior called Drest
Who loved all women for their personalities.
He took him no wife,
Yet led a thrillic life,
Taking it on the run.
There was a young lad called Micky
Who wore hoods to conceal a hicky.
He ever denied it,
But we all realized it:
An invisible dryad traveled always with Micky.
The Unpublished Guldo, Pt. 2
Copyright 1982, 2008, 2011 Ernest Bloom.
Allaman was a clerical lord
Called "Sir" by some; by others "Gourd"
Of his talents Allaman was quite proud,
But with a burning spirit he was endowed,
And his opinions were generally ignored.
Drest will be an Elven-King
Of whom the harpies merrily shall sing.
The first whose realm will be fair and free
Between Marcus and the Sea.
Elladan sat alone on his seat of stone
And mumbled that he was all alone;
As for magic, he wished he had it,
But wit is hard to come by:
Done by! Gum by!
Upon a knoll he sat alone,
And wit is hard to come by.
Lines
Copyright 1982, 2008, 2011 Ernest Bloom.
I regarded the lines drawn on the page,
Constructed there by a learned sage
In the lore of stars and every planet,
And so disdained my trade of Mage.
Each star spun round like a dizzy hornet,
Like a nest of sparks and one had fanned it.
A famous astrologer he was, no man wiser,
Except They as built it all and planned it.
Despite the fact that I already despised her,
She the Wise is proved a pretender to be a miser,
Reluctant to reveal her most profound thought,
In fact less learned than that astrologer and scrier.
I regarded the lines prognostication-fraught,
And none may declare me a liar.
Their like I have ever since sought,
But in this world such skill's accessible not.
Sasquatch
Copyright 1982, 2008, 2011 Ernest Bloom.
Sasquatch is tall and furry.
He has big teeth and feet.
Sometimes he's in a hurry,
Sometimes combed, and neat.
He eats both bread and meat,
And sometimes on people he feeds.
He makes his gum by chewing wheat.
He garnishes his meals with weeds.
He wears a tie and tweeds.
He picnics in the falling rain.
He stares at sesame seeds
And at water going down the drain.
He thinks that life's a pain,
But we all know the truth.
We are sayers of sooth
Who proclaim Sasquatch uncouth.
The Retreat
Copyright 1982, 2008, 2011 Ernest Bloom.
Zap! Snap! the wise crack!
Stab, slay! Jab, flay!
And let us march us back to Marcus
You go, you cad!
Run, run! Under moon and sun!
Move those feet or feel the beat!
To a place more merry across the prairie!
Ho, ho! you cad!
Pound, bump! Squirm and jump!
Move along and sing our song!
Faster, faster! or else disaster!
While we beat the dirt and you get hurt
To a place more merry across the prairie!
Below, you cad!
Three Warriors
Copyright 1982, 2008, 2011 Ernest Bloom.
Crews an Elf is a reckless man,
Preferring flame to frying pan.
A berserker with a heart of gold,
Or maybe of silver, or perhaps, we are told,
Of brass, or of copper, and indeed it may very well be
That his heroic heart's wrought of some lesser alloy.
Alan wields a mighty sword,
So fantastic we know he could never afford
To have purchased it, or have had it wrought.
But we think it odd its true owner has not
Sought out this weapon, famed bringer of pain
(Unless he was by the blade's thief slain).
Herzboz can any man or Halfling lick
Unless he's very, very sick.
We like to ride with him on a boat.
He looses his cool, and up his throat
Explodes his breakfast and yesterday's dinner,
And poor old 'Boz looks green and thinner.
Hxpxnrd Heroes Like General Vrxndizehn
Copyright 1982, 2008, 2011 Ernest Bloom.
In the year 3014 A.D.
The world almost ended in an
Atomic catastrophe.
But some men in Peru survived,
As did some kiwis in New Zealand,
Although they emerged from the
Catastrophe in a highly mutated form.
Although they became intelligent,
They also became excruciatingly
Ugly.
When the men from Peru found them
Some six thousand years later, the
Mutated kiwis, which now called themselves the
Hxpxnrds, became the recipients, or
Butts, of many cruel Peruvian insults and Jokes.
As a result, the Hxpxnrds took up arms and
Destroyed every last man, but their rule was
Short-lived, as two years later the sun
Became a red giant, and they
All perished.
Acme Mung Killing Boots
Copyright c. 1982, 2008, 2011 Ernest Bloom.
Perspective:
Use it or
Lose it.
Drawing Straws
Copyright c. 1982, 2008, 2011 Ernest Bloom.
Phasepants
Should put many fighters
In the room --
If his towel
Is with him.
Mortem Confundet Magus
Copyright c. 1982, 2008, 2011 Ernest Bloom.
"They were in the wrong place
at the wrong time. Naturally,
they became torqued."
- Attributed by Furble Gardner
(probably erroneously) to one
General Nggullgth,
King of the Twits.
A Tribute to Shantakart
Copyright 1983, 2008, 2011 Ernest Bloom.
Shantakar was a ma-gi-cian.
I sed it once; I'll say it again.
Shantakar was a ma-gi-cian.
I sed it twice; I'll say it again.
Shantakar was a ma-gi-cian.
I sed it thrice; but ne'er again.
He's dead now, as he bit the big'un.
When we think of him we miss'im.
He used magic and other substanci.
Now we pay less for our sustenanci.
I knew some slugs and nasty Cleeks.
Disc-gos suck and magic reeks.
Grubs
Copyright 1983, 2008, 2011 Ernest Bloom.
I seen this cow, she had no leggses
When she grazed, she grazed on peggses
A blow fly accosted her bovine self
And she weren't in the best of bloody health
She done got grubs along her back
Which made her cough and made her hack
They wouldn't let her in the best of pubs
On account of her bout with the bloody grubs
The veterinarian used her as a model
They popped the grubs out in a bottle
Like, the Nuke Song, 'Ey?
Copyright 1983, 2008, 2011 Ernest Bloom.
Nuke the bleedin' twits, 'ey?
Nukem where they sits, 'ey?
Givem nervous fits, 'ey?
Blowem t'bloody bits, 'ey?
I'm like standin' in a city, 'ey?
I'm like hummin' m'little ditty, 'ey?
I ne'er wannet t'be an hero, 'ey?
So why'm I standin' at ground zero, 'ey?
So like, the hoseheads are lobbin' nukes, what?
But like, I've put up my dukes, what?
Them fallin' bombs I seen, what?
Now I'm all scaly and green, what?
So like, take off to the great bright north.
So like, take off: it's a beauty way to glow.
So like, take off to the great bright north.
So like, take off: it's a beauty way to glow.
I'm like a bleeding mutant, hail I say.
A total natural refutant, hail I say, but what?
I'd like frighten little tykes, flail all night and day, 'ey?
But they got blown off their bloody trikes, assail all day butt rot, 'ey?
Hail, hail to the civ-i-ale.
Hail, hail, but hail.
Hail, hail, all Human beans must fail.
Hail, holy grail.
P.S. physics sucks.
Duck Raja
Copyright 1983, 2008, 2011 Ernest Bloom.
We've sn'er sassed a more towelless frood
than that dimwit Serah dude.
He punches doggies and that's not all.
The Furb's a short one, but Anarion's tall.
Crews is reckless as a moose
drinking juice in a caboose.
Yareth mounts dragons - claims 'tis keen.
Allaman's snosey, Metless mean.
We hate orgres, we hate rats,
we hate desert breaker cats,
we hate fishing, we hate grubs,
we hate hobbits who sing in tubs.
We like Springsteen and Dire Straits.
We like tarts with group discount rates.
We play poker in dead of snight
and look a fright in morning light.
We hate adventures, we hate peas,
we hate when we skin our snees.
We talk to trees, we talk to squirrels,
we talk to very little girls
We talk and talk, we kibitz,
we play tiddley-winks and pick-up-sticks.
We kill dragons, we snuke whales,
we kick it and boogie when it hails.
We speak Elfish hour after hour,
we speak Demonish and e'en Flower.
"Hail," we say, "but who are we,
but kind-hearted adventurers journeying meekly"
Snowles are fiendish and sno less,
and I'll bet that you can guess
that Baal is King and Raja's rich,
Mr. A bit it and Heckhate's a witch.
Hostages go.
Make Muffins, Not Love
Copyright 1983, 2008, 2011 Ernest Bloom.
There came from Mucus an assassin
whose name was Bahir Ali-Hassan.
As a child he made pies,
under Mucus' fair burnt orange skies,
of mud,
using Mucus dirt and his former
play-fellow's blood.
Q. What's worse than having to go on a wretched adventure?
A. Yareth's cooking.
Bragi's Harp
Copyright 1984, 2008, 2011 Ernest Bloom.
In Asgaard where sit the Twelve as One
Among them doest King Bragi dwell
Reflecting quietly on all that's done
And an be rais'd strife or hearts burn
With temper'd song weaves he a spell
Fit e'en sublime heads to turn
T'attend his lulling craft
And rethink revenge and senseless wrath
Cedo's Queen
Copyright 1984, 2008, 2011 Ernest Bloom.
Around the glowing coals they rested,
warm air devoid of smoke contested.
While zephyrs stirred up frigid gales
old legends all their attention arrested.
Stories they told, tales of dead whales,
of festering blubber-suet in the dales,
and of messy pratfalls they grinning jested.
Then forth came she, fell sorceress,
most steady of brow would all confess:
the Lady Peggy, gloomy Cedo's Queen,
of arcane Forces of Dread possessed.
All poise they lost when she was seen.
There trod one drawing powers from between
both the more occult, and less.
Cruel spells she cast and all who heard
Dark Peggy's smooth and silken word
were quick to tender service bold
that would balk even lowest scavenger bird:
to dare most horrid putrefiers and mold,
to face zombie Cetacean and strive to hold
down breakfast, lunch and last meal third.
To littoral sands they came, charmed whalers brave.
Their services nobly and freely they gave.
At bones they tugged, yellow maggots crunching:
in the high name of Science did they thus behave.
They hauled at flesh, no thought of lunching.
Green entrails they bared, loops billowing, bunching.
They waded in its sloshing grave.
No earthly shower that smell could quench.
They nursed dark thoughts of Cedo's witch.
For though Peggy had pleaded Athena's case,
and encouraged them in the foul and oozing stench,
not once had she joined them in that task so base
to save dead bones from Neptune's surging race,
though she confiscated the ossicles to the very last inch.
They made to depart in rancid odor girt,
to put behind them goo-thick pools and dirt.
Queen Peggy made her last good-byes,
tempting with hex, their will to subvert.
But they knew that behind the guise
of fair-seeming words lurked even more evil lies,
and a sales pitch for an over-priced Cedo shirt.
Some Lines About Bulls
Copyright 1984, 2008, 2011 Ernest Bloom.
Sometimes I wonder when I sit and rest
if ever mankind might pass the test.
We race against time but don't see a goal:
vision like that of Mister Mole.
For all our brains and intellect fine
are we truly much better than the kine?
For even mere bulls could overrun the Earth
given unchecked exponential birth
with death reduced to an acceptable rate.
Then foolish bulls could attain this fate.
But then the bulls would no longer thrive,
there being a struggle to survive
in a universe finite in goods of worth,
as we find on Mother Earth.
Any Heaven is mankind's to make:
social reform - no moral foundation to shake.
But with some men more holy, more beloved of God
we'll never be blessed with minds open and broad.
With the decent off tolling on Sunday school bells
I think it more likely we'll just make us more Hells.
Given ken even dumb bulls might better appreciate
the responsibility of close management of life's fate.
They might even cooperate and consolidate their wit
and make a Utopia - not just more bullshit.
Lines on Tines
Copyright 1984, 2008, 2011 Ernest Bloom.
There's no mistake - you have to yourk
when someone gags you with a fork.
Honeybee lycanthropy
is (thank God) a rarity,
and a werity.
Werewolves and vampires flee from fires
while fey kings flock to funeral pyres,
and dead men glance up from the mires.
Hearken to the zombie choirs:
"There's no mistake - you have to yourk
when someone gags you with a fork."
Utensil symmetry: a shaft, four tines.
Admire the grace, the beauty, lines.
What were the hopes, the fears, designs
of the poster of bills, of badges, signs?
Power, energy to control,
and laminatory rolls just to unroll.
Ogres and fiends, even Mister Troll
all cry out loud from Hell below:
"There's no mistake! You have to yourk
when someone gags you with a fork!"
[A/N: A couple of rum & Eegees, 'ey?]
The JE Refugee
Copyright 1984, 2008, 2011 Ernest Bloom.
I was worried deep inside,
but I nursed my wounded pride:
so many times I'd already tried
to warn them.
But fear drew closer every day,
and I had to find some way
to make them hear the words I'd say
that might save us.
So I put on my tie,
and I had my last try
at convincing them.
Listen gentlemen to my finds.
I know that you will change your minds
when you've seen the portentous signs
in my data.
You all know Jupiter's far away,
but I've rechecked the math every day
since our last meeting in early May
in North Dakota.
Well they looked at me like I was crazy,
and they shook their heads, annoyed,
and they ignored my graphs.
September's end drew more near
but no disaster did appear,
and they all laughed, but my fear
only intensified.
In October the first shudder was felt,
a tremor crossing equatorial belt.
Loosing hands we all were dealt
from the heavens.
Well I fled into the mountains:
a refugee from the wreck
of the Jupiter Effect.
Lines from Outer Space
Copyright 1984, 2008, 2011 Ernest Bloom.
In days of old a story were told
in Elvarie village, fortress, skating rink,
and, indeed, next to the sink,
of an heinous beast
(which were to say the least),
that filled all lands with dread.
None peace might they find in hamlet
(or lamb) till that beast were dead.
When this creature fell
heard her life the Elvarie would quell
she decided to have some fun,
and set out on daring plan to run.
So inspired were said plan,
it were tremendously successful throughout Elvon-land:
by seduction when she were able
(and oft by force, in pig-stable),
she proceeded to spread her dread.
(And that's not all.)
King Dave's head were filled with dread.
Elvarie molested, yet strangely none were dead.
A malady once rare implanted among them,
which once rooted none might stem.
'Twas thus the Elvarie were lost then,
for all themselves terrible were human.
Now, their fate were wretched, but they knew
that into it they'd put their shoe,
and that better were human than submit to such rule.
[A/N: A translation into the semi-intelligible of an original work by the Unknown Poet, called "Lines From Somewhere."]
Algae on My Mind
Copyright 1984, 2008, 2011 Ernest Bloom.
They say we need the MX.
They say we need the cruise.
They say we need to brush our tweed
and scrape our muddy shoes.
We need more elevators,
and another shopping mall.
We need less preen, more dental hygiene,
more lymphocytes and gall.
Bu I simply can't keep track
of how far we've fallen behind.
Can you relate? I can't concentrate -
I've got algae on my mind.
Oh, algae on my mind,
oh, algae on my mind.
I can never find
how we've fallen so far behind,
cos I've got algae on my mind.
Have you seen the coils
in the cloverleaf?
They turn and twist,
some truth we've missed:
they give me no relief.
But I simply cannot keep my thoughts
focused all the time.
These roads at last are chloroplasts:
Spirogyra on my mind.
Oh, algae on my mind,
oh, algae on my mind.
When will I ever find
just how far we've moved behind?
I've got algae on my mind.
At dinner at night,
oh, what a fright!
I gaze into my plate:
it galls, it galls,
they're all end walls,
and each is replicate!
I flee in terror, I seek to dissolve
my attention in a football game.
I pray for rest in that glass breast,
but too soon it's all the same.
It's a forward pass, the run is good,
six points and now two more,
but with the close-up I understood:
the ball's a zygospore!
Oh, algae on my mind,
oh, algae on my mind.
It's the only truth I find
when I've got algae on my mind.
Algae,
oh, algae,
oh, algae:
algae on my mind.
Slime
Copyright 1984, 2008, 2011 Ernest Bloom.
Bleah. . . .
Le bléah.
Shergar
Copyright c. 1984, 2008, 2011 Ernest Bloom.
Woop tee-do,
Woop tee-dee.
I put some shergar
In my tea.
Magic Reeks.
Magenta Shore Monody (Excerpt)
Copyright 1986, 2008, 2011 Ernest Bloom.
Lurid mists moiled and churned
amidst the Eight, bedizened, perfect.
Fairy-cake for Ardachoke they spurned
and swapped circuitous path for Direct.
In ocherus miasma, bereft of compense,
e'er pursuing interminable lark,
poised on the brink of perilous imminence:
gazed they in mortal trepidation upon
lambent seas and mordant Dark.
Semi-Like Tribute 'Ey? to Like a Threat to Hail I Say But Our Welfare, What?
Copyright 1986, 2008, 2011 Ernest Bloom.
Adam was a master-thief.
He's a Hobbit.
Adam caused many monsters grief.
He's a Hobbit.
Adam shattered crystal balls.
He's a Hobbit.
Adam lobbed rocks down scary wells.
He's a Hobbit.
Adam touches nemeses in plain daylight.
Such a Hobb-twit.
Adam shakes all armor in sight.
He's a Hobbit.
Adam Adam.
Leather armor clad him.
Legendary destructive tendencies, and fleas:
Adam had 'em.
We fish in lakes.
We fish in creeks.
I seen this fish.
Majique reques.
CLW Clerihew (Woop-Te-Doo)
Copyright 1990, 2008, 2011 Ernest Bloom.
Peerless Pater Metless, as a Baraka,
Quaft his vino and a drownt cucaracha.
He petitioned Pallas Athene t'assuage his
Tremendous GUT, but
She (naturally) passed on the prayer of the
Timorous NUT.
P.S. Discos sulk.
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