Category Archives: Poems

Prayer to the Toilet Demons

When I was at University, three other girls and I rented a house for our second – fourth years. It was a small, run down place with its own special charm. One of the charming features was the lack of inssulation and the increadibly cold temperature of the building. We once put an ice cube on the baseboard – it took more than a day to melt. Another feature of the house was the toilet in the only bathroom. Most notably was its inability to function all the time. The following prayer hung above that tempermental fixture for three years.

The best kind of toilet is one that flushes consistantly.

Prayer to the Toilet Demons

To the Demons in my toilet, I really have to go

To the Demons in ny toilet, please let the water flow

To the Demons in my toilet, I am begging you to say

That you’ll be so kind as to let the toilet flush today

I am ever more grateful for the proper functioning of a good toilet. I think this is one of my favourite inventions of all times.

Certainly it is one of the things I would miss most if I was forced back in time. Yes, I have thought quite a bit about toilets over the years. They are great – when they work.

Rose Lady

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It is late, I am tired and supposedly it my day for posting. So, I delve once more into an old and nearly forgotten journal of words.
* * * * * *
A handsome young man with raven black hair
Looked up and winked at his lady fair
He beckoned her forward and him to greet
So in the moonlight and secret they’d meet

He flashed his smile and started to say
Speeches of love in a most flowery way

You’re a rose among thornes, all elegance and grace
A beauty before me in this desolate place
Your lips are as red as the reddest red rose
Your features are perfect from eye to nose
You’re as lovely as ever a most wonderous girl
Just as the rose is Queen in the flowery world

He went on and on for quite some time
Compairing his lady with roses in rhyme
Finally she turned to him and said
But sir this is winter and the roses are dead

The Black Dragon of Death

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Back in the day, my brother was busy creating a fantasy world of dungeons, dragons, and interactive computer worlds. It held the working title of KOS, which didn’t stand for anything as far as I know. It was a world inhabited by heroes typical of many adventuring games. Besides being the first, and likely only, reader of this now ancient project I was involved only in the production of poems. Ideally, epic pieces that would capture the reader and enhance the flavour of the world. I didn’t get far with this project, however, digging through my remaining scraps I have dredged up this piece. It was to reflect one of the legends in a world dominated by heroic deeds – a celebration of one of the original six – at least that was the intention.

The most revered
The one they feared
The Black Dragon of Death

He rose up high
Into the deep blue sky
The Black Dragon of Death

Two eyes burned red
Filling all with dread
The Black Dragon of Death

Snout and body long
Emanating an eerie song
The Black Dragon of Death

Black scales of steel
Cold and hard to feel
The Black Dragon of Death

With fiery breath
Sharp claws of death
The Black Dragon of Death

To hunt and kill
And eat his fill
The Black Dragon came

At his sight
People fled in fright
When the Black Dragon came

All challengers tried
And all did die
When the Black Dragon came

He swung down low
His sharp teeth to show
The Black Dragon came

But from the east
From a land of peace
The Lone Rider came

On a stead of white
Riding hard that night
The Lone Rider came

Long back hair braided back
Her face set for attack
The Lone Rider came

She was a girl still young
When the battle begun
The Lone Rider came

And at the youth
He looked bemused
When the Lone Rider came

So he changed his goal
To the brand new foe
When the Lone Rider came

His eyes glinted bright
As he charged with might
When the Lone Rider came

He held back naught
As the two foes fought
When the Lone Rider came

The Rider in turn
Would quickly learn
From the Black Dragon of Death

For he had great power
As she fought that hour
The Black Dragon of Death

Her horse was lost
As from it she was tossed
By the Black Dragon of Death

The talons cut sharp
And her flesh they’d part
By the Black Dragon of Death

In the hour late
She nearly lost to fate
By the Black Dragon of Death

For her it looked ill
As more blood did spill
By the Black Dragon of Death

But a stab true and fierce
His armoured hide pierced
As the hands of DeHett

With a blood curdling cry
The Dragon would die
At the hands of DeHett

This is all I have got

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I sometimes feel that my posts are barely footnotes on the bottom of a page in comparison the lengthy stories that keep going up. Alas, I am not that verbose. Also, I am in the middle of some scribblings so I thought I would share with you my latest words.

The following should be sung, like a lullaby:

Don’t fear your dreams my child

The amarok’s in the wild

Overhead the hunter flies

On golden wings she cries

So rest with me my child

Protected here from the wild

We are her glowing prize

Watched over with loving eyes

Wait for the sleeper my child

To drive the snakes into the wild

Know that when the fire dies

Once again the Phoenix’ll rise

*Note: the amarok is mythical/legendary beast from native american culture. Some describe it as a cross between a bear and a wolf. Others claim it is a dire-wolf of prehistoric times. I really like the sound of the word and think we need to move beyond the most typical of legendary beasts and bring into the picture some new favourites. With so little written about amaroks the possibilities for it are endless – in a story writing perspective. Also the name is cool as is anything that tries to be associated with prehistoric creatures like dire-wolves, sabre-tooth cats and my favourite – Terror Birds!

The memory of poetry

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I was feeling a little at a loss of what to post. I have not story fragments to share at this time. I have no earth-shattering or witty comments on current events. Instead, I thought I would delve into my stored collection of poems.

It is amusing to look at work, largely forgotten by time. Most of my favourite poems date from University – my poetry phase. From those that I recorded, I have selected one that still brings a smile to my face as I recall both the poem and the washing machine that inspired its creation.

There are Spartans in My Basement

There are Spartans in my basement
I really do maintain
Though I haven’t seen them
I feel them now and again

There are Spartans in my basement
I feel them march around
For the whole house starts to shake
From the attic to the ground

There are Spartans in my basement
And what a noise them make
The rhythmic thumping of their feet
Is a sound hard to mistake

There are Spartans in my basement
And they seem to time it right
Only when we do our laundry
Do they come to march and fight

There are Spartans in my basement
And funny you should note
That they seemed to disappear
When our washing machine broke

There are Spartans in my basement
A new washer to see
I have a funny feeling
They’ve gained a new technology

There are Spartans in my basement
I think they now must fly
For helicopters seem to land
On our house when passing by

There are Spartans in my basement
Helicopters on the roof
And when we do the laundry
I know that I’ve my proof