O, elvenstone! O, elvenstone!
O, would that you could be my own.
To quest exhausted, all these years,
And not obtain those pointy ears
To sharpen sense, to hear my phone.
O battle axe! O battle axe!
For thy pursuit, my patience lacks.
Through garbage bins in fishing wharves,
Midst arguments with boorish dwarves;
My neighbor’s tree needs forty whacks.
Fine coat of mail, thy filigree
Would sure enhance the likes of me.
So tightly woven, silver, pale
Protect unwanted barbs’ assail
When getting honey from my bees.
Thou mighty blade, enchanted runes
Do grace thy hilt but not those hewn.
Sure, separating sinew, bone,
Ne’er losing edge in dirt or stone,
When Saturday, the hedge I prune.
I think that we can both agree:
When I immerse in D&D,
I get so caught up in the game,
Imagination is to blame;
Sometimes I blur reality.
----------
RPG - role playing game - I used to play Dungeons and Dragons some 40 years ago when you used dice and mapped everything out on graph paper. I imagine things have changed a bit since then...
A lowly blossom, striving to sustain
her beauty in the early morning mist,
the crocus, craving moisture to maintain
her stoic fight 'gainst winter's iron fist.
A lowly mollusc slithers 'neath his shell,
he slowly weaves, and leaves a silver trail,
antennae primed and ready for the knell,
when sparrows poke and peck his coat of mail.
Creatures and plants in the midst of the fray,
searching for sustenance, dying of thirst,
staving off hunger, say, is there a way
for them to be blessed, not feeble and cursed?
predator, prey, both the strongest and weakest,
who will prevail in the fight to live longest?
A lowly blossom, striving to sustain
her beauty in the early morning mist,
the crocus, craving moisture to maintain
her stoic fight 'gainst winter's iron fist.
A lowly mollusc slithers 'neath his shell,
he slowly weaves, and leaves a silver trail,
antennae primed, and ready for the death knell,
when sparrows poke and peck his coat of mail.
Creatures and plants in the midst of the fray,
searching for sustenance, dying of thirst,
staving off hunger, say, is there a way
for them to be blessed, not feeble and cursed?
predator, prey, both the weakest and strongest,
who will prevail in the fight to live longest?
There’s beauty in His word though we don't see His shield.
Are we caught wand'ring round while others focus in?
Beauty is encountered each time His arm's revealed.
Think you need a coat of mail on your mission field?
Do you require a gauntlet, helmet past your chin?
There’s beauty in His word though we don't see His shield.
Refuse the body armor, with sure fervor wield
the treasured sword of prayer and praise, its mighty twin.
Beauty is encountered each time His arm's revealed.
Though we pray constantly for sickness to be healed,
know there’s joy in suff’ring and find Christ’s pow’r therein.
There’s beauty in His word though we don't see His shield.
When doubt comes upon your mind, do not stop or yield,
leave that villain in the dust, Christ forgave your sin.
Beauty is encountered each time His arm's revealed.
Do not thwart your Lord, by His Spirit you are sealed.
Give Him wreaths of glory, amid the thick and thin.
There’s beauty in His word though we don't see His shield;
Beauty is encountered each time His arm's revealed.
written January 20, 2014
A lowly blossom, striving to sustain
her beauty in the early morning mist,
the crocus, craving moisture to maintain
her stoic fight 'gainst winter's iron fist.
A lowly mollusc slithers 'neath his shell,
he slowly weaves, and leaves a silver trail,
antennae primed and ready for the knell,
when sparrows poke and peck his coat of mail.
Creatures and plants in the midst of the fray,
searching for sustenance, dying of thirst,
staving off hunger, say, is there a way
for them to be blessed, not feeble and cursed?
predator, prey, both the strongest and weakest,
who will prevail in the fight to live longest?
A lowly blossom, striving to sustain
her beauty in the early morning mist,
the crocus, craving moisture to maintain
her stoic fight 'gainst winter's iron fist.
A lowly mollusc slithers 'neath his shell,
he slowly weaves, and leaves a silver trail,
antennae primed and ready for the knell,
when sparrows poke and peck his coat of mail.
Creatures and plants in the midst of the fray,
searching for sustenance, dying of thirst,
staving off hunger, say, is there a way
to count ourselves blessed, not feeble and cursed?
Predator, prey, both the fittest, the weakest;
who will prevail? I would bet on the shrewdest!
A lowly blossom, striving to sustain
her beauty in the early morning mist,
the crocus, craving moisture to maintain
her stoic fight 'gainst winter's iron fist.
A lowly mollusc slithers 'neath his shell,
he slowly weaves, and leaves a silver trail,
antennae primed and ready for the knell,
when sparrows poke and peck his coat of mail.
Creatures and plants in the midst of the fray,
searching for sustenance, dying of thirst,
staving off hunger, say, is there a way
to count ourselves blessed, not feeble and cursed?
predator, prey, both the fittest, the weakest,
who will prevail? I would bet on the shrewdest!
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.