[If you aren't familiar with World of Warcraft this probably won't make much sense to you.]
Twas the night before Xpac, and throughout the world,
Players stood at the ready, while a Cataclysm unfurled.
Bags had been emptied, and weapons made ready,
For new zones to explore, where the XP was steady.
Restless gnomes were afoot, the tauren more placid,
While jumpy night elves kept gulping antacid.
The undead were letting old armor air out,
When a dwarf pointed skyward and let loose a shout.
“The dragon, he comes,” said the frightened earth dweller,
Which silenced us all, even the greedy gold seller.
Our faces turned upwards, we looked on with fear,
Even knowing his arrival brought with it new gear.
Red hot metal scales to his body did cling.
I knew in a moment it must be Deathwing.
Dark silhouette eclipsing stars in the skies,
The great beast peered round, red fire in his eyes.
Searing wind from his wings forced us flat to the ground,
While escaping his maw came a bone shaking sound.
“Bit mad ‘bout my sister,” growled the dragon with disdain,
“But she did get two chances, so it’s hard to complain.”
“Regardless, two new creatures I brought to meet you,”
“Seemed like a good time for them to make their debut.”
With that the two beings jumped down from his back,
The short one a shade greenish, the taller pitch black.
“Welcome the goblins,” he said of the former,
“Deal at your own risk with this crafty performer.”
“Goblins buy and they sell, doing well in this role.”
“One already made an offer for the Dragon Soul.”
“Also here are the worgen, an old, savage race.”
“Their birthplace uncertain, but it’s probably in space.”
“While it’s true many worgen feel at home in the night,”
“I am sure they have nothing to do with Twilight!”
Finished with introductions he looked back at us,
And set forth a challenge without making a fuss.
“Now for the mightiest among you, the true chosen few,”
“We’ll still have our fight before Cata’s through.”
With that said he turned, spread his wings, and took flight,
Silently we all watched, still alarmed at the sight.
“One more thing,” he roared down with unmistakable ire,
“Don’t act like a noob and stand in the fire!”
Monday, December 6, 2010
Thursday, June 10, 2010
Monday, May 24, 2010
Green Eggs and Harm
As a kid did you ever feel like some of Dr. Seuss’s stories were a little creepy? That maybe lurking behind those smiling faces and pastel colors, something was amiss? I did, so I’ve written this adaptation of the classic Dr. Seuss story Green Eggs and Ham.
I am not sure it’s comedy. Calling it dark comedy might even be a stretch, but I had fun challenging myself to assemble this tale. Enjoy!
Green Eggs and Harm
By Bruce K. Marshall - Based on Green Eggs and Ham by Dr. Seuss
That Sam-I-am. That Sam-I am.
I do not like that Sam-I-am.
In his basement I sit tied,
my tears of terror having dried.
Escape my only wish for now.
A better life my solemn vow.
Unbearable as my current state
I fear a far worse waiting fate.
I hear him coming down the stair,
as I struggle in this chair.
Dim light projects his silhouette.
His dark nature the real threat.
A plate he carries in his hand,
filled with the food I cannot stand.
He sees me and his eyes alight
with sick glee at my dismal plight.
Walks to me, extends the plate,
displays the dish I truly hate.
Here comes the question, I expect.
No answers judged to be correct.
"Do you like green eggs and ham?"
he asks out loud, that dreadful Sam.
The food colored a sickly hue,
its discard date long overdue.
No one would wish to eat his fare.
Only a madman would it prepare.
Interest he feigns to display,
already knowing what I will say.
"I do not like them, Sam-I-am.
I do not like green eggs and ham."
Ignoring me, he gestures to
a table resting in our view.
"Would you like them here or there?"
he asks me with a haunted stare.
"I would not like them here or there.
I would not like them anywhere."
My weak protest he pays no heed.
On with his offer does he proceed.
"Would you like them in a house?
Would you like them with a mouse?"
A house could hardly this be called.
Its filthy state leaves me appalled.
Mice indeed can here be found,
At home in trash that is abound.
Their infestation of this site
does nothing for my appetite.
"I would not eat them in a house.
I would not eat them with a mouse!"
With little notice of my fuss,
he tries again and probes me thus.
“Would you eat them in a box?
Would you eat them with a fox?”
With questions rarely making sense,
his sanity a thin pretense.
This verbal course on which I’m lead
ends in sure loss, which sees me bled.
The game I tire of right then.
I do not wish to play again.
"Not in a box!
Not with a fox!
I would not eat green eggs and ham!
I do not like them, Sam-I-am!"
His horrid smile does with that grow,
as he sees my temper blow.
"You may like them. You will see.
You may like them in a tree."
A thick rope did he then produce,
its coils forming a hangman’s noose.
His hope to see my rope’s end jive.
That tree no way would I survive.
A hood he lowers on my head.
My heart races with newborn dread.
Sam leans in, mouth drawing near.
His tone becoming more severe.
"Say! In the dark? Here in the dark?
Would you, could you, in the dark?"
Confronted by the bleak unknown
my throat lets out a frightened moan.
These thoughts of death I must abate.
So once again I quickly state
"I do not like green eggs and ham!
I do not like them Sam-I-am!"
Hood jerked off, he eyes me grim.
Wild anger fills dark orbs to brim.
"You do not like them, so you say.
Try them! Try them! And you may.
Try them and you may I say!"
His rage I fear he can’t contain.
Control fading from the strain.
Stakes quickly rising far too high,
my willpower falters to defy.
"Sam! If you will let me be,
I will try them. You will see."
He presents again the plate to me,
surprised he caused me to agree.
My wrist untied, I take a bite.
Impulse to spit it out I fight.
A false smile spreads on my face,
my real intent leaked not a trace.
"Say! I like green eggs and ham!
I do! I like them, Sam-I-am!"
His face aglow with my new claim,
pleased with how he’s won the game.
He notices not the tightening grip
of my hand which out does whip.
The fork stabs deep into his throat,
Sam slowly slumps as I take note.
I speak as the life from him fades,
to his place among the shades.
"I do so like green eggs and ham.
Thank you. Thank you, Sam-I-am."
I am not sure it’s comedy. Calling it dark comedy might even be a stretch, but I had fun challenging myself to assemble this tale. Enjoy!
Green Eggs and Harm
By Bruce K. Marshall - Based on Green Eggs and Ham by Dr. Seuss
That Sam-I-am. That Sam-I am.
I do not like that Sam-I-am.
In his basement I sit tied,
my tears of terror having dried.
Escape my only wish for now.
A better life my solemn vow.
Unbearable as my current state
I fear a far worse waiting fate.
I hear him coming down the stair,
as I struggle in this chair.
Dim light projects his silhouette.
His dark nature the real threat.
A plate he carries in his hand,
filled with the food I cannot stand.
He sees me and his eyes alight
with sick glee at my dismal plight.
Walks to me, extends the plate,
displays the dish I truly hate.
Here comes the question, I expect.
No answers judged to be correct.
"Do you like green eggs and ham?"
he asks out loud, that dreadful Sam.
The food colored a sickly hue,
its discard date long overdue.
No one would wish to eat his fare.
Only a madman would it prepare.
Interest he feigns to display,
already knowing what I will say.
"I do not like them, Sam-I-am.
I do not like green eggs and ham."
Ignoring me, he gestures to
a table resting in our view.
"Would you like them here or there?"
he asks me with a haunted stare.
"I would not like them here or there.
I would not like them anywhere."
My weak protest he pays no heed.
On with his offer does he proceed.
"Would you like them in a house?
Would you like them with a mouse?"
A house could hardly this be called.
Its filthy state leaves me appalled.
Mice indeed can here be found,
At home in trash that is abound.
Their infestation of this site
does nothing for my appetite.
"I would not eat them in a house.
I would not eat them with a mouse!"
With little notice of my fuss,
he tries again and probes me thus.
“Would you eat them in a box?
Would you eat them with a fox?”
With questions rarely making sense,
his sanity a thin pretense.
This verbal course on which I’m lead
ends in sure loss, which sees me bled.
The game I tire of right then.
I do not wish to play again.
"Not in a box!
Not with a fox!
I would not eat green eggs and ham!
I do not like them, Sam-I-am!"
His horrid smile does with that grow,
as he sees my temper blow.
"You may like them. You will see.
You may like them in a tree."
A thick rope did he then produce,
its coils forming a hangman’s noose.
His hope to see my rope’s end jive.
That tree no way would I survive.
A hood he lowers on my head.
My heart races with newborn dread.
Sam leans in, mouth drawing near.
His tone becoming more severe.
"Say! In the dark? Here in the dark?
Would you, could you, in the dark?"
Confronted by the bleak unknown
my throat lets out a frightened moan.
These thoughts of death I must abate.
So once again I quickly state
"I do not like green eggs and ham!
I do not like them Sam-I-am!"
Hood jerked off, he eyes me grim.
Wild anger fills dark orbs to brim.
"You do not like them, so you say.
Try them! Try them! And you may.
Try them and you may I say!"
His rage I fear he can’t contain.
Control fading from the strain.
Stakes quickly rising far too high,
my willpower falters to defy.
"Sam! If you will let me be,
I will try them. You will see."
He presents again the plate to me,
surprised he caused me to agree.
My wrist untied, I take a bite.
Impulse to spit it out I fight.
A false smile spreads on my face,
my real intent leaked not a trace.
"Say! I like green eggs and ham!
I do! I like them, Sam-I-am!"
His face aglow with my new claim,
pleased with how he’s won the game.
He notices not the tightening grip
of my hand which out does whip.
The fork stabs deep into his throat,
Sam slowly slumps as I take note.
I speak as the life from him fades,
to his place among the shades.
"I do so like green eggs and ham.
Thank you. Thank you, Sam-I-am."
Friday, April 30, 2010
Friday, February 12, 2010
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