You Can’t Spell Fame Without Me

Sure a catchy title, no?

I mean its kind of right

Said before, I’m sure it’s so

But came to me tonight

 

Some day an agent reading a

Submission (one of mine)

Will finish it and be like “Shit!”

“This author I must sign!”

 

But then the intern (her name’s Pam)

Will come say “Time for lunch!”

As the agent says “Oh damn,”

Sets me back in the bunch

 

Getting back, she sits right down

And scratches her blank head

Says “Where was I?” with a frown

Then starts to tweet instead

 

Yes it funny, though its true

This tale that came to be

The future first is said like “few”

And fame, ends with a “me”

Lighten TF Up

I’m on a lifelong mission, I’d be remiss not to admit

But every now and then I say enough of all this shit

Why don’t I let my fixed hair down and pour myself a drink?

You know what? Let me take that back. I’ll pour several, I think

 

Tonight I shall forget the world and everything within

Call a timeout on my quest: tonight let’s live in sin

I mean come on, is that so wrong? I don’t claim to be St. Paul

Sometimes a guy just has to stretch his manhood, after all

 

And on that point, can I please ask just how the saints do it?

No pun intended but life must be so hard; the celibate

Anyway I should digress, the details you don’t need

Point is, to stay sane we must sometimes feed our greed

 

The thing that matters most is to do it with respect

Be honest with intention for your actions cause effect

Never lie and lead folks on to satisfy desire

Cause if you do, and you believe…eternity is filled with fire

 

But more than that, its just not right

For they have feelings too

And son of a bitch I just realized

That this poem is preachy too

 

Where were you guys on that one, huh?

The Answer: 2

Thought.

It is such a curious concept. It exists behind everything. Every single action, every single behavior, every single thing we do is motivated by thought, whether conscious or not. Breathing, for example. Do you think every time you take a breath? I think not. And yet you do it.

I am having difficulty compartmentalizing the minutia of human behavior. What things do I file as instinctual behavior, and what things do I classify as conscious behavior? It is a task my superiors have asked of me, and quite frankly, I do not yet know where to draw the line. What things were under these humans’ control? What things were manifested simply because of the circumstances at a given time? What could be helped, and what couldn’t?

The more answers I seek, the more questions I seem to face. This shall be a most difficult undertaking, if I am to speak openly. There are so many pressures I feel falling upon me to fully create an analysis of such behavior. This question of why may be my undoing.

I’ve yet to determine an answer.

The Answer: 1

I fear I’ll never know why they did the things that they did. Yet, counter-intuitively, this is the very question that lies at the bottom of every single shred of truth I find in my quest to understand these things called humans.

Why?

Why did they do what they did? This rudimentary, fundamental question has haunted me since the first day I began studying these creatures. From the very first memory I transposed…that hazy, clouded image of a mother taking the bottle away from its child’s insatiable lips, I’ve always wondered – why? Why did she do that?

It is this that sparked my quest into the deepest levels of their consciousness. A quest motivated by nothing other than lingering curiosity. I have decided that I must understand the workings behind the human psyche. I must understand the reason behind their actions. Why did the mother protect her children from the dangers of the world? Why did the General fight to the death to protect his men? Why did the shaman perform such dances to predict a year’s harvest? What forces were behind these behaviors? What motivations caused them to transpire?

It is this question that I have to answer.

I must understand…why.

Torn

The world is torn, its seams are frayed

They say they’ve wished them well and prayed

So many hold opinions, strong

But words are where they stop, its wrong

 

For if the ones who claim to care

Are genuine, then where’s their fare?

What costs have they all taken on?

Outside of tweets, or Facebook pawns?

 

Let me make this very clear

My life is committed to this, hear?

My books, my poems, they share a theme

The world, it needs a better dream

 

So while you spit and spread your hate

Know your words carry no weight

Keep posting, crying, doing naught

You’re dead weight, friend, an empty pot

Letter to My Lost: 1

My love. My all. Such memories do we share. Memories such as the times we’d awaken to the sun’s shimmering rays darting through the window, on those soft linen sheets as you’d rollover, greeting me with the morning’s first kiss. Memories of your fingers gently gliding, cusping the back of my neck, holding me as if you’d never let go.

I so long for these moments. I cannot help but wonder where you are and what dangers lie ahead. Each day, without exception, I sit gazing out this window at the calm beach and its soothing waves; the soft sound of the salted water drifting to the shore. I think of us, my love, walking along that cool, flawlessly smooth sand with our hands clasped tightly together, enjoying the warm breeze as it passes through us without a care in the world.

The days are proving harder, my love. Each day without you further shatters my soul, as my thoughts are imprisoned by the uncertainty of your welfare. I miss you every waking second of the day, and am greeted by your embrace only in my most deepest of dreams.

Tell me you will be returning soon. I cannot bear the thought of going through this every day. I miss you, my Braden. I hope my letter finds you well.

Please come home to me.

With everlasting love,

Your Lilliana

The Ward & the Bone: 13

“Bites of the Round Bowl!! Please, lend me your ears.”

Standing valiantly on the balcony of Cage Spamalot’s Keep, Grr Barker tells the entire Realm of the quest he will embark on, with no puns intended.

“Realm!” He shouts, “I shall commission my bravest, most chivalrous Bites to accompany me on this epic quest! We will weather the challenges that lie ahead. No obstacle shall stand in our way as we courageously mush our way to the artifact of old; the fabled Excalibone!!”

“HUZZAH!!!!” The Kingdom roars before him. “LONG LIVE GRR BARKER!!!”

“Calm yourselves, constituents,” Barker howls as he raises a paw. “Yes, this quest shall bring much glory to our Kingdom, but we mustn’t forget the severity of the threat which lies to the East! My advisors have informed me that there still remains a Phelyon, by the name of Corgin La Fey, who wishes to reclaim our freed lands!!”

“NAY!!!” The crowd shouts, fully in support of their leader. “You must vanquish her!!”

“Yes!” Barker asserts. “And vanquish we shall!! But first, I must unearth the fabled weapon of old!! For without Excalibone, I might as well be riding into a sea of Jellyfish!”

“But wait, my Liege!” A random peasant shouts from the crowd. “What do jellyfish have to do with this narrative? Alas, they don’t even remotely relate to the topic at hand!”

“Aye,” Grr Barker barks, “your words are true. Jellyfish are not, in fact, related to this quest at all. But alas! We shall recover Excalibone and send Corgin La Fey back into chasm from whence she came!!!!” He howls, awoo’ing at the rising Moon.

“AWOOO!!!!!!” The crowd repeats, even though many of them are not Kaynine. “Tomorrow,” Grr Barker shouts, “our quest shall begin!!”

The Perfect Evening

It’s a fabulous night for a moon dance

That’s what the stars shall say

Twirl to my arms, they’re before you

Awaiting to sweep you away

Spinning in circles, directions unknown

Its just you and just me on this floor

Forget all the things on your conscience

As tonight we both dance on the shore

The waves gliding over our bare toes

The sand finds its place on our feet

Its fate that has brought us together

It was written that you and I meet

Tell me this night is unending

That never will it cease to be

Holding you here, in this moment

It makes me feel so fond and free

The Apex

Tell me what things I’ll see when I pull back the layers

What’s up in the attic while they play house down the stairs?

What person are you, when there’s no one around?

What things do you think when no one else can be found?

Your face, it is beauty, untainted and quaint

Yet what I so long for lies under the paint

Tell me your secrets, your most shrouded of truth

Its just you and I here in this cloaked confessional booth

What wants lie within, what things you desire

Confess to me love, as we light this dark fire

These embers shall burn with your innermost need

You’re mine and I’m yours, it’s a mutual greed

This night is unending, this moment so rare

Though two, we are one without boundaries to bare

And as the eclipse casts its shadow so slow

The apex we greet, with the valley below

The Ward & the Bone: 12

“Grr Barker, you’re up early.”

Trotting aimlessly through the hedge maze outside of Cage Spamalot, Master Squirrelin spots the new King on a morning stroll.

“Aye, Master. I found it difficult to slumber this morning. I am used to my princely duties, but now that I have inherited the Bone, I find that the responsibilities weight heavy on my conscience.”

“This is understandable, my Liege.” Squirrelin says as he pats Grr Barker on the back. “Your newfound tasks must cast an unimaginable burden.”

“They do, old friend. They do.” Barker sighs.

“My King, there is something I must share with you. I have spent much time digging through the archives. There is something I believe that must be addressed.”

Intrigued, the young King raises an eyebrow.

“Go on,” he barks.

“Barker, I have known you since you were just a pup. You know that I have always had your best interests at heart. May I speak freely?” Squirrelin asks.

“Of course,” Barker nods.

Stopping their pace, Squirrelin places a hand at the King’s chest. Looking up in surprise at the gesture, Barker turns to the mage to give him his full attention.

“There is much peril brewing in the East.” The old Squirrel says.

“Peril?” Barker asks, caught off guard dog.

“Yes, my liege. Peril. Much of it.”

Squinting his eyes and slowly casting his gaze toward the rolling hills to the East, Grr Barker suddenly wafts his hair back.

“These lands are as secure as ever!” He barks with confidence.

“My liege! You must listen.” Squirrelin pleads. “There is one who remains. One who was not felled during the War of the Realm. She is a Phelyon known as Corgin La Fey. She is mustering a massive army to reclaim what was once theirs!”

Recognizing the sincerity in Master Squirrelin’s plea, Grr Barker’s arrogant smirk fades into a look of concern.

“Are you certain of this, Master?” He asks.

“I am.”

“Hmm.” Barker hums, stroking his beard. “I shall consult my Bites about this. We must purge the Realm of any evil if it does, in fact, remain.”

“It remains, my liege. It assuredly remains. There is more…”

“Oh?” The King Barks.

“Yes.” Squirrelin asserts. “The prophecies have foretold there is but one way to defeat this scourge. You must recover Excalibone! The sword your father wielded during the War of the Realm. It is the only way that this Corgin will be defeated.”

“A quest, you say?” Barker barks.

“A quest!” Master Squirrelin repeats.

“Then it is so!” Barker shouts, head held high. “Myself and my Bites will take on this quest with honor and return balance to the Realm!”

“Excellent!” The magic-wielding rodent exclaims. “Excalibone!”

“It shall be mine!”

 

What Are You Waiting For?

All the things out there you see, they’re shining, glistening, calling thee. Why wait? Its there, right in front of you, all that needs to happen is for you to stand and do. Do, don’t wait, don’t put it off, you get one life and time, it costs. Please don’t let yours go to waste, dream your dream with utmost haste, chase it till your legs are through, and when they’re gone your arms will do. Make it there, no matter what, don’t give in and don’t say “but”, this life is yours and only yours, I tell you as I’m on all fours. I beg that people understand that life is not some fairy land, its filled with things we need to do and if undone, then it’s on you.

So simple things can really be when eyes are open and you see, take a glance over the sea and wake up to reality. All the things you dreamt you’d be don’t have to fade into the breeze, you can make these dreams come true if only you believed in you. That’s all it takes, I speak the truth, so much is wasted in our youth, if only we could comprehend that time is not a thing to lend, it never stops taking its toll and always ends up with our soul.

I ask you, what is it that you’re waiting for? Someone else to open the door? Listen, friend, please listen close. Absorb these words before your ghost. Your time here is not infinite. We don’t know what happens when we quit. Some say God and some say not, but either way we’ve got one shot. One chance to do the things we dream, one chance to love both you and me. Take this chance and never stop. Take it to the mountaintop. Take it to the ends of Earth, and give a reason to your birth.

Throughout your life, find every door. Fill your heart, then fill it more. And when you find something to love, ask yourself: what is it that I’m waiting for?

The Ward & the Bone: 11

“Barker? He is King now?”

Far to the East, Corgin Le Fey and her minions discuss the new events that have transpired throughout the Realm.

“Yes, madam,” a rat-servant screetches, “there has been much change occurring throughout the lands. Grr Barker has ascended to the Bone, and now rules with his Bites of the Round Bowl. Your carefully laid plans to put Toother to rest worked without err, and everything has gone according to your foretelling.”

“Excellent,” the Phelyon sorceress says. “Toother’s campaign almost destroyed my entire family tree. I will take pleasure in clawing the limbs and branches from his own.” She adds, combing her claw over a scroll detailing the Toother Mansbestfrienddragon’s lineage. “He should have known better. You NEVER abandon a Phelyon in a tree! They will always find a way to survive.”

“It is known, my Queen!” the rat-servant says, rolling up the Bestfrienddragon lineage scroll. “Forever Phelyons!”

“Forever Phelyons!” Corgin repeats, leaning out of the stone window so her voice can echo across the land.

“Rat-servant!” She shouts, retreating from the window. “Send a dispatch to Barko Polo. He shall send emissaries to assist me in my conquest!”

“Of course! Barko Polo is an excellent ally to call upon. You are wise to summon him.” The servant obediently replies.

“Yes.” Corgin purrs. “The Realm shall soon be mine. MINE!” She adds, pointing her Phelyon butt up to the ceiling, exposing her backside.

The Ward & the Bone: 10

“LONG LIVE THE KING!”

The Transition has come, and the night of festivities to celebrate Grr Barker’s ascension to the Bone is at hand.

“At last, he is King!”

Drunkenly swaying through a tavern full of the finest bitches, Grr Sleepsalot wafts his bowl of ale in the air.

“To Grr Barker!!” He shouts as the tavern follows suit, all throwing back a drink of Spamalot’s finest.

Watching the drunken Bites from afar, Squirrelin retreats to his study to record the events he is witnessing.

They are merry-making, and this is acceptable, I know. Yet I cannot purge myself of the fear. I know that Corgin La Fey stirs in the East, and she will pounce at the first opportunity. Its what the Phelyons do, for reasons unknown. They pounce.  

Lo, Grr Barker’s Transition will be a tale to be told for the ages, surely. But there must be a way to focus him on the threat that brews. If left alone, he will focus on nothing other than the games and the festivities. We cannot allow this to transpire. We must focus him on the grander picture. But how? How can we divert his focus on to that which will benefit the Realm? Surely there is a way. Treats. I believe that treats will refocus Grr Barker’s attention. That’s it. I shall consult the archives. The archives always sound like they contain information that the people should know, but don’t. There is simply something about that word, archives, that sounds…informative. Yes, I shall consult the archives.

As he consults the archives, Squirrelin begins his study into what must be done to combat the coming threat. Corgin La Fey is building her forces, and as the Realm is welcoming its new King, they are oblivious to what brews in the East. Let us hope that they will eventually see reason.

Reason. That is what we should see.

The Ward & the Bone: 8

The morning after Grr Barker’s cryptic meeting with The Lady of the Shake, he rises early to greet the new sun. Trotting over to the stone window overlooking his Kingdom, he squints his eyes as the light meets his emerald, green eyes. His thoughts bark the question of whether he is worthy of such a quest, and he internally wonders if he is suited for the job. Before his mind has a chance to answer, he is interrupted by the gravest of news.

“Grr Barker!” A rat-servant hysterically shouts after climbing the many stairs to his Cage. “You must come! Your father has taken ill!”

“My…my father?” Grr Barker asks, immediately concerned.

“Yes! Please, follow!”

Scurrying off into the spiral staircase of the chamber tower, Grr Barker trails the rat-servant across the Castle Cage’s halls until they finally reach his father’s Kingly chambers.

“Father!” Barker howls as he sheds a tear from his glistening green eye, “please tell me you will persevere!”

Weakly lifting his head, Toother Mansbestfrienddragon takes his paw and wraps its around his son’s shaggy neck.

“My beloved Barker…cough cough…y…you must see that our Kingdom r…cough…remains. You must recover that which I have lost. My…my son…you must recover Excalibone!” The King manages to say, before his spirit sadly fades beyond the Veil.

“FATHER!! NO! AWOOOOOOOO!!!!” Grr Barker howls in pain. “How did this happen?!” He asks the surrounding servants and dogtors, suddenly displaying an expression of fury and hatred.

“My liege,” the King’s primary dogtor says, “we believe he was poisoned. His death was far too sudden for this to be a conventional illness.”

“Who is responsible?!” Grr Barker shouts, wanting answers.

“We believe it was the work of Corgin La Fey, my liege!” A tiny rat-servant who has been watching from afar squeals in a high-pitched voice. “There have been rumors that she lives on, and has sworn revenge against the Bone!”

Hearing this, Grr Barker slowly raises his head, looking up at the coat of arms mounted above his father’s chamber.

“She will be ended for this.” He snarls with a deep, sinister growl. “That wicked Phelyon will know my wrath. SERVANTS!” He barks. “Prepare my armor! Tomorrow, we ride!!”

Watching, as always, from the shadows, Squirrelin overhears the new developments. Knowing that the prophecies have now been put into motion, he retreats to his study to research what must be done.

To be continued…

The Ward & the Bone: 6

The evening following their arrival to Cage Spamalot, The Lady of the Shake and her honorable Bites have settled into their guest quarters, much appreciating the fluffy, soft floor beds Grr Barker and his troupe has made available. As is customary, a Grand Feast is held in honor of the regal guests, with minstrels and jesters providing song and entertainment while the nobility discuss matters of state.

“He is Brave Grr Slobin, Brave Grr Slobin!”

Dancing atop an empty table, a small crew of minstrels begins singing the same song they sung as they approached the Cage earlier in the day.

Slightly under the influence, Grr Barker stands and hoists his silver goblet-bowl to request something else.

“Minstrels!” He barks loudly. “Play a song honoring the Kaynine’s who conquered the Kingdom!”

This request catches the attention of the entire court, as the events that led to the Kaynines’ triumph have been long debated amongst the land. Opting to please their host, the minstrels pick a tune that honors Grr Barker’s father, the current King of the Realm.

“Yes! We shall play the tale of Toother Mansbestfriendragon!”

Taking their positions, the minstrels begin singing the ballad that honors Grr Barker’s father and his campaign to liberate the Realm from the Phelyons oppressive rule.

“They came from nowhere, these Kaynines, and when they saw the harsh Phelyons, they drew their bones, and threw their stones, and now the Realm has grown and grown! With treats they came and fed the land, upon the Phelyons sad last stand, the Bites of Round Bowl, then unknown, gave peace by wielding EXCALIBONE!!”

As the melody booms throughout the Hall, Grr Barker leans back, proudly watching the court revel in the victorious song. Noticing a subtle poke in his side, he turns to see what has approached him as the rest focus on the continuing ballad.

“What’s this?” He asks, looking down at the rat-servant who has poked him.

“Please, my liege, The Lady of the Shake beckons you.” The servant says, bowing her head in respect.

Intrigued, Grr Barker leans over to a still-enamored Grr Pantsalot.

“Grr Pants, keep an eye out on the festivities. I must answer this most cryptic of dispatches. I leave you in charge of the festivities.”

“Of course, my Liege.” Grr Pantsalot barks. “I shall oversee the feast with honor.”

Satsified that he’s placed the Feast in a good boy’s hands, Grr Barker exits the chambers as he follows the rat-servant. Making their way through a winding tunnel of underground catabones, they arrive at a secret chamber previously unknown. Waiting patiently is the Lady of the Shake, whom Grr Barker watched walking through his Cage doors just hours before.

“Greetings, Grr Barker.” The Lady says, her soothing voice echoing through the underground halls. “I have learned much about you over the past several months.”

Not knowing what kind of encounter this will be, Grr Barker responds with a neutral tone.

“Is that so, Lady? Pray tell, how have you come upon such knowledge? Our Kingdoms are united, yet separated. How has my liking been passed along to your lands?”

Casually strutting forward, the magnificently beautiful Lady of the Shake walks down from the elevated stone she is standing on.

“Such knowledge has not been obtained conventionally, my dear Prince. It has come to me in a vision, one which overwhelmed me when I shook off the bathwater the other day after I bathed.”

”Tell me of this vision, m’Lady.” Grr Barker says, kneeling.

“I exited the tub, Prince, whereupon a towel was placed upon me. As I dashed into the nearest blanket and comforter to maniacally shed the moisture that plagued my fur, I saw you. I saw you holding the fabled Excalibone, standing tall amidst a ferocious battle. You were fighting the last of the Phelyons who had so desperately launched an assault on your Kingdom!”

Hearing of the Lady’s vision, Grr Barker gasps.

GASP!

“This…this cannot be so!” He barks, taking a step back. “My father ousted the last of the Phelyons! It is known!”

“No, Grr Barker.” The Lady says. “Evil still remains in the Realm, and it is your destiny to destroy it. You must dispatch yourselves and find the fabled Excalibone! There is no other way.”

Knowing The Lady of the Shake never speaks untruth, Grr Barker pauses a moment, and takes a deep breath.

“Yes. I shall find it, m’Lady!” Turning to the rat-servant who led him, he instructs her to scribe a dispatch. I call upon all the Good Boys and Bites of the Round Bowl! Gather! We have a quest!!”

To be continued…

The Ward & the Bone: 5

The morning following the magnificent feast of the finest soft foods, the Bites of the Round Bowl are beginning to wake up, clumsily trotting into the Breakfast Chamber where they are all fed the day’s first meal. As the last of their troupe, Grr Sleepsalot, finally enters the chamber, the soft sound of music can be heard echoing through the castle cage’s iron windows. Jolting up to see who approaches Cage Spamalot, Grr Barker rushes to the window to look down upon the minstrels and small group of honorable Bites who have arrived to join in on the season’s festivities.

“He is brave Grr Slobin, brave Grr Slobin,” the minstrels can be heard, melodically singing a ballad honoring one of the troupe. “He fights, he jousts, he marks, he pees, and all the lovely ladies love him for Grr Slobin lives to please!” The song continues.

Excited to welcome the new arrivals, Grr Barker turns to face his constituents, excitedly shouting for them to prepare yet another day of games.

“Grr Pantsalot!” He howls, opening his arms. “Please send a dispatch to my Lady Playpenuivere! Tell her to send her finest bitches to welcome Grr Slobin and the other Bites accompanying him. They shall enjoy the regal hospitality that Cage Spamalot is renowned for!”

Finishing the final laps of his breakfast bowl, Grr Pantsalot leaves his seat and stands tall, energetically saluting his Prince.

“Of course! Lady Playpenuivere shall receive the message post-haste!”

Trotting off, Grr Pantsalot exits the building.

“So who all has come?” Grr GoodGalihad asks. “I know we were expecting many of the Bites to join us for the Games, but I questioned the courage of some. Who thinks they have what it takes to compete?”

Taking another look out of the Cage’s window, Grr Barker peers down to try and identify the other Bites.

“Hmm. I believe I see Gercival, who has not yet been Bited yet. He has not yet earned our title. And is that…yes! Roars the Younger is among them. Let’s see, who else…Grr Scratchalot, of course, he’s always tagging along. I see Grr GraitDane, always noble and chivalrous. And…no. Can it be? Is…is that The Lady of the Shake? Surely my eyes deceive me.”

Squinting, Grr Barker focuses his gaze on the ephemeral, eloquent Kaynine that is being carried into Cage Spamalot by a group of rat servants.

“It is! The Lady of the Shake is among their party! Good boys,” Grr Barker says, aggressively about facing to give his instructions, “we must prepare our finest bed and adornments! We have a Goddess among us!”

Hastily scrambling to make sure the welcome party is adequate for such an arrival, the court adjourns, getting to work on their tasks at hand.

Watching from the shadows, Squirrelin holds his tongue as the naïve troupe of Kaynines prepare for their fun and Games. He knows he must come up with a good reason for his most benevolent of Princes to see reason. Retreating to his study, he absorbs himself in the scrolls and prophecies of yesteryear. He must learn what is to transpire if he is to combat fate itself.

To be continued…

The Ward & the Bone: 4

Days after the Games, the valiant Prince Grr Barker, first in line for the Bone, parades around the halls of Cage Spamalot, the stone castle which the Bites of the Round Bowl call home.

“I suppose you all witnessed my triumphant victory the other day?” The prince howls, his chest puffed out in pride.

“Aye, you were brilliant in the Joust!” His close friend, Grr Pantsalot, barks as he tries to catch his breath.

“Why are you always panting, friend?” Grr Barker asks his companion, placing a paw on his back.

“I cannot say, my Liege.” Grr Pantsalot pants. “I simply feel as if I’m constantly out of breath.”

“I see,” Grr Barker says, turning to face the other Bites of the Round Bowl. “Come, Good Boys!” He shouts. “We shall dine on the finest of soft foods this evening to celebrate my victory! I have arranged the most well-groomed bitches for you all to consort with in my honor! Behold!” He barks, waving his paw toward the centrally located room in the Tower. Laying within are several beautifully groomed, free-of-fleas female Kaynines, waiting for the Bites of the Round Bowl to join them.

“Awoooooo!!!!!!” Grr GoodGallihad howls, unable to contain his excitement. “Come on, boys! Grr Barker has bestowed upon us the finest bitches in the Realm!”

As the group of brave Bites debaucherously make their way into the Chamber of Doggy-Style, one Bite remains behind, lacking the same level of excitement his peers have displayed. Witnessing the events from the Halls, Grr Barker’s own mentor and personal sorcerer, Squirrelin, sees this particular Bite pausing. Carefully approaching him, he inquires what is on the young Bite’s mind.

“Grr Poopsalot, what troubles you?” The magical rodent asks.

With a grave stare, Grr Poopsalot locks eyes with Squirrelin for a moment, only to let his gaze drift to the floor.

“I have been plagued with nightmares as of late, Squirrelin, and I fear for Grr Barker. For weeks, every night as I rotate several hundred times before finding the perfect spot for me to lay myself to rest, I have had terrifying images occupy my thoughts.”

Recognizing the significance of such events, the magic-wielding advisor tries to learn more.

“You must share these visions with me, Grr Poopsalot. It is the only way for me to use my powers; we must see if there is imbalance brewing in the Realm.” Squirrelin asserts, placing his claws on Poopsalot’s forehead.

As the two close their eyes and hang their heads, deep in concentration, the somewhat cavalier Grr Humpsalot shouts at them to join the others.

“Poops!” He barks. “Come, sit and be a good boy! We are celebrating our Lord’s victory, do not be disrespectful!”

Sighing and briefly locking eyes, Grr Poopsalot apologizes to the sorcerer for his duties.

“I am sorry, Squirrelin, but I must join my pack. We shall revisit this conversation another time.”

Obediently jogging toward the Chamber of Doggy Style, Poops reconvenes with his peers and partakes in all the pleasures Cage Spamalot has to offer. Squirrelin, recognizing the possibilities before him, retreats to his kennel to study what this young Bite’s dreams may truly mean.

The Ward & the Bone: 2

Grr Barker

“Grr Barker! You have forgotten your vest-piece!”

As the gigantic crowd gathering around the fairgrounds sits in anticipation of the Games, the magic-wielding mentor of Grr Barker, heir to the Bone, chases after the daring Prince holding a Leash of Armor in his hand.

“Fear not, Squirrelin!” Grr Barker shouts back as he charges ahead, valiantly guiding his faithful steed Lambrei toward the jousting arena. “I shall have no need for such protection! Grr Sleepsalot may be a Bite of the Round Bowl, but he poses no challenge to the likes of me!”

The crowd, seeing the handsome Grr Barker ride out so daringly with no concern for his own protection, roars in support of their future King.

“ALL HAIL GRR BARKER!!!” The chant echoes across the land, reaching even the chipmunks who occupy the outskirts of Spamalot, the Kaynine’s Kingdom and Castle.

“’Tis a beautiful day for the games, no?” Grr Bitesalot says to his fellow Knights as he peers up into the bright, blue sky; anxiously awaiting the joust ahead.

“Aye, it surely is, “ barks Lady Playpenuivere, Grr Barker’s faithful betrothed. “I only hope he doesn’t hurt himself again,” the beautiful bitch adds. “The last time he jousted without a vest-piece, the Royal Vet had to attend to him for days. He worries me with such careless antics.”

“Bow-wow, fear not m’Lady,” Grr GoodGalihad says. “Barker always maintains his composure in the ‘Pens. He will come out without a scratch, I assure you.”

“I hope you are right, GoodGalihad,” the bitch says. “He so loves his theatrics. It pleases the common-folk, but I worry every time he sets paw in that arena. I pray to the Dogs that they bestow their blessings upon him. I know not what I would do if I were to made a widow.”

Interrupting the barkalogue, the Games’ trumpets are blasted, echoing across the entire Realm.

“KAYNINES!” The announcer barks, straddling a brown bear as he struggles to maintain his grip on its reigns, “LET THE GAMES BEGIN!!”

As the announcer manages to steer the brown bear away from the fields into the Cage for Commentators, Grr Barker and Grr Sleepsalot take their positions opposite each other on the long, green field.

“JOUST!!” The announcer woofs, aggressively waving his paw.

Both riding their favorite foxes, the two contestants charge at each other with bone-lances in hand. After several suspenseful seconds of fox-trotting, the two clash together as Grr Barker’s bone-lance strikes the heart of Grr Sleepsalot’s fluffy vest-piece, de-foxing him.

“HUZZAH!!!!” The crowd barks, drooling in excitement as they witness their Prince circle the Fields in victory.

“AWOOOOOO!!!!!!!” Grr Barker howls, holding his lance toward the sky in triumph.

“I told you!!” Grr GoodGalihad bow-wows to Lady Playpenuivere. “Ha! Let’s join the celebration, shall we?!” He adds, launching himself over the short, hallway-sized divider meant to keep the Kaynines from entering places they shouldn’t enter.

Beaming at her betrothed, the bitch bats her eyes several times before letting her indifferent gaze fade into a wide grin.

“Fine,” she reluctantly says through her smile. “Time to celebrate…again.” She adds with a playful eyeroll.

As the crowd celebrates their victor, a raspy voice stirs far to the East.

“Fffffffftttt.” The voice fits, observing the celebration from afar in digust. “These Kaynines’ days are numbered, mark my words. Mark them, as they unwittingly mark their territory which shall soon be MINE!!!”

To be continued…..

The Ward and the Bone: 1

The Beginning

Lo, verily, and behold.

It was the seventh hour of the seventh day of the seventh month of the seventh year of the seventh century of the seventh Age; the Bone Age. For so long had the Realm been ruled by the monsters of yesteryear. Those snide, cunningly demonic oppressors who could see through the night as if it were day…the Phelyons. Many millennia had passed since the Phelyons conquered the domain, and many millennia had passed since the realm experienced true peace.

That is, until the Kaynines came.

The Kaynines, a race which hailed from a previously unknown land, had introduced themselves to the Realm unexpectedly, having never been seen or heard of before. This new brand of noble, courageous warriors witnessed the death and despair the Realm was strangled by, fighting valiantly to overcome the Phelyons’ rule. For many decades the War of the Realm transpired, finally ending with the Kaynines emerging victorious. Peace, fortune, and love swept over the Realm upon their victory, echoing until this very day.

Until…this exact, very day.

The Forge

Silence sits so still inside, supplying souls so simplified, the subjects seem to mystify the saints that I’ve since satisfied.  Now that I have shed my pride I ask if doors now open wide, and though the answer is implied I fear its fake; that they all lied. There’s no direction, there’s no guide that steers this ship, and though I’ve tried to weather storms that won’t subside I’ve got no compass to abide. My sails are tight, yes, they’ve been tied and readied for the Great Divide and as I start this fabled ride there is no other at my side.

I’m at my post, all alone, and though I know that now I’ve grown the doubt still tries to fight, dethrone; yet I persevere and hold my own. The chains that held me I’ve outgrown, that which haunts me, the past I own, I’ve shed – forgotten, now unknown as I reach this stepping stone.

This foot forward is my first, my introduction to this thirst. This step I take, it might be cursed, and if it is then do your worst. I fear no devil, nor decree; no God or unknown deity, the tides are calm on this here sea, Poseidon shares my fraught decree.

I live my life on my own term. I don’t need someone to affirm the fact that I will always do that which causes thoughts anew for when we start to ask them “Why?’ The world will change; ideas can’t die.

Ideas can’t die, they’re just a thought, it sadly seems we’ve all forgot, we’re so caught up in right or wrong that every tune’s the same old song. Pass the blame on someone else, when our conscience says there’s no one else, no one other than our self, rugs are swept and acts are shelved.

Why is it that our world’s so fake? The ones who say they are awake just seem to point out each mistake yet nothing’s done to mend the break. Corrupted chaos is still here, and when we claim its disappeared another talking head we hear; controlled by the same puppeteer. Its this that’s caused this buccaneer to use the weapon of Shakespeare and fight a war that endears the values of the common ear.

What weapon is this, you may ask? Words I fill in this here flask. I carry them with every mask, uncorking them when I am tasked with questions that I can’t explain, when people try to pick my brain, they realize that they’ve tried in vain, for even I can’t hold the reign, even I can’t seem to gain an adequate way to paint my pain. But sure, I’ll try facades and feign, acting like I can abstain from all the things on this world’s train, as I launch this sole campaign.

No other sees these sights I see, no other sits so silently, no other has the patience, see, for this old world is just debris. Its fodder for the filth that’s free and feigns the feelings I foresee, so for the faithful  pray and plea, here’s your rusty lock and key.

Your teachings, here, I disagree. I forge this future for those like me.