The Tale of Old Sir Placid

And so Sir Turbidity rode out on his little adventure with his squire, Echolalia, on his fat little donkey, beside him. They rode to the south, crossing a grassy plain filled with golden wheat. As they were riding along, they heard faint cries for help. They turned and headed in the direction of the commotion. When they reached the source of the cries, they found a young boy of five being strangled to death by a grass snake the size of a horse. The snake turned to face Turbidity and hissed at him, “Ssssstay away. Thissss boy isssssss my food. Leave me to my meal, unlesssss you want to be my meal too.” “How about this?” Sir Turbidity asked. “We’ll play a game of riddles, and whoever wins gets the boy and the loser won’t attack the winner and vice versa. That sound okay?” The snake sat there for a minute, thinking. “I guessss sssssso. Letssss play.” Sir Turbidity went first. “Okay, here goes. What is red in the morning, yellow at noon, and red in the afternoon?” The ssssssun.” The snake answered. The snake went next. “In a year, a quarter I am pink, a quarter I am green, a quarter I am red, and a quarter I am brown. What am I?” Sir Turbidity answered, “An apple tree.” And so they went on, for two days, exchanging riddles of increasingly difficult quality. Until, on the morning of the third day, Sir Turbidity asked, “I walk on four legs in the morning, two legs at midday, and three legs at sunset. What am I?” The snake answered, “A bear.” “Wrong!” Sir Turbidity shouted triumphantly. “It’s a man! I get the boy!” And so Sir Turbidity took the boy from the snake and back to his parents, where he was thanked splendidly.

Rabbit Haiku

Brown rabbits gnawing
on dried green grass, hidden in
their underground den

Good Weather Haiku

Fair blue skies, a brisk
breeze, a single cloud buzzing
high above the water.

Stromy Haiku

Dark, brooding clouds sheild
blue sky from human eyes, rain
falling upon us

The Tale of Old Sir Placid

And so on it went, first one, then the other, until all the knights in King Narcolepsy’s court had been sent off and had returned, all incapitated in various ways. After one fool called Sir Petrology had returned as an unmoving stone statue, the King had all but given up on the idea of any sort of talks between the Evil Paradox and himself. But there was one last knight, an old man, who was just entering his fortieth year, and an old childhood friend of King Narcolepsy. He was called Sir Turbidity, or the Old Fogey by his children. So the King sent for Sir Turbidity and his squire, Echolalia. When turbidity stood in front of him, King Narcolepsy asked “Will you do this one thing for me, Sir Turbidity? Will you go to the Evil Paradox and talk with him, try to convince him to turn himself in?” “Sure I will.” Sir Turbidity answered.

The Tale of Old Sir Placid.

So King Narcolepsy sent for Duke Magnate, a Mountain of a man whose several-sizes-to large armor made him look like an inhuman giant. His strength was legendary, and it was reported that he once lifted a boulder the size of his warhorse. Duke Magnate was charged with a new task: to find the Evil Paradox, challenge him to a duel, slay him and bring back his head. So Duke Magnate rode to the Evil Paradox’s castle, through the coldest winters and the hottest summers, and arrived at Paradox’s fortress. “Paradox!” Magnate shouted up. “Come down here and we shall have a duel to see who is the stronger!” Paradox leaned out of a window high above the Duke’s head. He let loose another bone-chilling cackle, raised his arms, and a bolt of green light spiraled down to hit Duke Magnate in his head. On the day after Duke Magnate left, a large pigeon landed on King Narcolepsy’s windowsill. It dropped something barely an inch tall on the sill, and vanished in a puff of evil-looking green smoke, leaving a foul odor. King Narcolepsy strode over to the sill and peered down. There stood Duke Magnate, in miniature. He shouted something in his squeaky little-person voice. King Narcolepsy sat down heavily and said, “Send for the next one.”

The Tale of Old Sir Placid

A long time ago, there was a large and prosperous kingdom, ruled by a wise king, King Narcolepsy. But his kingdom wasn’t that happy. Far to the south, in the desert countries, there lived a masterful sorcerer, known as the Evil Wizard Paradox. For the past three years, he had slowly been spreading his territory throughout the world. One day, King Narcolepsy summoned Sir Vermiphobia, the handsome new young knight, to his courtroom. “Sir Vermiphobia,” the king said, “we have need of your services. Will you ride out to the sorcerer Paradox’s castle and order his immediate surrender?” “Sure!” Sir Vermiphobia responded enthusiastically. So Sir Vermiphobia rode out on his white steed, and braved the coldest winters, the hottest summers, and the speediest winds. When he arrived at the wizard’s tower, he called up to the Evil Paradox, “My master, King Narcolepsy, demands your immediate surrender f all your territories to their previous owner!” The Evil Paradox cackled menacingly, as storm clouds gathered over his tower, swirling violently. The next day, at King Narcolepsy’s castle, a dragon had landed. In its front paws it clutched Sir Vermiphobia. The dragon let go of him and flapped back off to the south, smoke billowing in plumes from its nostrils. King Narcolepsy turned to Sir Vermiphobia. He was shaking like mad in his sooty armor. King Narcolepsy lifted his visor and peered in Vermiphobia’s helmet. A pound of live worms fell out of his helmet, and Vermiphobia’s face had a horrible half-smile pasted on it, as one eye twitched dangerously. King Narcolepsy sighed, “it looks like we’re going to need a new champion.”

The Dead Leigon

A long time ago, in Rome, something strange happened. It was in 1654 when a massive storm sweapt in from the Mediterranean. Great dark clouds swirled as tennis ball-size hail pummeled the city. In the Coliseum, a single, white-hot lightning bolt struck the muddy ground. it traveled under layers of sediment until it hit a mass of skeletons, some in the uniforms of roman officers, some in the meagre armor of gladiators, and others great elephants and lions. It there the lightning tip hovered, building up energy. there was a brilliant flash, and a gigantic crater was formed in the groud, extending down to the skeletons. after the flash, when the storm had cleared up, and everything was sunny again, one of the skeletons, in dented bronze armor and a with a crushes bronze centuron's helmet, it moved.

Bumblebee Haiku

A bumblebee floats,
hovering right above a
thorny bright red rose.

The Last Clock

Back with George, he was laying splayed out against the cold dirt floor, with bars on all sides, but only one with the outside world shining through. He groggily sat up. At first, he didn’t know what was going on, but then he realized that the floor was rocking. Then he realized everything was rocking. In fact, it was swaying quite violently. Then, he realized that there were others in the cage. There was a burly bald man with tattoos all over his arms, a weedy-looking balding man with expensive-looking glasses, and a thin girl with long and straggly hair. “Who are you?” George yelled as he sat, staring at the motley group. “Who are you?” George asked again. “Where am I? What’s going on? Wh-“ “Hush.” He was chided by the weedy-looking man. “We are in a cage, being loaded onto a boat that is going to take us far away. I believe that answers your second and third questions. And now for your first question. I am Xavier Quintelphus, former head of geology and geography at Kingstown International University. That is Huevos y Bacon, former wrestler and mine worker.” He said, motioning to the bald tattooed man. “And that is Marie Sherry, a girl whose parents were killed during a raid and who has lived in that mine for most of her life.” He said, nodding at the thin girl. “Hi.” She said nervously to George.

Story

Xavier stood alone on the hilltop, his dark brown apprentice's robes fluttering behind him in the fierce wind. He had been standing like that for the past hour, all alone, not moving. Inside a white-walled building, another boy stood watching Xavier. He walked out and but his hand on Xavier's shoulder. "Is everything all right?" he asked. "The fall is eminent." Xavier said in a deep, commanding voice. "Even the gods cannot stop it this time. The Enemy's forces have gathered, and march south. They come calling at the white bell, and they shall enter the Black Gate, and terror and death shall fall on the golden lands, and the world will weep, and all shall die." "what do you mean?" the other boy asked, his tone meek. "Look down, and see your doom." The other boy looked down then, and gasped. spread out, for hundreds of miles, as far as the eye could see, a rolling sea of black-armoured men and blood-drenched demon beasts.

The Final Clock

“But… how do we stop the end of the world? I mean, do we even know how everything will end?” she asked. “Well, I don’t know exactly how it will end, but I do know something: the gods are angry. You see, in the kingdom of Harridian, they have discovered an extensive diamond mine. They don’t know this, but it is the legendary ‘Cave of Souls’, where, it is said, the souls of all the deceased come to rest for all eternity. And the gods dislike both those who disturb the deceased and those who trespass on the god’s property. So they are really angry at the Harridians.”

Back with George, he was laying splayed out against the cold dirt floor, with bars on all sides, but only one with the outside world shining through. He groggily sat up. At first, he didn’t know what was going on, but then he realized that the floor was rocking. Then he realized everything was rocking. In fact, it was swaying quite violently. Then, he realized that there were others in the cage. There was a burly bald man with tattoos all over his arms, a weedy-looking balding man with expensive-looking glasses, and a thin girl with long and straggly hair.

Ocean Haiku

Saltwater rocking,
great waves crashing against the
beach, white foam sprayed.

The Final Clock

Far away, back in the tower, a young woman had just entered through the doorway. The old man sat at a large oak table, directly opposite the door. She greeted him as she took her coat off. “How was your trip?” he asked. She replied, “Good. You look troubled. Is something wrong?” “Sit down.” He motioned for her to sit down. She took a seat. He removed his glasses and looked at her, his gaze fiery. She gasped, for one of his eyes was completely normal, a vivid green. The other wasn’t an eye at all. It was a miniature clock, yellowed with age. “What I am about to tell you must never go beyond these walls. Understand?” She nodded once.


“A long time ago, I fought in a great war. It ranged from the freezing north to the balmy south. Millions of people died in that war. I was one of the lucky ones. I just lost this eye.” He tapped the clock-eye. “After the war was over, I traveled up here and built this tower. Here I made my fortune as a clock-maker. But before I built my first true clock, even this one, where my lost eye should be, I built a great golden clock, unlike any other in the world. It does not tell the time, but tells the remaining time left to this world. On either size there is a giant hourglass. The hourglass on the left contains the Sands of Time, where one grain of sand falls every ten years. The hourglass on the right is called the Sands of the Dead, and one grain of that sand falls every time someone dies. And there isn’t much time left till the clock reaches midnight. But that can be prevented. If someone stops the end of the world, the clock will reset, and so will the two hourglasses.”

The Last Clock

Later, that night, George sneaked out of the youth hostel where he lived and headed out of town. After clearing the last houses, he came upon the mine entrance. The night darkness was everywhere, except down in the mine. From the mine shaft, came a spill of golden light, the sound of metal hitting stone, and a putrid smell, a mixture of old sweat and blood. He walked down the earthen steps, passing gas lamps and candles set in tiny alcoves. He stepped off of the last step after what seemed like an hour. Three different tunnels branched off from the circular cave he was standing in. He chose the middle tunnel and walked for a little bit unnoticed, passing small gas lamps and churned-up dirt on the floor, the walls, and the ceiling. He had been walking for a while when he ran slap-bang into an emancipated man in rags, with a thin graying beard and a shovel. He turned towards George, eyes blazing, and asked, “What are you doing here, snot-bag?”

The Last Clock

George peered around the corner. He was watching an old man with a large potbelly in vibrant orange robes sitting cross-legged in front of a temple. He was chanting something under his breath, something about forgiveness and evil men. A group of men dressed in red and black armor walked up to the temple. All of them were clutching knives in one hand. One walked up to the fat man and jabbed him in the belly. “You know you’re not supposed to worship your stupid gods, filthy heathen!” he turned to his cronies. “Burn it down!” He shouted, spittle flying from his mouth. The other men each lit a match, and tossed them on the temple. As it burned, the first man grabbed the fat man under the arm and began dragging him away. “You’re coming with me, fool.” He snarled. George gasped. It was bad enough that he was burning the temple, but now he was going to kill or maim or torture the fat man! The first man and his friends dragged the fat man a ways out of town, with George following them the whole way. They eventually reached a large hole in the ground, with timbers on all sides and earthen steps descending into the underground darkness. The first man roughly shoved the fat man down the stairs, laughing as the sounds of the fat man tripping and falling down those black dirt steps. “You’ll work until you die down there. In these mines, it’s work and die, or just die. We prefer you do the first so we get some of those diamond that fund our glorious emperor’s empire.” ‘Diamonds?!’ George gasped. ‘That’s a diamond mine,’ George mused, ‘so that’s the secret of Emperor Chin’s great wealth!’ George ran away from the laughing man, his cronies, and the diamond mine, back to the town.

The Last Clock.

Once, in a land far away, there was an old man stumbling up a rickety set of wooden steps of a tower, so high that the top was lost in the clouds, and situated on a steep cliff, with bridges sticking out every-which way. He had thick green half-moon glasses, perched precariously on his long nose with a large white beard dangling limply from his chin. He was mumbling to himself, something like this: “It’s getting closer… time’s getting shorter… got to get that… tell her… ticking, always ticking… ticking away… stop ringing, infernal alarm!” A small alarm clock sat in the palm of his right hand, and in the other he held a small screwdriver and was twiddling with a screw on the back of the clock. He reached the top an hour later, and sat down on the top step, with a resentful creaking from his old bones. “Hush.” He growled at his stomach, as it let loose a fearfully loud growl. He got back up and walked over to a large golden clock. It was unlike any other in the world, for there were no hands, and no numbers. Instead there were three rings of nicks around the edge, in between the center and the edge, and at the center. A blue light flitted from one tick to another every second on the outer ring, another blue light switched from one tick to another on the second ring, and a red light that switched ticks every ten years. On top was a bug-like creature with the body of a grasshopper, and the head of a dragon. The old man looked at the clock and said, “Hmm. This isn’t good. There’s not much time left.”

Anti-War Haiku

bodies strew across
the desert, when will the
world come to its senses.

Star Haiku

glittering stars, so
tantilizingly close, strewn
across the night sky.

River Haiku

muddy water flows
down the river, towards its
destiny: the sea

Bonsai Haiku

minuscule needles,
small branches, a little trunk,
a small bonsai tree.

Plant Haiku

small green leaves, vibrant
magenta petals, a small,
insuspicious plant

Faerie Ring, the Complete Story

Once, long ago, there lived a young boy. His father had left his family for the fires of war, so he took up some of his father’s duties, like gathering firewood. It was on one such trip that his adventure began. It was early on a Monday morning, and frost was in the air. His mother had woken up with a bad head cold, so he had left to gather firewood. He headed into the forest that lay about ten yards from their little cottage. He had been into this forest, and knew the best places to hunt for firewood. So he headed for a little hill towards the center of the forest. As he proceeded towards the hill, gathering twigs and broken branches all the while, he began to feel warmer. He that saw the forest was becoming greener and was flowering. When he reached the hill, he was drenched in sweat, as the forest felt like it was in the prime of summer, not in the middle of winter. He saw that the forest floor around the hill was coated with mushrooms and toadstools. Some of them reached up to his knee. He leant towards one and was surprised to see a diminutive man, barely up to his thigh, wearing a tall pointed red cap that made him look a foot taller, sitting on the mushroom. He was smoking a tiny wooden pipe, tiny smoke rings floating up into the forest canopy. He turned to smile at the boy, and said in a surprisingly deep voice, “Go on, sonny, there’s a little party up on the hill I think you’d like to see.” His curiosity piqued, he started up the hill, with a soft tune playing in his ears, growing louder as he reached the summit. When he reached the top, there was a flute and a guitar playing in perfect unison. He saw a circle of small green men with two pairs of cicada wings per fairy. They were spinning in a circle, their tiny green faces facing the sky as joy flowed like water throughout the hill. The young boy was caught up in it all, and was swaying from side to side, his eyes filled with joyous tears. He began to feel quite drowsy; his eyelids drooping like a disappointed dog’s ears, and sleep tugging at the corners of his vision. He toppled over backwards as the relentless tide of sleep overtook him. He woke suddenly, with his fur jacket providing little protection from the cold as he floundered out from a snow bank with a chill wind ruffling his hair. He picked himself up, and scoured the land around him for any sign of the fairies or the little man. He saw nothing but snow, bare black trees, and a few startled deer. He reached up to a tree above him and pulled off a few branches and began the trudge back to his mother’s cottage. Later that night, with a roaring fire and a thick blanket tucked snugly about his toes he began to drop off. Just as the deadness of sleep was creeping over him, the fire was blown out. He eyes opened with a snap, and he scoured the bare board around the fire. He saw nothing. Then he heard a knocking. He looked at the door, but there was nothing interesting there. He turned to the single window and saw that it was open. A small figure, with a tiny woolen cap sat on the windowsill. It hopped in, and twisted its head from side to side, apparently taking in the cabin. Then the door burst and a rush of those tiny figures with their small woolen caps tumbled through the doorway. The young boy sat upright in his bed, his eyes opened wide by these midnight apparitions. The flood of little things immediately stopped. They slowly backed out, making each step was painstakingly slow and deliberate as humanely possible. When they had left, he got up, replaced the door, and restarted the fire. He finally relaxed, falling into a deep and dreamless sleep. The next day, the young boy woke early, at dawn, took a small knife from the wall and headed out into the forest. He finally found a good tall ash tree, and began to climb. He cut a sprig of mistletoe and ran back to the cottage. He found a single rusty nail and nailed the mistletoe to the front door. That night, as the boy drifted away into sleep, he heard a faint rustling outside, but nothing entered the house, unlike the previous night.

Faerie Ring, Part 2

He began to feel quite drowsy; his eyelids drooping like a disappointed dog’s ears, and sleep tugging at the corners of his vision. He toppled over backwards as the relentless tide of sleep overtook him. He woke suddenly, with his fur jacket providing little protection from the cold as he floundered out from a snow bank with a chill wind ruffling his hair. He picked himself up, and scoured the land around him for any sign of the fairies or the little man. He saw nothing but snow, bare black trees, and a few startled deer. He reached up to a tree above him and pulled off a few branches and began the trudge back to his mother’s cottage. Later that night, with a roaring fire and a thick blanket tucked snugly about his toes he began to drop off. Just as the deadness of sleep was creeping over him, the fire was blown out. He eyes opened with a snap, and he scoured the bare board around the fire. He saw nothing. Then he heard a knocking. He looked at the door, but there was nothing interesting there. He turned to the single window and saw that it was open. A small figure, with a tiny woolen cap sat on the windowsill. It hopped in, and twisted its head from side to side, apparently taking in the cabin. Then the door burst and a rush of those tiny figures with their small woolen caps tumbled through the doorway. The young boy sat upright in his bed, his eyes opened wide by these midnight apparitions. The flood of little things immediately stopped. They slowly backed out, making each step was painstakingly slow and deliberate as humanely possible. When they had left, he got up, replaced the door, and restarted the fire. He finally relaxed, and fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.

Grass Haiku

Green blades ruffling,
freshly mown grass bends before
a great storm's brute force.

Faerie Ring

Once, long ago, there lived a young boy. His father had left his family for the fires of war, so he took up some of his father’s duties, like gathering firewood. It was on one such trip that his adventure began. It was early on a Monday morning, and frost was in the air. His mother had woken up with a bad head cold, so he had left to gather firewood. He headed into the forest that lay about ten yards from their little cottage. He had been into this forest, and knew the best places to hunt for firewood. So he headed for a little hill towards the center of the forest. As he proceeded towards the hill, gathering twigs and broken branches all the while, he began to feel warmer. He that saw the forest was becoming greener and was flowering. When he reached the hill, he was drenched in sweat, as the forest felt like it was in the prime of summer, not in the middle of winter. He saw that the forest floor around the hill was coated with mushrooms and toadstools. Some of them reached up to his knee. He leant towards one and was surprised to see a diminutive man, barely up to his thigh, wearing a tall pointed red cap that made him look a foot taller, sitting on the mushroom. He was smoking a tiny wooden pipe, tiny smoke rings floating up into the forest canopy. He turned to smile at the boy, and said in a surprisingly deep voice, “Go on, sonny, there’s a little party up on the hill I think you’d like to see.” His curiosity piqued, he started up the hill, with a soft tune playing in his ears, growing louder as he reached the summit. When he reached the top, there was a flute and a guitar playing in perfect unison. He saw a circle of small green men with two pairs of cicada wings per fairy. They were spinning in a circle, their tiny green faces facing the sky as joy flowed like water throughout the hill. The young boy was caught up in it all, and was swaying from side to side, his eyes filled with joyous tears.

Fall Cinquain

Red and
brown, drifting down
gently, to rest on the
green forest floor, with a leafy
carpet

Puffin Haiku

Puffin, its orange
beak contrasting sharply with
the snow, as its dives

Dragonfly Cinquain

gliding
over the grass
its wings humming gently
a dragonfly flits, its blue shell
shining