Cronk the Crocodile

Cronk the crocodile lay abed
Scaly, warm and trim.
And when his friends the birds did call
Cronk smiled and let them in.

He proudly bared his mighty maw–
With teeth that mouth did brim!
He held it fast and safe and wide
And let the birds begin.

The first bird was an eager chap
As fast as he was dim.
With lightning pecks and darting leaps
He quickly cleaned Cronk’s chin.

The second was a pompous sort
Who gazed ’round with chagrin.
“Dear Cronk!” he moaned, with much dismay
Your mouth smells like a bin!

Yet later when their work was done
Cronk’s mouth was finally clean.
And when the birds flapped proudly off
Cronk’s beady eyes did gleam.

For a third young bird had just arrived
Far plumper than his kin.
This bird had lived an easy life–
Was fat where they were thin.

“Welcome to my mouth,” smiled Cronk,
“Come have a look within.”
And when the poor bird hopped inside
Cronk did an awful thing.

His mighty jaws and teeth came down
And with a single bite,
Cronk gobbled up the poor young bird
And swallowed with delight.

The next day when the birds returned
Cronk didn’t say a thing.
“Oh where is our dear brother gone?”
They never guessed Cronk’s sin.

They attended to their work once more
And scolded Cronk’s hygiene.
His mouth was in an awful mess
The worst they’d ever seen!

So in the end they never found
Their poor lost chubby twin.
Their chores had cleaned off every trace
From Cronk’s sardonic grin!

Nom nom nom!!!

Bad Cronk!

A Desert Prayer

Hail deliverer, here I am.
Weave a wicker basket, not a wicker man
Then draw me forth to pass over
The snap and hiss of knives in hand.

Because I am who I am and nothing more
I dug a grave with my own hands
To hide a whip and cruel thoughts
I left my God behind.

But I long to leave this in my past
And burn old laws in desert heat
To sink my soles in scalding sand
And stumble far on burning feet.

Because I am who I am; nothing more
And there is no place for sandals here
A burning vision came at night;
That vision called on me.

Hail deliverer, here I am!
Go and call; speak and free!
Drop the staff and strike the breast!
River to wine, bread to feed!

Ten chimes through a hurried meal
We grab our cloaks and go and steal.

I am who I am! I will unchain!
Hail deliverer! Borne in reeds!

And still…

The sand is loose between my toes
Yet fear will not pass over me
Though burning lights guide our way
The path’s not always clear to see.

For doubt still daily plagues my thoughts
Like chariots that I must flee
A task to do; these words to speak;
A burden which weighs heavily.

I have looked back through desert heat
And here I am, down on my knees.

Hail deliverer, now I pray:
Open my eyes so I may see
The sacred flame that I once saw
And hear the voice that guided me.
Split the waters that blind my sight
So I can know all I can be
Unweave the wicker man I am
Like your people, set me free.

21

The date says I am 21,

Few years once were many.

“In 9 more you’ll be 30 son;

In less I was a daddy.”

.

This slideshow sequence — strange to see

Myself from way back when.

I wonder what makes that child be me?

What links me now with me back then.

.

Familiar stranger/old friend:

In 9 more years will I still see,

When I look back upon me now,

A distant child that’s somehow me?

.

Yet freezing time is wistful fear,

Potential must Become:

As chrysalis; then spreading wings;

To be Realized… And no longer young.

Beautiful Women and Speedy Dragons

[Last night I had an exceptionally strange dream. It stood out to me so much that I can even remember most of it now–hours after the event. I figured I’d transcribe everything that I remember so that you could enjoy this rather odd dream too. I typed this out in one go and I’ve kept the editing to a bare minimum, so as to keep this as authentic as possible. Any incoherency in this post is completely intentional; it is a dream after all!]

My recollection of the dream begins with my cousin Conor dragging me along to a really fancy dinner party. We’re dressed in nice suits and we’re in a really fancy restaurant which is completely empty. We sit down at this long table covered in a white tablecloth with silver furnishings. Then other people start appearing as if they’ve been there all along.

There is a beautiful blonde opposite me (simple, elegant, beautiful) and she’s starts talking to me immediately, ignoring everyone else. We get on very well and have an extremely intelligent conversation, and I can’t help but feel that there could be romance budding. (This is interesting because I don’t usually go for blondes at all.). This goes on for a while. [In fact, I think another woman appeared at one stage but then I forgot about her and she just disappeared again. It’s all rather vague!]

Mid-conversation, a young stressed-looking man comes along and sits down beside me and tells me we have to talk urgently. So we leave (I didn’t even get a chance to say goodbye to the blonde!) and somehow arrive in a dark laboratory/office building. We’re on the top floor, completely alone.

At this stage I also realize that I am a wizard.

So we’re walking through this floor of abandoned rooms and I realize that I know it’s the Wizards’ HQ – and that it’s abandoned because all the other wizards are dead. The chap who is with me is the new chief wizard. (I briefly wonder why he’s still using an office at the back of the building instead of moving into one of the now-vacated nicer ones. I conclude that it must be a sign of respect.) We reach his office and he ushers me inside.

It’s a normal office and he lays out his master-plan for me on his desk. [He brilliantly uses some action figures to portray this.] This is the deal: we’re the only two wizards left and we’re fighting some evil monster. Apparently the evil thing has killed all the other wizards but this has had the counter-effect of revealing his location to us. It’s time for the final battle!

I hesitantly raise the objection that there could be another force that we don’t know about that could interfere. I demonstrate this theory using a zombie figure who comes up behind our two figures and proceeds to attack them. (Complete with sound effects provided by yours truly.) The chief is unimpressed and throws the zombie on the floor. I pick it up and start attacking our figures again. He shakes his head and throws it on the floor. I pick it up. [This goes on for quite a while!]

Suddenly the door of the room blasts open and a MASSIVE DRAGON somehow flies into the room, turns into the beautiful woman from the party for a millisecond, drops an envelope on the table, then turns back into a dragon and blasts out of the room again. This all happens in less than a second; I’m totally gobsmacked and don’t know what’s going on.

The chief looks at the message, shakes his head, and mutters to himself (I remember this bit distinctly), “This is most unusual.”

I ask him to explain, and he tells me that we were just given a message by the great dragon Penelope. [Baffling, I know!] The chief frowns at the message and I consider asking him what it says.

Before I do so I feel a brief moments sadness as I realize that my wonderful conversation with the woman at the party was not what I thought it was. Was she just talking to me as part of some subtle dragon scheme? Was she trying to protect me? I wistfully wonder if she might still love me despite being an immortal dragon…

And then I wake up.

[So there you have it: my crazy dream. If any of you amateur psycho-analysts out there want to try to explain this to me then you’re more than welcome (I must have a lot of deeply troubling unresolved mental issues!). Personally though, I’m rather hoping there’s a sequel tonight. Bonne nuit!]

Kevin’s Favorite Boxers

Sometimes when you really like a pair of boxers, you just have to wear them on your head.

Caught in the act.

I am not ashamed…

A lot of people were curious about the intriguing pair of purple boxers that I wore while bag-packing last weekend. So–ever eager to please my loyal fans–I have created this special edition, once in a lifetime post so that you can finally witness them in all of their 3 megapixel glory. Continue reading

Dust

Cue the night:

I’m buried in seaside dust, raw from overreaction;

Building futile ashen castles,

Ironically unwashed by vaguely dreamt metaphors?

{And I should know} If I opened my mouth, I’d only sneeze in more than would be wise;

Those strange laws of expulsion-impulsion.

So I will stay, holding my breath though I never reached the sea,

Contemplating lasciviousness in bewildered detachment;

Like a cow in a charnel shed, face shoved in dead could-have-beens.

Tourist guide:

Not quite sure why I was there. Just let the dust be dust again.

Ambush! [Scene 1] [Draft 2]

[Hi everyone! I wrote this scene about 2 months ago. My aim with it was to write the first scene of a prologue to a fantasy novel. This is the second draft (perfectly preserved from two months ago!). Bonus to anyone who can guess where I ripped my character names from haha. I will be taking a few days off over Christmas, so I figured I would put this up so  that people will have plenty to read until I’m back 🙂 I know you’ll all miss me terribly. It’s pretty long for something to post to the internet, but if you guys enjoy it then I’ll try to write some of these longer-style stories more often. I hope you like it! Happy Christmas! – Kevin.]

“What are you doing with that stick Matt?”

Matt blasted Ham with a look of pure indignation and violently thrust the stick up into his face, showing clearly the runes he had been scraping into it for the last five minutes. “Making some bloody Runes because I left my bloody Wand with the GODDAMN BLOODY TENTS!!” he exploded, sputtering, his outrage making him swear quite profusely. Ham looked down at the stick – which Matt had thrust so close to his face that he was forced to tilt his head back and squint at it quite uncomfortably – peering past his rather substantial nose and facial hair.

The stick brandished triumphantly in Matt’s grimy hand did have a few scrapings on it… Ham supposed they were meant to be the runes Matt had been referring to.  Ham regarded the stick for a moment longer, then “mmm”ed noncommittally – and turned away. Matt remained frozen in his position for a long second, still thrusting his stick aggressively towards the place that Ham’s beard had up to that moment been residing in. Then, with a huff of exasperation, he retracted his arm and once again devoted himself to furiously working on the stick. Ham sighed, baffled, and turned his attention to more relevant matters. A stick, after all, is hardly important when one is being attacked by a horde of blood-crazed savages. Continue reading

A White Christmas

Oh how the tree glitters like snow.

And will the forest miss it anyway?

Celebrate and decorate; cover everything with empty tinsel.

The carol singers pirouette,

And we graciously grant them more than indifference.

One penny here, one reluctantly there,

“Wouldn’t you hate to be so poor?”

We sink our teeth in lakes of gravy,

(Harland and Wolff would be so proud.)

Our chins drip fowl grease; not sick for want of food – too sick to stomach more.

Santa’s workshop drips as well; his elves are little Chinese kids.

“Well, don’t their parents love them?” Because we know to show we do.

And the rest of the world can wait,

For this one lovely Winter’s day.

When we share for sharing’s sake – never just for force of tradition.

And the Christmas shoppers flock the tree,

Flapping violently,

Shoving in consternation,

I see their eyes light up like magpies’.

And oh how the tree glitters like snow.

As the other birds weep.

A white Christmas,

The coldest time of year,

When we paint our consciences to match our skin.