Whimsical Poetry Exercise

[LimeyDawg]

Lets do something fun. Write a poem about a fantasy creature. Write it in a whimsical way. Make it rhyme. Here's my example:

A Pooka in the Mire

The pwca in the stinking bog,
Will lead the weary through the mire,
For sake of saving tired slog
He’ll tease you with his luring fire.
Around the faery host will dance.
Around the faery host will dance.

The promised way beyond your grasp,
Through brake and briar the ellyll leads,
Across, around, twice—thrice you pass,
‘til leaden eyes belie your needs.
Soft now, the pwca chorus chants.
Soft now, the pwca chorus chants.

Now rest your elf-song-foggèd head
upon the soggy boggy ground.
Stay your lonely homesick dread
‘neath blankets of the lulling sound.
‘Tis how the puck so cast their trance.
‘Tis how the puck so cast their trance.

[Albedo of Zero]

whimsical is fun



A nunt is what is
a ferber full grownt
unless its scales are shiny
then it would be
a full mailed bahmownt
and those are very whiny

but without a shine on
its scaled bouffant
a ferber is merely a grunt
tho 'merely' is clearly
an understatement
'cause grunts are larger than krunts

[Nyna]

It came one night upon the town
It came one night, touched lightly down
And flew away again in haste
With little May held ‘round the waist.
People never could agree
On what it was that they did see.
Descriptions wavered, shifted, changed:
It had four wings, two tails, a mane!
A monster! Said old Jeb the barber --
A dragon! Said Thomas the farmer.
And purple, claimed the young boy Lorne,
With one big eye and one big horn.

One night the creature did return
We saw it clear, the truth we learned:
A monster! People-eating, true
And one-eyed, purple -- and it flew!
And there upon its purple nose
One single purple horn arose.

We scattered, ran around in fear
We realized why it had come here:
Our one-eyed, one-horned, flying beast
Had planned a people-eating feast!

[onestepp]

Glocks

glocks go round-the-clock
singing songs of yore
looking for their flocks
and dancing on the floor.

[HeronW]

faery world
The trees touch fingertips
faceless yet leafy lips
have they to whisper with.
•
Wrap yourself in night wind
and on starlight descend
thou frail and gauzy thing.
•
We’ll watch the harelets walk
they whom the catkins stalk
pounce, a scream, taste warm life.
•
The moon is full and bright
and we will ride tonight
on silent velvet wings.

[Teena]

Griffin or Griffon: a fabulous animal typically having head, forepart and wings like those of an eagle and body, hind legs and tail like those of a lion. -- Webster's New Collegiate Dictionary.

This may be a little darker than preferred, but I used to have a recurring nightmare about a griffin when I was a child.

------------------------
The Griffin

Upon a red road steeped in dust
has stopped a black and yellow bus
to cough out children without pause
heedless of the Griffin's claws

Barefoot - Oklahoma lane
I find myself alone again
and Griffin's shadow flies apace
but easterly -- I spy a place

I scream and run to those four walls
wherein I'm safe til someone calls
to bring me home alive and sound...
but on the door the Griffin pounds

I cannot hide for windows line
the walls of this poor shelter of mine
and only one bare table stands
'tween me and Griffin's wing'ed hands

His eagle head and lion's tail
will leave the stoutest-hearted pale
Of talons, fur and feathered wings
are made such rare nightmarish things

He bends down to the window height
and peers inside to my abject fright
then twists the knob upon that door
and I know I'm lost forevermore

But just before the door gives in
and death walks in upon me, When
the fiend's next reeking breath would take
I shudder; and in shuddering, wake.

[Feiss]

What is? What is?
A chickamurkadee?

It's a feathered egg
with a purple secret
that you release,
if you crack her on a rock.

What spills out
is dirty stinking money
the entrails of
a chickamurkadee.

Don't worry,
the cash is legit,
but if you spend it
get ready to reak.

Every dollar you toss
adds a layer to the odor
a violent violet odor
much like inky octopus farts.

[Feiss]

The Scab Eater

Always jealous of my beauty,
my porcelain moonlit face.
My sister threw the lye
and oh how she scarred me.

Three months I spent tumbling,
in pain beyond the brink of knowing,
in my face they cut
two slices where my lids should be.

They smashed the mirrors
in the yard, for hours
forced my sister to dance
over the shard covered ground.

She's an invalid wraith locked away
and sometimes I hear her scream,
those screams touch me deep,
that's when my stiff smiles creep.

Blind to myself, my life was wooden,
till the day it chanced to rain,
I walked alone in the castle garden
glanced a monster in a puddle.

I looked down to see myself,
ugly, wooden, and burnt up.
Two bright green eyes trapped inside
a prison of twisted flesh.

With a wail, I raised my hands
tore my face with outstretched claws,
and felt it rip in one long strip,
shucked the bark to find the wick.

Piles of jerkied flesh lay about me
somehow I had to hide it,
such hideous evidence
should never see the light of day.

I snatched a piece
and tore at it with my teeth,
the brackish taste mingled
with the salt of my tears.

So I muddied myself,
my flesh and my blood,
till every scar was gone
back into myself, consumed.

My face was raw,
beat like a sacrificial heart.
Far more hideous
than it was before.

Revenge burned acidic,
I would find her.
I plunged, a redfaced bat
into the castle deep.

There lay my sister, chained
to the musty dungeon walls.
Helpless, and supine,
her alabaster face, delicious.

I woke her with a bloody kiss,
held her close to staunch the cry.
In horror, she beheld me,
as gently, I pinched her cheek.

[Rebekah7]

The Mire lives inside our dreams
With wings of golden fire

He sings a song of solitude
That everyone can join

If you chance to find him
On this day or the next

Remember that you first found him
In this humble text

[Dichroic]

To women: when feeling timid in front of a male crowd

Remember
that the bean sidh
put fear in the dreams

of grown men
just laundering clothes
in a stream.

[onestepp]

Under the rugs
with the dust bugs
you'll find the scrugs
playing war of tugs
with the slugs and
purple lovebugs.

[Feiss]

The little salmon that could but didn't:

All along the high Canadian streams
the salmon hop above the trees

the bears hunt there,
their claws are bare

and the pink salmon shadows
are snatched too quick to mourn.

They fight an impassable wall
the mountain's watery refusal.

And when they arrive, finally
in sadder, quieter waters

the women birth
and all the valley is filled
with salmon spawn
and the corpses of their mothers.

Now Delilah had an ill-advised tryst,
with a fish who was all fins and no brain,
and he had got her thick waisted,
and she had started swimming upstream.

She was detached, in that way that fish
and people can be detached,
when they're doin' something
they know not what for.

When one day, the stream flooded
out to the sea

The rest of her kin,
they stayed by the banks,
fearful and exhuasted.

But Delilah, was attracted by the sea.

So she, heavy with baby,
swam out to the sea,
and south, quickly, unstrugglingly south
to Cabo San Lucas.

Where she raised her babies,
taught them relaxation,
and lived a long, tan, female salmon life.