Joining Ink - A Collection of Poetry
 

Sample
 

The Day I Saw a Nargle Selling Pink Pumpkin Juice
By Melanie Harper

It was an ordinary day,
As I walked down the street.
The sun was shining,
Quite a nice treat.

I payed no attention,
Just simply thinking.
Therefore I bumped into the store,
And the Nargle started klinking.

So klinking isn’t a word,
That I must agree.
But that’s what he did
So just listen and see.

Anyway, he looked at me,
‘Twas very odd.
He cursed and shouted.
So I gave a weak little nod.

The pink pumkin juice spilled everywhere,
So he tried to make me pay.
I gasped and pointed to the sky,
Before running away without delay.

I told all my family,
I told my best friend.
But no-one believed me,
Thought I was going round the bend.

Ode to Kazimeriz
by Celandine Kettleburn, written in 2070
with but a word he commands respect
even hearing his name will have that effect

when he enters a room not a head doesn’t turn
all eager to know the lessons we’ll learn

There’s a set in his jaw and a gleam in his eye
He can read you like a book so its best not to lie

Of wand and of cauldron he is a master
And quite able to remedy any student disaster

He has style and flair when he casts a spell
In the dueling arena he is nonpareil

He’s a gentleman of both honour and pride
but theres a softer something hidden inside

With wise words that always inspire
It’s Valon Kazimeriz whom I admire

An Ode To a Great Man.
by Celandine Kettleburn, written in 2070
Of great stature and impressive girth,
So very virile and supremely strong,
he is a man of massive worth,
never mistaken; he can do no wrong.
With his ability to teach and give direction,
we can only hope to be like him some day,
that we might one day understand,
for he asks only for perfection;
a twice-broken arm is a small price to pay,
and it is an honour to learn under his hand.

His presence can not be ignored;
it as is if his very essence fills the air.
Only the best will gain reward,
for Lord Borr is nothing if not fair.
It will not do to merely adulate
or to make some other clumsy gaffe,
for Lord Borr is immune to that technique.
He knows how to separate
the wheat from the chaff,
and to be wheat, you must learn from his critique.

He will show you how he is great
though he is busy and you are not
His time is valuable and well worth the wait
and he'll teach you quite a lot
If you listen with more than just your ears
you might hear more than good advice
if you wish to establish good rapport
You need to let go of all your fears
and before you speak to him think twice;
It is not easy to impress the Great Lord Borr.

Angelic Devils
By Lights Lennox, written in 2072

Born on Saturday
February 28
Two thirty a.m.

You opened your eyes
Smiled sweetly up at me
My fate was sealed

Though you were tiny
You were loud as elephants
Could not stop screaming

All throughout the night
We didn't get any sleep
Crying endlessly

Extremely greedy
Vomited it up later
But you wouldn't stop

Don't get me started
On the stinky nappies
Queasy at the thought

Ethan went to work
I stayed home with you all day
Never any peace

It went on and on
The days folded into weeks
Infinite cycle

Suddenly one day
The crying finally stopped
Blissfully silent

I looked at you both
Already half a year old
I started to cry

I had forgotten
To love every moment
Cradle each second

You troublesome imps
Became the lights of my life
Angelic devils

Emmalee's Villanelle
By: Someone Iwin Howell hired to write this for him. Ahem.

I wanted to write a poem about you,
But I didn’t know how to start.
Even now, I can’t describe the view...

With art, it’s important to begin with the blue
That your eyes collect in pools of dark.
I wanted to write a poem about you.

Still, something about them is so true,
I can see myself reflected in their arc,
And even now...I can’t describe the view.

Puddles of the miseries we’ve been through,
They glisten like a mirror into our heart.
Love, I wanted to write a poem about you,

But all I’ve talked about is your eyes’ dew
Planted on your face, the morning’s stark-
I...can’t even describe the view.

Emmalee, I’ve failed to write about you all the way through,
But you, yourself, are my art.
And I wanted to write a poem about you,
But even now, the beginning, I can’t describe the view.