- Joined
- Sep 22, 2007
- Messages
- 5,662
- Awards
- 8
- Age
- 28
"Unfinished Storybook" isn't a title; this is quite literally an unfinished storybook.
My Creative Writing course had a majority of overly-emotional teenage girls, with overly-wrought emotional poetry/stories/plays/etc. In poetry, we would often mimic the style of our favorite poet(s)—and to combat the overflow of imitated Edgar Allen Poe, T.S. Eliot, and E.E. Cummings, I often imitated Dr. Seuss.
Most of my poems were happy and whimsical, playing primarily with fun word devices and rhyme. It wasn't meant to be evocative, merely enjoyable. One of my largest Seuss/Silverstein style poems (though certainly not my best) ended up being a sort of children's book narrative. I never finished, although I have the full narrative in mind—so my twofold question is (A) whether I should continue, and (B) whether anyone here would be willing to illustrate.
I'll leave that for you to decide.
Please enjoy my children's book rhyme (i.e., the proper setting for a simple AABB rhyme scheme).
TO THE INTERNET MASSES: If anybody dares take this work as their own, you'll be hearing from myself and several credible people, with original drafts to prove that this poem is mine. (Pfft, as if anybody would steal this, of all things . . .)
So, should I continue? Would anybody care to illustrate this?
(If the answer to the latter is "yes", the answer to the former will definitely be "yes".)
By the way, the story is more layered than just a "nice guy vs nasty guy" contest.
The villagers find that Preston Pardiggle and the modern world don't operate as they do...
Agree to illustrate, and you'll know what happens next!
My Creative Writing course had a majority of overly-emotional teenage girls, with overly-wrought emotional poetry/stories/plays/etc. In poetry, we would often mimic the style of our favorite poet(s)—and to combat the overflow of imitated Edgar Allen Poe, T.S. Eliot, and E.E. Cummings, I often imitated Dr. Seuss.
Most of my poems were happy and whimsical, playing primarily with fun word devices and rhyme. It wasn't meant to be evocative, merely enjoyable. One of my largest Seuss/Silverstein style poems (though certainly not my best) ended up being a sort of children's book narrative. I never finished, although I have the full narrative in mind—so my twofold question is (A) whether I should continue, and (B) whether anyone here would be willing to illustrate.
I'll leave that for you to decide.
Please enjoy my children's book rhyme (i.e., the proper setting for a simple AABB rhyme scheme).
TO THE INTERNET MASSES: If anybody dares take this work as their own, you'll be hearing from myself and several credible people, with original drafts to prove that this poem is mine. (Pfft, as if anybody would steal this, of all things . . .)
================================================
A Tale of Two Egos
A Children's Poem by J. Ordeith
(Title pending; illustrations will hopefully be added…)
There once was a time, in the long-forgot ages,
when Europe was guarded by mages and sages.
Enchanters, and wizards, and warlocks alike
would watch o'er the people, should vagabonds strike.
Marauders, and bandits, and thieves had no power
to harm anybody—for during all hours,
the wizards would watch, from high in their towers,
even in places thought sour and dour.
But as the age passed, and man grew more wise,
the wizards—once loved—were feared and despised.
They fled with their magic, away to the city,
in search of professions thought charming and witty.
No longer enchanters—“physicians”, they're called.
No more necromancers; they all practice law.
In secret, the mages continued their work.
In underground cities, they continue to lurk.
But one wizard clung to his terrible tower;
he kept his old village enthralled with his power.
Craggitus Crex, this wizard was named—
a master of lightning, of frost, and of flame.
A dour old man, in dirty black rags,
with a ratty old beard, and a pale face that sagged—
This was the man who dwelt in the tower.
Old Craggitus Crex never smiled, just glowered
at all of the peasants, below in their knell.
He kept them suppressed with a terrible spell...
The folk of the village had never once changed,
no age on their faces, or thoughts in their brains.
They still used a mule to plow all their fields;
not one had once heard of an “automobile”.
When his colleagues had fled, Crex paid close attention,
and saw that their bane was the modern invention.
So the village was blind—and happy, it seemed.
And Crex, all alone, pursued his own schemes.
For two-hundred years, the village existed with nary a change....
Until...
A visitor came—the first one in years!
A slick city-wizard, his face with no beard,
strode into the village without any fear!
His clothes were all modern, and pressed rather neatly;
he wore a cologne that smelled rather sweetly.
His hair, sharply trimmed, had been slicked to his head,
which he nodded most pleasantly. With a smile, he said:
“I'm very delighted to visit you all!
“I'm Preston Pardiggle, a wizard-at-law!
“It seems that your village has suffered a curse;
“allow me to fix it, before it gets worse!”
Preston Pardiggle then opened his bag,
and everyone's thoughts—why, they ceased to drag!
A shimmering dust from Preston's bag issued,
which cleaned out their skulls, like a magical tissue!
The village rejoiced! “What a fine man,” they said.
“He scoured our noggins, and rinsed out our heads!”
Away in his tower, Crex heard the commotion—
and so set aside his half-finished potion,
to see that the village had newfangled notions!
“Who darest dispel my devilish curse?
“If he entered by foot, he shall exit by hearse!”
With a flash of bright light—and a booming like thunder—
Craggitus Crex was a terrible wonder!
“Who is this young fool,” the old wizard barked,
“who dares to dispel the ignorant dark?”
Then Preston Pardiggle, looking not-at-all meek,
said, “Why, I'm right here, you musty antique!
“This town is just perfect for business to grow;
“These people want change, so pack up and go!”
Craggitus scoffed at the boasting young wizard,
but offered a deal—the crafty old lizard!
“Let a contest be held,” old Craggitus sneered,
“to see which of us remains over here.
“The wizard whose magic inspires more awe
“shall stay in this village—the other, withdraw.”
At this, master Crex drew a terrible storm;
it blackened the skies, and the clouds took form
as a terrible head! Its eyes were alight
with blue orbs of lightning. A horrible sight!
But Pardiggle laughed at Crex's black magic.
He thought the attempt was awfully tragic.
Amidst all the screams, the mage merely giggled,
for weather was no match for Preston Pardiggle!
A clap of his hands, and the rains turned to candy!
All gumdrops, and toffees, and cakes soaked in brandy!
The village folk marveled at such tasty treats—
as dinner, for them, was flavorless meat.
The thunder then whimpered, and the blue lightning fizzled.
Old Crex’s bad storm seemed merely a drizzle,
compared with the richness of Pardiggle’s feast.
The mouth of black Craggitus turned up in a crease.
“Why, that wasn’t awe,” he barked at his foe.
“’Twas only a morsel of sugar! How low!”
TO BE CONTINUED . . . ?
A Tale of Two Egos
A Children's Poem by J. Ordeith
(Title pending; illustrations will hopefully be added…)
There once was a time, in the long-forgot ages,
when Europe was guarded by mages and sages.
Enchanters, and wizards, and warlocks alike
would watch o'er the people, should vagabonds strike.
Marauders, and bandits, and thieves had no power
to harm anybody—for during all hours,
the wizards would watch, from high in their towers,
even in places thought sour and dour.
But as the age passed, and man grew more wise,
the wizards—once loved—were feared and despised.
They fled with their magic, away to the city,
in search of professions thought charming and witty.
No longer enchanters—“physicians”, they're called.
No more necromancers; they all practice law.
In secret, the mages continued their work.
In underground cities, they continue to lurk.
But one wizard clung to his terrible tower;
he kept his old village enthralled with his power.
Craggitus Crex, this wizard was named—
a master of lightning, of frost, and of flame.
A dour old man, in dirty black rags,
with a ratty old beard, and a pale face that sagged—
This was the man who dwelt in the tower.
Old Craggitus Crex never smiled, just glowered
at all of the peasants, below in their knell.
He kept them suppressed with a terrible spell...
The folk of the village had never once changed,
no age on their faces, or thoughts in their brains.
They still used a mule to plow all their fields;
not one had once heard of an “automobile”.
When his colleagues had fled, Crex paid close attention,
and saw that their bane was the modern invention.
So the village was blind—and happy, it seemed.
And Crex, all alone, pursued his own schemes.
For two-hundred years, the village existed with nary a change....
Until...
A visitor came—the first one in years!
A slick city-wizard, his face with no beard,
strode into the village without any fear!
His clothes were all modern, and pressed rather neatly;
he wore a cologne that smelled rather sweetly.
His hair, sharply trimmed, had been slicked to his head,
which he nodded most pleasantly. With a smile, he said:
“I'm very delighted to visit you all!
“I'm Preston Pardiggle, a wizard-at-law!
“It seems that your village has suffered a curse;
“allow me to fix it, before it gets worse!”
Preston Pardiggle then opened his bag,
and everyone's thoughts—why, they ceased to drag!
A shimmering dust from Preston's bag issued,
which cleaned out their skulls, like a magical tissue!
The village rejoiced! “What a fine man,” they said.
“He scoured our noggins, and rinsed out our heads!”
Away in his tower, Crex heard the commotion—
and so set aside his half-finished potion,
to see that the village had newfangled notions!
“Who darest dispel my devilish curse?
“If he entered by foot, he shall exit by hearse!”
With a flash of bright light—and a booming like thunder—
Craggitus Crex was a terrible wonder!
“Who is this young fool,” the old wizard barked,
“who dares to dispel the ignorant dark?”
Then Preston Pardiggle, looking not-at-all meek,
said, “Why, I'm right here, you musty antique!
“This town is just perfect for business to grow;
“These people want change, so pack up and go!”
Craggitus scoffed at the boasting young wizard,
but offered a deal—the crafty old lizard!
“Let a contest be held,” old Craggitus sneered,
“to see which of us remains over here.
“The wizard whose magic inspires more awe
“shall stay in this village—the other, withdraw.”
At this, master Crex drew a terrible storm;
it blackened the skies, and the clouds took form
as a terrible head! Its eyes were alight
with blue orbs of lightning. A horrible sight!
But Pardiggle laughed at Crex's black magic.
He thought the attempt was awfully tragic.
Amidst all the screams, the mage merely giggled,
for weather was no match for Preston Pardiggle!
A clap of his hands, and the rains turned to candy!
All gumdrops, and toffees, and cakes soaked in brandy!
The village folk marveled at such tasty treats—
as dinner, for them, was flavorless meat.
The thunder then whimpered, and the blue lightning fizzled.
Old Crex’s bad storm seemed merely a drizzle,
compared with the richness of Pardiggle’s feast.
The mouth of black Craggitus turned up in a crease.
“Why, that wasn’t awe,” he barked at his foe.
“’Twas only a morsel of sugar! How low!”
TO BE CONTINUED . . . ?
So, should I continue? Would anybody care to illustrate this?
(If the answer to the latter is "yes", the answer to the former will definitely be "yes".)
By the way, the story is more layered than just a "nice guy vs nasty guy" contest.
The villagers find that Preston Pardiggle and the modern world don't operate as they do...
Agree to illustrate, and you'll know what happens next!