Pursecution is a terrible thing,

A fault that has yet to be righted,

For if we kill all the purses, then what shall we carry?

Some people are very short-sighted.


Satchels are simply too bulky and big,

Whereas handbags are woefully small,

If we execute purses, what are we to do?

I might not tote a bag at all.


G.G.S.3: The Gremlin’s Crime (Part 3)

After the tiresome journey, Godrick was rather annoyed about the whole ordeal.  It was not the re-theft that bothered him, for in his mind that was simple justice, but the characters of the troll and the dwarfs were reversed.

Trolls are not supposed to be honorable.  Dwarfs are supposed to act for good.  This was the way of the species, not just the way of the times.  And yet this troll had give up what he rightfully earned to settle conflict.  And the dwarf went out of his way to start the fight, and continue even when its participants had moved on.

Godrick shook his head to clear his thoughts as he jogged through the forest, spiriting the gold and silver past countless toadstools and overgrown oaks whose branches tickled the sky.  There should be no troll that enjoys such scenery he told himself.

But here one was.  A troll living outside a forest, and not even residing in a cave.  It was blasphemy.  It was abnormal.  It was..  strangely satisfying.  To see how a being could change.

But the dwarfs.  Godrick would have to be weary among them now.  He’d always thought they were honorable creatures..  But maybe not.  There were always odd ducks out who stepped outside their typing.  But beings who were different are dangerous.

Arriving at the gate, Godrick decided not to bother the guards and he leapt over the wall as per his newfound habit.  It was also a good stretch for the legs.  As he headed towards the oaken tree where Lord Fent resided, he smiled and thought it would be funny to scare his employer.  He hefted the bags of silver and gold, and started his ascent up the tree.

Scaling is as though it were a ladder, the curves in the bark provided more than enough of a handhold to lodge himself firmly between them.  He pulled himself past branches and rodent holes, until his hands clasped the rim of the window-wall that Fent had fitted to his room.

Hoisting his weight and that of the bags up, he glanced through the glass and saw Fent backed into a corner by a warted green gnome with a bad hair day and what looked to be an unfortunate accident with a lawn mower on his face.

Either that, or this was the gremlin Godrick had heard the munchkins talking about.  He peered in the glass once more and saw the gremlin take out a large band of metal with a jewel encrusted on one side.  A human ring, if experience panned out.

The ring was glowing, and in Godrick’s experience, glowing things were bad news.  Godrick swung the bag around and smacked the glass with it, shattering it all over the floor and causing the occupants of the room to drop and cover their heads, making the gremlin drop his piece of ill-attained jewelry.

Godrick climbed through the wreck of a window, ducking under and stepping around shattered glass while pulling the bags inside.  He plopped them down in a corner, and turned around to find the gremlin standing and dusting his knees.

“Well,” the disgusting creature said, “usually it’s more polite to just knock, young gnome.  Or pixie.  My eyesight isn’t as good as it used to be.”

Godrick looked to Fent for an explanation of the situation, and Fent scrambled away from the corner and stood behind a table, making very sure there was distance between him and the brute.

“Godrick, this..  wretch.. came to my office and starts trying to bribe me!  What is going on?” he said, trying to grasp the unexplained scenario.

Godrick, obviously knowing little more than Fent, scribbled down a message outlining that this creature is credited to be behind the thefts.

Desperation turned to outrage as Fent turned to the smirking creature and said, “You!  You upset  the order in my town, and by Gontrix you will pay for it.”

The gremlin laughed.  “What makes you think you have the upper hand here, Fent?  I see your errand boy has brought you back your metals, but what now?  I still am in control of your entire treasury of enchantments, along with your mystic item.”

Now it was Godrick’s turn to look confused.  Mystic item?  Fent had a mystic item in his treasury?  No wonder he was in such a fit over the whole experience.  Mystics were hard to come by in this day and age.

Fent’s face went scarlet with rage.  “Guards!” he shouted, “apprehend this menace!”

The door burst open, revealing two armored gnomes with short spears held ready to jab aimlessly in front of them.  The gremlin laughed once more and picked up his ring.  Now bursting with lime light, the brightness expanded and enveloped the guards in a sheen that clung to their skin.  The light faded, and the guards were left as stoic as a statue but not quite as shiny.

Astonished, Fent stepped back and tripped over his chair, much to the amusement of both the Gremlin and Godrick.  However, Godrick was also quite confused by the item’s power.  Was it temporary or permanent?  And would he meet the same fate if he tangoed with the green creature?

Dangerous or not, Godrick stepped forward holding his cane at an offensive stance and advanced towards the gremlin.  His target turned, and smiled at Godrick.  “Well, hello there, young gnome.  I was beginning to think you were too cowardly to act at all.  But I guess the author couldn’t stand for that, could he?”

The gremlin fitted the ring onto his head like a crown and was amused at Godrick’s apprehension with approaching him.

“Come now, I don’t bite!  It might sting a little, sure, but then again I’ve never been hit by this thing,” he said while motioning towards his makeshift hat.  “I’ll take my leave, young gnome.  This thing doesn’t recharge for another day anyway.”

Godrick promptly ran straight at the gremlin, brandishing the blade that extended from the end of his cane.  The gremlin smiled.

“Oh, wait!  I meant another few seconds.  Here we go..-”



Full Moon

Well, if that happened, I suppose I would be well-kept, keep my spaces neat and tidy, clean up after myself, be organized, wake up early and rest well, and do my work on time.  I’d probably be responsible, respectful, and have a good idea of what I should and should not do.

I’d attend social events with heaving sighs first, I would get outside more, and I would be eating healthier.

Most of all, I’d be content with my life how it was.

However, I wouldn’t have near the fun I do now.


The Man who Always Worried

There once was a man who was always worried,

Who would fidget and fret, who was never hurried,

Who never ended projects because he’d never begin,

Who forfeited the prospect of loss and the chance of win.


This man was never happy, as he never had fun,

But the man was always safe, so the argument’s begun:

Is it better to take no losses, take no risk, and take no gain?

Or to try and work it out, take the chance, pay or pain?


The Train of Thought

A broken mirror, a ticking clock,

An off-center piece, a crippled walk,

A hopeful man and boy who fought

For passage on the Train of Thought.


It bridges paths across this realm

Of swirling dreams, afraid they fell

Plunging into madness, climbing out

Wondering what they had just fought about.


The mind forgives, the mind forgets,

But all the Heart does is relent

And tries to sway Mind of its taut,

Disrupt, derail, the Train of Thought.


But the Train runs on no tracks

It makes its own as it moves back

And forwards too, and to the sides,

This Train deceives a mortal Eye.


And no mortal Eye shall gaze upon

The Train, for the Eye’s gaze is drawn

By rumors, whispers of the Heart

Which bathes Eye in light, seeing dark.


But despite the evil Heart’s ill will

The Train forges on, continuing till

The Mind gives up and the Heart takes reins,

Boiling your blood while the Mind goes tame.


And now set aside, the Train creaks and cracks,

No destination, it can’t go back,

So the man and boy got off the train

To seek the Heart, the pretty pain.


Thanks to all those that have helped this blog progress throughout the week.  I just wanted to let you all know that we’ve just passed the 1,000 views total mark, which is amazing.  Even if 1,000 separate people might not have came to visit, it means that many of you were kind enough to revisit and demonstrate appreciation for what I have written.

On a similar note, we have also made it to 60 comments and quite a few followers.

I’d like to thank you all for supporting this site, and me with it.  It truly does mean a lot.  Hope to see you all around in times to come!


Reliant Gnome Wrapper











There once was a Gnome, who was all but a wrapper,

A remainder of what he once had been.

A gnome who relied on the safety of words,

Fighting off boredom with pens.


His friend Elephant called, a friend from times past,

And asked why his gnome friend had grown silent.

“To be honest,” he said, finally speaking into the phone,

“It’s on writing, not speech, I’m reliant.”



Edit:  No, I don’t know what all this means either.



I’m told that I am a good listener.  But I’m not.

Not at all.

I’m bad at listening, so I just ignore what people tell me.  What questions, thoughts, hopes, concerns, dreams, ambitions.  It doesn’t matter, I think.  It’s not my problem.

People think I’m a good listener because I don’t talk.  I don’t talk at all.  Not one peep, not even when people ask me to.  I don’t like talking.

My friends do though.  Some of them talk, but we have one rule;  speak only when spoken to.  Or don’t speak.  I prefer the latter.

What I am good at is listening to both sides of the story.  I’m never too caught up in a thought that I don’t consider the inverse.  Which is helpful for critical thinking, I suppose.

It gives me something to keep me sane.

But the worst part about this miserable existence that I am forced to live is that I could die at any second.  Any.  Second.  One flick of the wrist and I’m gone.  I don’t mean anything, because there are thousands more just like me.

Cripes, the buzzing.  The intense buzzing.  It rumbles inside of me with the force of a legion of bees and predates another moment of pitiful torture.

Yimmer, yammer.  Jibber, jabber.  Blah.  Blah.  BLAH.

And as I’m forced out of my temporary home, a little pocket of relief, I’m turned on and spoken to.

But I’m not a good listener.

“Hey Jessica, I got a new phone…”

The Man who Never Left the Stage

There once was a man who never left the stage,

Who always performed, always engaged,

And never stood back to let others perform

For he felt that he was simply great.


This went on for hours, till he ran out of lines,

And re-used some, though they lost their shine,

He had reached the calm that lay after the storm

And his act became second-rate.


As time went on his crowd got tired,

They all left, the stage man was fired,

And he sat there asking in shriveled form

“What have I done to deserve this fate?”


Rhyme or Reason

Opinionated men have opinionated pens,

And preference is considered normal to arise.

But don’t dismiss other artists who

Encompass other styles with their lives.


Too many a time I have heard that

Freestyle usurps Rhyme by simple breadth.

Just because your hole is  miles deep

Doesn’t mean it has depth.