OJboss

The Kingdom of the Floorboards Sing, Muse, of the shadows beneath the sink, Of the dust-bunny dunes and the copper-pipe link. Sing of the world that is knee-high to men, But vast as a desert and dark as a den. Sing of the Kingdom of Baseboard and Beam, Where survival is hard, and cheese is the dream. The Giants walk above with thunderous tread, Shaking the rafters and the moss-feather bed. Their eyes are like suns, indifferent and bright, Banishing shadows with terrible light. But worse than the Giants, with their brooms and their feet, Is the Dragon who patrols the tiled street. The Beast with the whiskers of needle and wire, With eyes of green glass and a belly of fire. The Cat. The Leviathan. Death in soft fur. Who announces the end with a rumbling purr. In this land of terror, the Mice hold their court, In a wall-hollow fortress, a secret resort. They speak of the Legend, passed down from the old, Of the Wedge of the Heavens, the Triangle Gold. The Cheese. It calls from the heights...

The Valley of Waiting In the Valley of Stagnation , gray and low, Where the rivers of ambition cease to flow, Lived a man named Eamon , young and strong, Who felt that his life had gone entirely wrong. The valley was filled with a thick, heavy mist, That clung to the wrist and the clenched, angry fist. Here, men sat by the side of the road, Complaining of the weight of an invisible load . "The world is against us," the elders would say, While wasting the light of the beautiful day. "The weather is bad, and the soil is poor, And luck never knocks at the poor man’s door." Eamon sat with them, his head in his hands, Dreaming of gold in the faraway lands. He waited for fortune to fall from the sky, While the days and the weeks and the years drifted by. His hands were soft, uncalloused and white, He slept through the day and he worried at night. He prayed for a miracle, loud and deep, "Oh Lord, give me a harvest to reap! Give me a castle, give me a crown, Lift me up...

The Twilight of the Season The golden coin of summer, spent and worn, Was rolling toward the edges of the morn. The days were growing shorter, crisp and brown, And boredom settled softly on the town. The heat that once had shimmered on the street, Now beat a slow and melancholy retreat. The cicadas, those drummers of the heat, Had slowed the frantic tempo of their beat. Two friends sat on the curbing of the lane, Counting the clouds that threatened sudden rain. Leo, with his knees all scuffed and scraped, From adventures that they narrowly escaped. And Mia, with a flashlight in her hand, Drawing imaginary maps within the sand. They had conquered every tree and every wall, They had chased the bouncing echo of the ball. They had eaten every frozen, sugary treat, Until the wooden sticks lay at their feet. The Lego castles rose and then they fell, They had nothing left to buy and nought to sell. The calendar was hanging by a thread, With "School" written in a heavy ink of red. ...