Tag Archives: garrosh’s poetry challenge

Garrosh’s Poetry Challenge: EPIC VERSE live blog

epicverse2

Those of you who were reading the blog last year at this time will remember Garrosh’s Poetry Challenge – when, in honor of National Poetry Month, I called upon my LOYAL READERS AND MINIONS to give me suggestions for a whole slew of EPIC VERSE masterpieces. You all stepped up to the plate (well, those of you who were here at the time…and for those of you who weren’t, WHERE THE HELL WERE YOU?), and we had a month full of EPIC VERSE goodness.

This year, as I announced a couple weeks ago, I’m continuing the Poetry Challenge tradition with a live blog. Yes, that’s right, it’s the SECOND ANNUAL Garrosh’s Poetry Challenge – sure to be an annual tradition for years and years to come.

For tonight’s lyrical explosion of spontaneous awesomeness, I’m once again calling on you all to inspire your Warchief. Here’s how this is going to work: when this post goes live, you’re all invited to use the comments to post your ideas and suggestions – you can give topics, themes, characters, turns of phrase, ANYTHING you think might make for a good starting point to give me ideas for what I’m going to write. (Try to keep your suggestions here in the comments, rather than Twitter/Facebook/wherever, so your fellow readers and I can see them all in one place.)

Starting at 8:00 PM EDT, I’ll begin the live blog by adding to this post. At that point, I’ll start composing a new EPIC VERSE masterpiece (or masterpieces?) based on the suggestions you’ve given. Feel free to keep offering new ideas as we go along – I might incorporate new suggestions into the poem I’m writing, or maybe use them for ANOTHER new poem before the night is out. We’ll just see how it goes. In any case…once the live blog has started, keep refreshing this page. I’ll be adding to the post incrementally as I write, and you’ll get to watch your Warchief’s latest EPIC VERSE composed right before your eyes, in progress.

Kind of like getting to see how the sausage gets made. If the sausage was made from the ground meat of the SUPER AWESOME UBER-BEAST RAISED IN THE PARADISE FIELDS OF GENIUS AND FED A STEADY DIET OF SOLIDIFIED PERFECTION AND BADASSERY.

*  *  *  *  *

Okay, kids, the show’s about to begin. I’m going to take a moment and take a look at what we’ve got for suggestions so far, and maybe give the latecomers a minute or two to get their initial suggestions in before I get rolling. Keep the ideas coming as we go, and I may still work them in as I’m able…

Remember, keep refreshing this page to watch the live blog unfold in progress.

*  *  *  *  *

The Dontrag and the Utvoch came
To celebrate the season,
And brought such pain to any brain
Imbued with any reason.

The Dontrag and the Utvoch asked
The Warchief for permission
To undertake — for sure, half-baked —
A Noblegarden mission.

The Dontrag and the Utvoch told
The Warchief of their plan:
To gather eggs from hopping legs
That bounced around the land.

The Warchief, for his part, approved,
And told them to proceed.
(He thought, of course, the only source
For this could be felweed.)

The Dontrag and the Utvoch ran
Across the Four-Winds Valley,
And high and low sought eggs to go
Into their final tally.

Then near a burrow, D&U
Saw wrigglin’ and squirmin’,
When to the ground, with mighty bound
Leapt out a giant virmen.

The Dontrag cried, “Move fast, Utvoch!
Don’t let it run off!  Grab it!”
For sure, he thought, they had just caught
The Noblegarden Rabbit.

The Dontrag and the Utvoch pounced
And lunged with all their might —
Though in no story was their quarry
Such a daunting height.

They found the Rabbit’s fury one
That not a one surpasses,
So by the end, their hoppy friend
Had badly kicked their asses.

The Warchief, when the pair returned,
Was unsure, sad or funny,
Which best to say, to know that they’d
Been beat on by a bunny.

The Dontrag and the Utvoch mused,
“At least we didn’t die.”
And down they sat on asses fat
And dined on humble pie.

EPIC V—

That was weak.

The FUCK? Who the hell is this?!

What, you still don’t recognize me, Hellscream? I thought you were good at spotting me online now.

Wait, don’t tell me this is—  Hang on.

SPAZZLE!

What’s up, boss?

The likelihood of me drop-kicking your green ass back to the Lost Isles, for starters.

That’s it. Throw another hissy fit and alienate even more of your own people. That’s a formula for success.

Oh…oh no. Don’t tell me Varian broke into the blog again.

OH I’M TELLING YOU EXACTLY THAT, MOTHERFUCKER

Have you considered anger management classes, by the way?

What the hell happened to the SECURITY thingywhatsises you were supposedly building into the blog, like, FOREVER ago?

Ugh. It must be that wireless connection you have down there. I TOLD you Grizzle didn’t know how to set up a reliable network above the level of aluminum cans and some string.

Goddammit. Well try to get him out of here, will you? I’ve got a live blog to do.

You mean this exhibition of fail? Hah. I couldn’t pass up the chance to look in a watch you make an even bigger jackass of yourself than usual.

Hey, don’t be jealous just because I actually know how to string a few words together, human.

Actually, you know what? Go ahead and be jealous of that. Also of all the fans I have, who’ve turned out to bask in the brilliance (BACK ME UP HERE, PEOPLE). And, oh yeah, of how much smarter and better-looking and all-around more awesome I am.

Hellscream, I haven’t done any writing since I was a kid—

I notice you’re not counting your own blog there.

—but even I could do better than these dimwitted nursery rhymes you’re spewing out.

You know what, asshole? YOU’RE ON. Let’s see what you’ve got.

CUE THE AMBIGUOUSLY THIRD-PERSON LEAD-IN!

*  *  *  *  *

EPIC VERSE BATTLES OF AZEROTH!

GARROSH HELLSCREAM

VS.

VARIAN WRYNN

BEGIN!

*  *  *  *  *

Come on, bring it, Hellscream – hope you’re ready to lose.
I’m pretty sure a basic campfire could rhyme better than you.
I’m the king! The boss! I was born to rule!
Thrall took his Doomhammer and left the orcs with a tool.
While I was ruling orc arenas with my wolf-god-modding
You were a whiny emo bitch busy whining and sobbing.
I’ll crush you, Garrosh, and add it to our duel triple feature
’Cause I’m the High King – you’re just a substitute teacher.

I’ve got no time for your Alliance propaganda,
Gonna beat you down so hard you’re gonna think I’m a panda.
You’re facing Garrosh, Lo’gosh – I was put here to pwn ya.
My dad killed Mannoroth; yours got ganked by Garona.
So the Warchief will pour grief and settle some scores:
I’m taking the lok’tar, all the ogar is yours.
No “either/or” in the fate that you deserved:
Crushed beneath the Horde – AND the one getting served.

Sure, hide in daddy’s shadow – I knew you’d bring up Grom,
I don’t remember that he ever had to use a mana bomb.
You’re on your own now, worried yet? ’Cause your lackeys you’re lackin’ –
You’re not getting bailed out now by your magnataur and kraken.
I’m coming with a gag order, I’ve had more than enough,
You’re so much talk, even your howling axe won’t ever shut up.
You’ve got a skull that’s all tiny, and your jaw’s extra large –
Between your mouth and your brain, I guess that shows who’s in charge.

You’re one to talk jaws, Chin-Boy, yours could carve out a mogu,
I’d call you Scarface but you’ve got no friends to say hello to.
Your scars and fail and ponytail – you’re like Lor’themar Lite.
I’ll bake your pride in lemon squares: here, swallow both in one bite.
You’re defensive, apprehensive; I’m offensive, gone berzerker –
I bet Tiffin cut you off, that’s why you had to screw your workers.
My rhymes are terse and yours are worse, so curse and next time go rehearse,
Now FUCK YOU, VARIAN – that’s

EPIC

fucking

VERSE

<drops mic and walks away like a boss>

*  *  *  *  *

WHO WON?

WHO’S NEXT?

YOU DECIDE!

EPIC VERSE BATTLES OF AZEROTH!

 

[Thanks for coming, everyone. More weirdness soon…]

 

Ask a stupid question

epicverse

So, yeah, I know it’s been a while since I updated. I ended up being really, REALLY busy on Earth Online for a while, so whenever I got done with all my dailies, I was too damn tired to worry about blogging. The worst part of the grind is over now, though, so I should be able to be a little better about updating here.

So speaking of blog matters, there’s a site that some of you probably know about called Klout that tries to measure how influential people are online (to questionable degrees of success). You get a score out of 100, and people can give you these kinda-sorta thumbs-ups for topics you’re supposedly an expert on. And I guess they have some other ways of gauging topics where people consider you “influential.”

So for instance, the Klout people think I’m influential when it comes to blogging, poetry, and comedy. (No word on why “kicking ass,” “being fucking awesome,” and “lemon squares” didn’t make this list.) I don’t know where the comedy part comes from, unless they’re talking about the supporting cast I’m stuck with, and even then I’d consider them more of a tragedy than a comedy, personally. But whatever, I guess that’s their point of view.  Comedy is the tragedy that happens to someone else, and tragedy is the comedy that happens to you.

Anyway, I recently got a notice from the Klout people that because of my expertise (damn right, show the proper respect, bitches), I was eligible to answer questions from other Klout users. So when I opened up my page, I had a bunch of trial questions to answer, in Tweet-ish short answer form. And so I figured, I can’t deprive you all of the wisdom I imparted here. So here, copy-and-pasted directly from my submissions on the site…

 

How should I get started blogging?

First, find a goblin who has a lot of free time and tell him he’s going to set the site up for you because it would be a shame if there was a major fire in the Bilgewater slums. No, you can’t have my goblin, get your own. Then sit your ass down and start typing. When you run out of ideas, stop.

 

Are there any blogging resources you would recommend?

Yes. Again, you definitely want to have a tech goblin working for you who can set up the site and maintain it and explain nerdy technical shit like deleting. Because the last thing you want is to get stuck having to sit at a computer all day. Again, no, you can’t have mine.

 

Which blog host site do you prefer and why?

Not that one. I hear it sucks.

 

What advice can you give someone who wants to make money blogging?

You can make money blogging? That’s fucking news to me! My only suggestion is that no matter how awesome your content is, you absolutely, positively cannot be drawing on somebody else’s intellectual property. Then again, that would be pretty fucking lame in the first place, so, you know.

 

How can I tell if my content is funny?

Ask yourself this question: Do people laugh at you a lot? If no, I have bad news for you. If yes, ask yourself this follow-up question: When they laugh at you, were you trying to make them laugh? If yes, you’re probably funny. If no…well…hello, Utvoch.

 

What subject matter should I write my poetry about?

Well for one, you could write about how you don’t end a sentence with a preposition. Whatever you do, don’t try writing poetry about telling Varian Wrynn to go fuck himself, because I’m telling you right now, I’ve got that shit covered.

 

Yes, I actually submitted all these. Why do you ask?

I have not yet received a notification from the Klout people to thank me for my insight and confirm that my answers would be posted with all due haste. But I’m guessing they’ve just been busy on Earth Online too and I’ll be hearing from them soon enough.

While I’ve got everyone’s attention, though, and while we’re on the subject of poetry, let me remind everyone that the Garrosh’s Poetry Challenge LIVE BLOG will be tomorrow night, April 14. I’ll put up a setup post that evening asking for you all to give me suggestions for EPIC VERSE topics and themes, and start time for the live blog will be 8:00 PM EDT. I’ll be composing a new EPIC VERSE masterpiece based on the suggestions you all make that night, and you’ll get to watch it being composed line by line, live and in person. BE THERE OR BE PREPARED TO EXPLAIN YOURSELF TO YOUR GRANDCHILDREN YEARS FROM NOW WHEN THEY COME TO YOU LIKE “GRANDMA, WTF?!”

 

Locks in Socks: Live (Sort of)

warlocks

A couple weeks ago, when I was in the middle of Garrosh’s Poetry Challenge, I had gotten a lot of positive feedback on one poem in particular – Locks in Socks. Personally I don’t see why, it was really mostly a big pile of nonsense, but whatever, I guess you people like that kind of thing. But among my mountains of fan mail there was one offer I just couldn’t turn away. NO NOT GARONA, I’ve been holding her at arm’s length for months now. Sheesh. No, this came from @PixelExecution, from the blog PixelatedExecutioner – an offer to record a live performance of Locks in Socks for me to post here on the Command Board.

Obviously this was too good to pass up, and so, after no small amount of time (and many outtakes that rumor has it might find their way here at some point!), here is the finished product:

Major thanks and huge props to Pix for putting in the time to put this together. Everybody should definitely shoot him a tweet or leave a comment on his blog with some much-deserved praise for this little gem.

 

 

[Header image provided by Khizzara from Blog of the Treant, used here with permission and many thanks.]

 

The Tuskarr and the Mortimer

zeparrival

So here it is – the final installment of Garrosh’s Poetry Challenge! Thanks to everyone who participated, whether by giving suggestions for poems, or just coming by to read the latest submissions. And so, without further ado…

 

The sun was shining on the sea
Beneath the Borean sky;
The waves were waving to and fro,
The crests were cresting high.
And that it was a glorious day
No creature could deny.
 
To Warsong Hold a zeppelin
Brought Garrosh with his bunch.
He’d come to visit D.E.H.T.A.’s camp
And have a little lunch.
And this was strange, since most of them
He would much rather punch.
 
But he had come to humor them
And show a little class;
He figured this way it might keep
Lather-on-us off his ass.
So he’d choke down a salad
And, with luck, would not get gas.
 
So as the Warchief wandered off
To find the D.E.H.T.A base,
He left his wyvern free to fly
And soar at his own pace,
Since frankly it was just as well
He stay clear of that place.
 
So Mortimer went flying ’round
Exploring as he may,
And came upon a Kalu’ak
Outside of Unu’pe.
The Tuskarr greeted him and said,
“Hail, wyvern! Frabjous day!”
 
The wyvern landed near; the Tuskarr
Said, “Now let us see –
I feel that in my travels
I could use some company.
So, wyvern, let me ask you,
Would you like to come with me?”
 
The friendly Mortimer just gave
A nod and then a bark;
He figured that he might as well
Go with him as a lark.
And so away from Unu’pe
The pair did disembark.
 
The Tuskarr and the Mortimer
Went strolling in a rank,
Across the Geyser Fields and past
Airstrip of Fizzlecrank
(Where Mortimer left for the gnomes
Some droppings as a prank).
 
Along the northern coast they found
A village, and therein,
A mob of mumbling Murlocs
From the tribe of Winterfin.
The Tuskarr said, “Aha! And so
Our fun can now begin!”
 
“Hail, Murlocs!” said the Tuskarr
As the Murloc ranks increased.
“Good day!” he said; they gathered
As the village was policed.
“And since we’re friends, good Murlocs,
We’ll make you a quite fine feast!”
 
The unsuspecting Murlocs beamed.
“Tell me, have you a pot?”
And at the Tuskarr’s question
A great cauldron out was brought.
The Tuskarr set his pack down
And said, “Now, what have I got?”
 
The Tuskarr opened up his pack
And set aside his hat.
He started to unpack some herbs,
Vegetables, bacon fat.
“Now while the water boils,
Murlocs, let’s have a little chat.”
 
So Mortimer just sat nearby –
A curious scene, he thought.
The Tuskarr sliced some carrots
And tossed them into the pot.
Some onions, too, and celery,
While all of it grew hot.
 
“The time has come,” the Tuskarr said,
“To talk of many things:
Of pigs—of guns—of crab fishwives—
Of eggmen and Lich Kings,
Of countless Kael’thas setbacks,
And of why fey dragons sing.”
 
“Grr-blrrrrgll-grarrrrlllllb,” the Murlocs said;
The Tuskarr said, “Indeed!
Another fine point, Murlocs,
Oh, that I will concede.”
“Brrrr-blarrrrrbgggll,” said the Murlocs;
Mortimer paid little heed.
 
“Aha!” the Tuskarr said, “It seems
The cooking broth is done!
We’re ready to begin!” But then
He saw he’d have no fun.
For Mortimer already, well,
Had eaten every one.
 
The Tuskarr grew so very mad
And cried, “You little twerp!”
He hardly could believe his plan
The wyvern would usurp.
And Mortimer just shrugged and then
Let out a little burp.
 
Thus concludes our charming tale
Of Murloc genocide,
Of wyvern walrus wandering
And fish-man woe betide.
A happier ending I don’t think
I ever could provide.

 

EPIC VERSE!

 

 

[Header image provided by Rioriel from Postcards From Azeroth, reproduced here with permission and many thanks. Click here to see the souped-up Postcard version!]

 

Aromatic Orgrimmar

org12

Okay, so, there weren’t any suggestions for today’s installment of Garrosh’s Poetry Challenge, so instead, I went back to some of the previous posts and basically yanked together a few different ideas that I hadn’t used yet. Hence today’s installment! Just one left, guys — this Thursday will be the last entry in our April full o’ EPIC VERSE, so I’m counting on you all to dig down deep and give me some good options to work with! Don’t drop the ball here, folks! YOUR WARCHIEF HAS SPOKEN!

 

A bastion standing strong in harsh terrain,
The solitary hold of Durotar,
Where all misguided sieges fall in vain:
Behold the shining might of Orgrimmar.
The sights familiar glimmer in our eyes,
And sounds echoing in ears for all to tell,
But in the Spirit Valley, what surprise
To find the touchstone sense would be the smells.
To south, the goblin stench of industry
With Kaja’Cola undercurrents waft;
To north, the pungent herbal potpourri
That trolls with hookahs spew so very oft.
     And truly, that’s the scent that takes me back,
     To days in Northrend sniffing ’round Zul’Drak.

 

EPIC VERSE!

 

 

[Header image provided by Khizzara from Blog of the Treant, used here with permission and many thanks.]

 

Locks in Socks

warlocks

Today’s installment of Garrosh’s Poetry Challenge – as always, keep those suggestions coming for next time in the comments section!

 

Locks
Socks
Docks
Brox

Brox on docks.

Locks in socks.

Brox on locks in socks on docks.

Socks on Brox and locks on docks.

Locks in socks on Brox on docks.

Trolls with bowls smoke.
Trolls with poles poke.
Trolls with poles poke bowls till holes broke.

Trolls extol their hole poke goals and
Trolls console their souls, smoke bowls and
Troll patrols troll souls with smoke and
Troll bowl smoke soaks folk who choke.

First I’ll make a troll bowl smoke hole.
Then I’ll make a troll pole poke hole.

You can make a troll bowl smoke hole.
You can make a troll pole poke hole.

And here’s a new goal, Mr. Brox…
Socks on trolls who troll on locks.
Locks on docks steal souls from trolls and
Trolls sans souls put pox on locks.

Now we come to DoTs and HoTs, sir.
DoTs and HoTs go tick and tock, sir.
DoT go tick and HoTs go tock, sir.
Try to say this, Mr. Brox, sir.

DoTs on hawks tick.
HoTs on Brox tock.
Six sick clicks DoT
Six hawk flocks up.

Hawk flocks DoT-up
Shock stalks fel pup.
Fel pup stalks hawk flocks to hell, yup.
Hawk flocks’ yell shocks fel pup locks and
Fel pups smell up dell on walks.

Now you try it, Mr. Brox, sir.
It is time we let you talk, sir.

“Please, sir. I don’t like this game, sir.
I am not this frigging lame, sir.
I get all the trolls and docks, sir,
Mixed up with the souls and socks, sir.
I can’t do it, Mr. Lock, sir.”

I’m so sorry, Mr. Brox, sir.

Here’s an easy game to play.
Here’s an easy thing to say…

Mean orcs.
Clean forks.
Seen forks?
Green orcs!

Green orcs eat pork meat with clean forks.
Clean orc forks beat sweet pork spleen corks.

Green orcs put clean forks in spleen meat.
Mean orcs put corks in sweet Tweet greet.

“That’s not easy, Mr. Lock, sir.”

Who limps?
Imp limps.
Sly wimp imp limps.

Who stocks sly wimp imps with limps?
Locks in socks stock imps with limps.
Wimp imp limps shock locks in socks while
Locks’ wimp imps stock box of socks.

Sly imps spy on locks in socks and
Spry imps, my, throw rocks at locks.
Limp rocks imp walks, blimp sky high! and
Wimp imp pimps for succubi.

“Hold on, hold on! That was stretching!
Those last few have got me retching!
That last one was rather lewd, sir.
I think you are very rude, sir!”

Sorry, sorry, Mr. Brox, sir.
Let’s continue our nice talk, sir.

Chen comes.
Genn comes.
Chen’s friends, then some.
Chen brings Genn cheer.
Genn brings Chen beer.

Genn mends Chen’s cheer.
Chen blends Genn’s beer.
Chen’s blends.
Genn’s mends.
Chen-blend beer spills.
Genn-mend cheer fills.

Chen’s chums. Genn’s glum.
Chen’s friends bend some.

Chen’s friends bend Genn’s cheer austere and
Genn’s blend tends to clear Chen’s fears.

Chen’s friends! Ten friends!
Mend Genn! When, Genn?
Chen’s ten friends send beer to Rend, sir.
Genn’s glum trend, forfend, the end, sir.

“My poor mouth can’t say that. No, sir.
My poor mouth is much too slow, sir.”

Well, then…let’s relieve your lungs.
I will lift this Curse of Tongues.

Let’s have a little talk about squabblin’ goblins…

What do you know about squabblin’ goblins? Well…

When squabblin’ goblins bicker,
It’s called squabblin’ goblin babble.

And when they babble even quicker,
It’s called squabblin’ goblin gabble babble.

AND when squabblin’ goblins babble during Scrabble in a gabble,
They call it a squabblin’ goblin Scrabble gabble babble.

AND…

When goblins squabble goblins in a Scrabble gabble babble
And the goblin gabble babble is a quibble over Scrabble,
…they call this a squabblin’ goblin Scrabble quibble gabble babble.

AND…

When the goblins have these quibbles over Scrabble when they babble and the goblins scribble gabbles over Scrabble taking “tribbles”…
…they call this a quibble babble tribble gabble squabblin’ Scrabble goblin scribble.

AND…

“Lock in socks, that’s quite enough, sir.
I won’t say this silly stuff, sir.
All this babble hurts my head, sir.
I’ll go back to being dead, sir.”

 

EPIC VERSE!

 

(Side note, by the way – I really feel like this poem, and Orc Lemon Squares from the other day, are really screaming out for illustrations. So if any of you are artistically inclined and think you might be interested in helping to enhance your Warchief’s EPIC VERSE to its fullest potential, contact me at garrosh1337@gmail.com. THAT IS AN ORDER.)

 

 

[Header image provided by Khizzara from Blog of the Treant, used here with permission and many thanks.]

 

Two for one special

lorthemar2

So, needless to say after yesterday’s mailbag, I’ve got a lot on my mind right now. I still plan on making some inspection stops in the Eastern Kingdoms, but the timetable might be spread out a little more than it would have been, what with some other things I need to check up on.

Still, I also definitely need to check on the northern parts of the Eastern Kingdoms, and I’m probably pretty overdue to pay Sylvanas a visit in the Undercity. So with that in mind, here’s today’s installment of Garrosh’s Poetry Challenge – two short poems today, one on who’s-his-face, the blood elf leader guy…

 

There was a blood elf named…whatever,
Who they tell me is noble and clever.
After Kael’thas went loony
And left Silvermoon, he
Installed in his place…um…whoever.

 

…and one in tribute to one of Sylvanas’…um…colorful citizens.

 

There was a man named Jeremiah
Who was a Forsaken pariah.
If someone encroaches
On selling cockroaches
They’d best pray for some kind of messiah.

 

EPIC VERSE!

 

The Last Stands of Sylvanas

sylvanas2

So, a little late, I know, but here it is, this week’s second (belated Thursday) installment of EPIC VERSE in Garrosh’s Poetry Challenge! Featuring the return of everyone’s favorite Argent Gossip Girl, Argent Confessor Paletress. As always, comment away with suggestions and idea for next week’s MASTERPIECES.

 

Hi again,
Garrosh, friend.
Hope you’re doing fine.
What brings you
Here anew?
I see that you brought wine.
 
Hold on, now.
I know how
You made me talk last time.
I’m still mad
At how bad
I spilled my guts (in rhyme!).
 
I refuse!
’Twas with booze
You got me to tell.
Whatcha got?
Jello shots?
Oh, well, what the hell.
 

*  *  *  *  *

 
The Dark Lady passed through here,
In the Lich King’s final year.
   Sought advice
   Once or twice
From – guess who – truly yours.
From our talks we grew aware
Of just how much, in fact, we share,
   Like our urge
   To purge the Scourge.
(And sometimes dress like whores.)
 
Still her memories recur
Of life as Ranger Windrunner,
   When the doom
   Of Silvermoon
Left all appearing lost.
Last defender, there she stood;
Fight with her last breath she would.
   Pain was fine:
   Buy them time
She would at any cost.
 
There she took her final breath;
They raised a banshee in undeath –
   Could not kill
   Her iron will:
As strong now as it had been.
Summoned up her fallen brothers,
Lordaeron’s lost souls, and others,
   Bore their pain,
   Broke their chains,
And hacked the Lich King’s admin.
 
Years have passed and foes have died,
Fruitlessly Sylvanas tried
   To soothe chagrin
   For zombie kin
From all the blows they’d taken.
Cursed and scorned and plagued with doubt –
Damn the world that shut them out!
   In her care
   Her children there
Would never be forsaken.
 
When at last the Lich King fell,
Banished to the blackest hell,
   Off alone
   To Frozne Throne
Sylvanas made her trek.
Arthas’ final demise
She would confirm with her own eyes;
   And so higher
   To the spire
She ventured up to check.
 
It was true; her foe was gone;
His broken corpse she spat upon,
   But the hole
   In her soul:
It felt an endless void.
For so long her single thought
Was bringing Menethil to naught;
   Now the task
   Was done at last
And she was unemployed.
 
All her past she dwelled upon,
Shining elvish future gone,
   Time she slept:
   Off she lept
And fell toward deadly spikes.
But before she fell to night,
Self-impaled on saronite,
   Near would sing
   Val’kyr wings
And stave off the last strike.
 
Val’kyr visions was she granted,
Of a future disenchanted:
   Her adored
   By the Horde
Were marshaled out as fodder.
Unprotected, now she’d seen,
Left without their Banshee Queen,
   With a haste
   Went to waste
Before worgen marauders.
 
Her Forsaken children, cherished:
She could not leave them to perish.
   Made a deal,
   And, surreal,
Returned to her unlife.
Bound now to the scheming Val’kyr,
Brought them to her home locale here,
   To begin
   To watch her kin
And guard them from the strife.
 
I remember when we spoke,
The elf who bent but never broke,
   How she knew
   What she’d do
Would carry heavy cost.
For her people to stay whole,
Someone had to pay their soul:
   No defers;
   ’Twould be hers –
It was already lost.
 
All her elvish life she’d said
She’d fight to wipe out the undead;
   Tables turned:
   Living spurned:
Now she would forswear it.
No more kindred’s anguished cries;
Not one more, on her watch, dies.
   Tortured, pained,
   Conscience stained:
For them, she will bear it.
 
*  *  *  *  *
 
Hey, hold on!
Liquor’s gone?
Then the story’s done!
Go restock;
That would rock.
And then we’ll have more fun.
 
One last dose,
One last toast
To Sylvanas’ sorrow.
Not undead,
But man, my head:
I’ll pay for this tomorrow.
 
No, you wag,
No Jaina gag.
No more lurid defection.
(Although, she’d seen
The Banshee Queen
In the Halls of Reflection…)

 

EPIC VERSE!

 

Mini-extension?

epicverse

Just a very quick note about the latest installment in Garrosh’s Poetry Challenge — for those of you who’ve been following religiously (AND THAT WOULD BE ALL OF YOU AMIRITE?), you know that I’ve committed to posting a new EPIC VERSE based on reader requests every Tuesday and Thursday in the month of April.

I’m just making this post to hedge my bets, because holy geez it’s been a hectic day, and I still have a ton that needs to get done tonight (something about a rash of sabotage to the demolishers up by the north gate, and some kind of snafu with the maintenance crew scheduling, and Eitrigg thinking Gallywix has gotten his green little paws into the demo parts requisitions and is skimming something off the top somehow, like WTF), so I may not have enough time to finish up my current MASTERPIECE to post tonight. If not, you can count on it being posted Friday, so rest assured you won’t be missing out on your second EPIC VERSE of the week! YOU CAN BREATHE EASY NOW, YOU CAN KNOCK OFF ALL THE WAILING AND GNASHING OF TEETH.

 

Orc Lemon Squares

cake

Today’s entry for Garrosh’s Poetry Challenge! This one is inspired by a repeated suggestion from the last few days, involving my Greatmother’s famous (previously secret) recipe, and the meddling tree who publicized it and forced me to institute whole new culinary policies a while back. Remember to make suggestions for next time in your comments!

 

Edenvale.

Edenvale –
She’s a tree.

Edenvale –
Don’t you see?
Edenvale’s a tree,
I see.

Edenvale,
She had a scare –
She saw Garrosh
Over there.

“Oh no!  Garrosh!”
Cried the tree.
“Please don’t kill me!
Let me be!

I’m your friend!
Yes!  I swear!
Please don’t kill me,
Garrosh-There!”

“Don’t you fret
Your sappy head!
I won’t kill you,”
Garrosh said.

“No?  You won’t?”
“Oh no,” he said.
“Or you already
Would be dead!”

“Oh,” she said,
The silly tree.
“Then, what do you want
With me?”

He came closer,
Garrosh-There.
And he said,
“I’m here to share.”

“Here to share,
Garrosh-There?”
“Here to share,”
Said Garrosh-There.

“Are you okay?”
Asked the tree.
“That doesn’t sound like you,”
Said she.

“Yeah, I know.
It kind of sucks.
But I figure,
What the fuck.

Greatmother says
I should share –
I should share
Her lemon squares.

So since Greatmother
Says to share,
I will try,”
Said Garrosh-There.

“So,” he said,
And gave a glare,
“Would you like
Some lemon squares?”

Edenvale looked nervous,
True.
She didn’t know
Quite what to do.

“Oh,” she said,
And held her nose.
“I really don’t want
To impose.”

“No, it’s fine,
They must be eaten.
Here, try one.
Or you’ll get beaten.”

“No, that’s okay,
None for me.”
“What’s the problem,
Stupid tree?”

“Well,” she said
To Garrosh-There.
“Well,” she said,
And looked quite scared.

“I do not like
Orc lemon squares.
I do not like them,
Garrosh-There.”

“Would you like them
Here or there?”

“I would not like them
Here or there.
I would not like them
Anywhere.
I do not like
Orc lemon squares.
I do not like them,
Garrosh-There.”

“Would you like them
In your home?
Would you like them
With a gnome?”

“I would not like them
In my home.
I would not like them
With a gnome.
I do not like them
Here or there.
I do not like them
Anywhere.
I do not like
Orc lemon squares.
I do not like them,
Garrosh-There.”

“Would you eat them
On a boat?
With a Naaru
Or space-goat?”

“I would not eat them
On a boat.
I’d simply give them
To the goat.
I do not want them
In my home.
I will not try them
With a gnome.
I do not want them
Here or there.
I do not want them
Anywhere.
I just don’t like
Orc lemon squares.
I just don’t like them,
Garrosh-There!”

“Would you, could you,
Might, may, will,
Try them up
In Teldrassil?”

“I would not, could not eat them there!
In Teldrassil, or anywhere!
I do not want them on a boat.
I will not share with some space-goat.
I do not want them in my home.
I do not want them with a gnome.
I do not want them here or there,
I do not want them anywhere!
I do not like orc lemon squares!
I do not like them, Garrosh-There!”

“How about
A doggy bag?
Served by Utvoch
And Dontrag?”

“Enough already!”
Cried the tree.
“Garrosh-There,
You let me be!”

“Would you try them
On the moon?
With Cenarius
And Mylune?”

“No, I would not
On the moon!
Even if they brought
Elune!”

“Would you try them,
Just once, ever,
Up amid
The Twisted Nether?”

“No! No! Not in the Nether!
I do not want to try them, ever!
Not in a bag! Not on the moon!
Not with Dontrag or with Mylune!
Not on a boat! Not in my home!
Not with a goat! Not with a gnome!
I will not try them here or there!
I do not want them ANYWHERE!
I do not like orc lemon squares!
I just don’t like them, Garrosh-There!”

“You don’t like them.
So you say.
Try them! Try them
And you may.
Try them and you may,
I say.”

“Garrosh, dammit!
Fine, at last.
I’ll try them –
Just get off my ass.

Say…
I like orc lemon squares!
I do! I like them, Garrosh-There!
And I would eat them in my home!
And I would eat them with a gnome!
And I would have them on a boat,
And I would share with a space-goat!
I would eat them to my fill
All the way to Teldrassil!

I would take a doggy bag
(But spare me Utvoch and Dontrag)!
I would eat them on the moon,
With Cenarius and Mylune!
Yes, I will eat them here and there!
Oh, I would eat them anywhere!

I do so love
Orc lemon squares!
Thank you,
Thank you,
Garrosh-There.”

“See, I told you,”
Garrosh said.
“Plus you’re lucky
You’re not dead.”

“They’re so good!
So good, I say!
I might post them!
Yes I may!
I’ll post them on my blog,
I say!”

“Hold on a minute,
Silly tree.
That’s my Greatmother’s
Recipe.
Her recipe,
You silly tree.
We keep it
In the family!”

“But oh, they’re so good,
Garrosh-There!
They’re just too yummy
Not to share!
I’m sure your Greatmother
Won’t care!
I’ll spread her secret
Everywhere!

Now don’t get mad,
Garrosh! Relax!”

But he had gone
To get his axe.

 

EPIC VERSE!