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Found 5 results

  1. This is Just to Say I have painted the gnolls that were in the side bin and which you were probably saving for Gen Con Forgive me they were so vicious full armed and so cute
  2. With my most sincere apologies to the great Dr. Seuss, I present to you: How Guindyloo Bought a New Christmas Most forumites in Reaperville were careful with what they bought But one Miss Guindyloo Who on the forum certainly was NOT! Guindyloo hated budgeting! She felt the very thought was treason! Now, you needn't ask why, for by the end I'll have told you the reason. It could be you won't think that she's right, Surely most don't want their funds stretched so tight. But I think the most important thing to remember of all, Is that Guindyloo earned every pay check, no matter how small. And no matter her reason, whether reckless or silly, She dedicated herself to a motto and stuck to it, really. So from her laptop she stared with just a hint of a frown, Judging the other forumites as they spoke of cutting down. For she knew many a forumite in Reaperville had plans Of repairing old junk with their very own hands! "And they're duct-taping things!" she snarled with a sneer, "Have they nothing better to do? What is the deal here?" Then she rolled her eyes at the tutorials she knew would be coming, "I must find some way to stop them from doing their own plumbing!" For she knew that all the forumite girls and boys, Would wake bright and early to commence with their DIY ploys! And then! Oh, the noise! Oh, the Noise! Noise! Noise! Noise! That's one thing she hated! DIY NOISE! NOISE! NOISE! NOISE! Then the forumites, young and old, would sit down to a bacon feast. And they'd feast! And they'd feast! And they'd FEAST! FEAST! FEAST! FEAST! They would start out with bacon and once that had ceased... Actually, Guindyloo realized, she didn't disagree in the least! She'd gotten quite off topic like a rampant thrall And begun complaining about something she didn't mind at all. But that was the way on days that lost their silver lining Sometimes one just had to wring their hands and begin whining! So she'd whine! And she'd whine! And she'd whine! WHINE! WHINE! WHINE! And the more Guindyloo whined about this DIY revolution, The more Guindyloo came up with thoughts of retribution. "Why, for at least 20 minutes I've put up with it now!" "I MUST stop this DIY from happening! But HOW?" Then she got an idea! An awful idea! GUINDYLOO GOT A WONDERFUL, AWFUL IDEA! "I know just what to do!" Guindyloo laughed like a grouch. And then she sat down and got comfy on her couch. And she chuckled and clucked, "But first I'll watch some Netflix!" For she was a procrastinator even when thinking up tricks. "I'll get right on it tomorrow" Guindyloo said with a yawn, Then she binge-watched House of Cards well past the dawn. Until Netflix asked if she was still watching the show, And Guindyloo's snores were proof that the answer was no. When she awoke ever so briefly, she clutched her head, Then stumbled off the couch to go and curl up in her bed. For retribution is great and revenge is just fine, But sleeping in late? Now that is divine. When finally she roused from where she slumbered, Guindyloo made a cup of coffee and wondered, Would she be successful in her wicked endeavor? Or was she wrong when she thought herself clever? Alas, there was no time to think of a reprieve, Her plan had to take place that day on Christmas Eve. And then, dear reader, I am most sorry to say, But there are no records of what Guindyloo did on that day. Though you'll be able to fill in the blanks quite well, Once you've heard the rest of the story I have to tell. So skip ahead to that evening, just a little before two, And imagine watching St. Nick as he comes down the flue. He's jolly and kind and a bit handsome to boot, (Don't judge me for thinking that Santa Claus is cute,) He hums and grabs a cookie, with a smile most pleasant, As he reaches into his magical bag for a present. Funko Pop figures! And video games! Miniatures! Comics! Blu-rays! T-shirts! Paint! Itunes gift cards! Trail mix! He set them all one by one beneath the Christmas tree, Smiling as though just the giving brought him glee. Then he skipped to the icebox. He added bacon for the bacon feast! He added bacon pudding and artisan thick cut bacon from the North East! He filled up that icebox as quick as a flash. Why, St. Nick even gave them a can of bacon hash! But as he skipped back to the chimney, something dampened his glee, "Oh goodness me," frowned St. Nick, "There's something wrong with this tree!" And Santa Claus grabbed the tree, and he started to shove, When he heard a small sound like the coo of a dove. He turned around fast, but away the bird flew, But in its place stood, well, you know who. It was Guindyloo, who was not more than two, (Arguing with her age claims is not something I'd suggest, Unless you wouldn't mind a large hole in your chest.) She stared at St. Nick and said, "Santy Claus, why," "Why would you bother taking that tree? WHY?" But Santa Claus, that kind old soul, had good reason, For he was well acquainted with the spirt of the season. "Why, my sweet 'little' tot," Santy Claus smiled, "There's a light on this tree that won't light on one side." "So I'm taking it home to my workshop, my dear." "I'll fix it up there. Then I'll bring it back here." Guindyloo could tell that the man was being sincere, And the very thought of his kindness caused her to sneer. And then Little Guindyloo Who, who was not more than two, Scrunched up her nose and she scoffed, She huffed and grumbled and boffed She put her hands on her hips and shook her head, Clearly annoyed that she'd bothered to get out of bed. "Santy Claus, I know you're the jolly old elf himself, But good sir, I assure you, you're being an elf. It's a waste of effort and a waste of time, The wear on your tools is really a crime Save yourself the trouble and follow this one simple rule, I promise it'll keep you from feeling like a fool. If something breaks it's really not worth it To bumble around and then give yourself a fit Just think when the spot you're in is tough to get through Four little words: 'What Would Guindyloo Do?' And what that is, worry not, Santy Claus, I will tell you, And I really think that it will keep you from feeling blue Instead of wasting precious time, which is ever slipping away, Tell yourself that you're worth buying a new one today! Throw out that trash and free yourself from clutter, Or donate it to charity if the waste would cause you to stutter. We're all dying slowly, it's a shame, it's a fact, And none of us have the time to waste, (nor the tact,) So don't come back here with that ratty old tree, Buy a new one or two or maybe even three." Then she took her glass of water and shrugged as she said, "Peace out, Santy Claus, I'm going back to bed." Santy Claus stood there with a stunned look on his face, As Guindyloo smiled, knowing she'd put him in his place. And as she turned, there was a glint in her eyes, For she knew that behind that tree was an eggy surprise. She chuckled as she tucked herself back into bed, At the sounds that escaped poor St. Nick's head. She fluffed her pillow and stretched and sighed, As screams from all over town floated in from outside. "Poohpooh to the DIYers!" she was evilly humming. "They're finding out now that the end is truly coming!" "They're just waking up! I know just what they'll do," "The forumites in Reaperville will all cry Boohoo!" "Of course that sound will only last a moment or two," Her lips curled up into a rather evil grin, "Then, in a couple of hours, the fun will really begin." So she curled up and snoozed for a couple hours more, Then she went outside to hear what she'd been waiting for. "There'll be lots of noise," grinned Guindyloo, "That I simply MUST hear!" So she paused. And Guindyloo put her hand to her ear. And she did hear a sound rising over the snow. It started in low. Then it started to grow. People were crying and screaming and trying to run, They sniffled and sniveled and one or two shot a gun. Ripping sounds accompanied blood spraying from their heads, For those unlucky enough to have made it out of their beds. There were gurgles and screeches and screams, There were... It was then that the sniffling caused Guindyloo to pause And look up from the book that she held in her claws. Ok, so perhaps she'd embellished just a little bit, But she'd thought her new version would be quite the hit. Her own children would have listened to such a tale with glee, How was she to know how delicate the human children would be? As she gazed all around her at the distraught crying children A bookstore clerk came running over shouting like she was a villain. She'd only been reading to the little ones, how was it a crime? They should be grateful that she'd so thoughtfully given her time. Can you believe what a fool would be so rude to a queen? He went so far as to threaten calling in a colonial marine! But he must have been touched by what she had to say, For he clutched his chest as his heart grew 3 sizes that day, And what joy he must have felt as it caused him to shout! (Or maybe it was from the chestburster trying to get out,) And as Guindyloo smiled, the clerk stumbled away with a gasp But she assured the kids she'd come to the end of her story at last. "You see, the moral of the story, my dear, Is there are things in this world that you really should fear. Your time is short and rarely valued properly, So take this lesson from me somberly: Spend the time you have wisely or we'll come for you too, So remember always; What Would Guindyloo Do?"
  3. This poem was written in honour of those Irish who have had to emigrate during our current economic crises. Things are so difficult that six Irish people leave for every minute that passes. It is about the pain of leaving and finding oneself in a foreign country, not their own. On Going Home And Taking Leave Trailing into myth her past flows, screaming through my veins. And I like a lover longing, replete return to her embrace. To walk again the shattered path of History, torn, stained by boots on bloodied ground. She, from who's womb emerged giants, men of letters, poetry, song, whose names I taste with my tongue, Yeats, Shaw, Wilde, Bacon, Lewis, Stoker, Heaney, Milligan, Russell, Moore, Smith and one above the rest *Ua Laoghaire, Peadar I can't forget. She is shackled still yet not United with, a Kingdom, not her own. The blood of my blood, the bone of my bone, lie North seperated by lines arbitrary. And I howl with need to know my kin, my kindred, my own. Now taking wing, I leave her supine, lying in a Sea of her own Name. But she dances still in the mind of my eye while I wander Lonely, souless, bereft, in another country, not my Own. *Peadar Ua Laoghaire (Father Peter O'Leary), the founder of modern Irish literture. From 2011 through April of 2014 300,00 Irish emigrated due to economic hardship In 2011 60,000 Irish emigrated due to economic hardshp. In 1989 44,000 Irish emigrated due to economic hardship. From 1950-1960 500,000 Irish emigrated due to economic hardship. In 1847 1,000,000 Irish emigrated to America due to famine. From 1847-1851 400,000 Irish emigrated to England due to famine. This is but a fraction of the Irish diaspora.
  4. This poem is dedicated to my husband. It is a reflection of the time we spent alone together before the birth of our daughter whose name is Jazz. Sepia memories edgewise slip past days piled high like laundry into years. Before Jazz, you, with your Flamingo* smile proposed a marriage consummate with myth and nodding mounted my assent. In days early whilst sleeping late, time in limbo waited among a detritus of desire, entangled we lay Your tongue cuneiform traced against sibilant skin and with patterns cunning wove a life. With reptilian need, we clutched finger tips callused from too much play spending ourselves in time. *Flamingo's mate for life.
  5. RABBIT I cross this desert snow, leaving prints of puddled light; my passing only a whisper soft as between lovers. A ring of trees stand, naked in supplication to a moon, pregnant swollen with night. As if conjured, you appear from a place of howling need; Did I invent you? Memorized, your form; perfection perched, soul parched, like water I drink you. The pulse-beat at your throat, its vibration confounds my senses. Separated by more than distance, by essence, by meaning; I feel you. You are my predator, I your prey, your meat. Time blinks, a pause, a spread of wings, the raptor ascends. Sanity misplaced. A symphony of pain, a crushing of bone, tearing of sinew; exquisite agony, savage ache. Blood kisses the ground, a virgin flower blossoms red against a sheet of white Flesh into flesh, eternities end At last as one.
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