With apologies to Lord Byron

"We'll Go No More a Raiding"

So, we'll go no more a raiding,
So deep within the Blight,
Though the wife be still as scathing,
And the display still as bright.


For the butt outwears its seat,
And mouse wears out its pad,
And the body must pause to eat,
And you youself smell bad,


Because the night was made for raiding,
And the sun light fills the room,
Yet your wife is still a'raving
It is time to log-off soon.

There was a moment
Where my body just quit
Following the plan.

Cotton-coated vipers told me
I wasn’t the rebel,
No, my blood had that job
My own internal Benedict Arnold

Coldly they told me that
 A phalanx of traitors
Sped through my blood-stream,
White-clad and brutal,
And in every vein.

Dividing and dividing,
Unceasing, unheeding,
The little bastards, once benign,
Once the greatest of helpers,
Now perversely, bringers of sleep,
A most mortal rest.

And the vipers came,
They poked and they prodded,
They sampled and drew blood,
They filled me with poison,
My blood stream, a scorched earth,
My skin, crackled, stretched
And alight with chemical pain.

But the therapy worked,
Five years of murder by inches,
A small price to pay.

For Angrist

How do I explain you to those who could not know?

Those who have not toiled and labored for that year,

that year of proving, of hard work and suffering¹?

No one can understand the residents of the island

of misfit toys, we speak our own native tongue.

We're stained glass, shattered and broken,

throwing crimson and sable light on the wall.

I'm not sure I knew you myself, James.

Not like the others, who loved you for decades,

and those who lived with you, your friends,

your freeloaders, and your final witnesses,

those people who knew of your pain.

We first met, I'm sure, on the field

on opposite sides, me quaking in fear

as you stood, towering, incarnate rage.

At Tracks², it was no different, barring

your wrathful inebriation, as you guarded my sister,

Jayde, who you knew as Brother³.

A bleary eyed mad-man you seemed,

Watchful protection for those in your care.

It was Jayde, who we now both call Brother,

It was Jayde, who gave me that call.

Can I tell you, Brother, how wrong I was

about you? The outsiders that never knew you,

seeing only Angrist the Twisted, Mad Prophet⁴,

never knew what we saw. How can I explain

to the layman the dread of hearing you chuckle?

The glee of a brilliant mind turned to mischief,

only you knowing where the hammer would fall.

And I heard tales from a fellow Brother

(that foul Hobbit, trickster, the memory for us all)

of your journey to the redwoods and your hikes

on the trail. There was a pain there I never knew,

but Hobbit said, “the redwoods make him calm.”

I hope one day to make it out there, and see

all that you saw. But we spoke of a call?

The phone call was short; what was there to say?

It was shocking, to hear what had passed,

to hear what had ended in powder, lead and flame.

At the service, I was numb, nervous, and guilty,

I had left you behind, trapped in self-exile

from the group, from my real self

So you live in our memories, the eternal

self-propelled engine of devotion,

endlessly loyal, forever the pillar,

never ceasing to astound us,

for good or for ill. We miss you.

You were there for us always, Brother,

And we will meet you at the Gates⁵.

1My country in game requires a year of service before one could join. Petitioners often had to dig a pit big enough to roast a pig for the annual anniversary camp-out, along with other menial tasks and grunt-work.

2A late and lamented nightclub in SE DC.

3The country started out with only male members, who addressed each other as “Brother.” When the first female member successfully petitioned, tradition held, and she was given the same form of address.

4Angrist was James's character name in Darkon, though it might also be said that James was Angrist's character name in real life.

5 I could explain this, but really, just read this as “I’ll meet you in Paradise” and it’ll make more sense to you.

Wrote this a year ago

Grandpa, I passed your grave today.
I was on the way to the DMV. It was so mundane.
But your death was the first death I knew.
How could these two things exist, nestled together in the same trip?
I didn't even have time to stop, smell the roses.

You were so long ago, I don't even remember what I called you.
My blonde hair has darkened to dunkel brown,
And onwards now to salted grey.
Would you even recognize the boy you taught to drive?
My hands on the wheel, and your feet on the pedals.

I never knew your wife, my grandmother,
despite her many years after you had gone to ground,
She was a vague memory of the person that raised your children.
Do I regret that? It simply is, I suppose.
But her death makes me wonder if I am too cold.

But then I think on Ave Maria, playing on your turn table,
The one memory I keep from childhood.
The sun in the bay window turns your house sepia,
And the smoke from your habit fills the room,
But I see a slice of heaven in the voices raised to God.

The Crane fights the Crab

A rustle of wings,
The swift diving kingfisher,
Cracks shells on the beach.

(Non)-Epic Rap Battles of History

The scene was set, and onto the stage (of Facebook) stepped Colonel Landerman, Gentleman Rapper, vs Kid KVG, in a one night only Battle Royale.

CL

There, there old bean, don't get yourself wet. We'll do this up proper and settle the bet. No need to sully dear Trish's wall, put on your trousers and answer the call. *ring* *ring* Hello? No, I'm sorry, he's not here. To call this gentleman a rhymer would be queer. And adding vice to the verses, let's not stoop to curses, but I will be civil and help you find where your purse is.

KVG
You? Calling me queerer? Seems you lost your mirror.
Trained on the mountain, I'm a lyrical fountain,
With a samurai's grace, I spit verse in your face,
I'm a tower of rhyme; you're a goat fluffing swine,
A scraggle beard git, with a mouth lacking wit,
Now beg for mercy, and take your ass back to Jersey.

CL
In point of fact, Sir, I reside here already. And I'll thank you to listen as I keep the beat steady. Ready? Steady? Off we go. Settle in with a cuppa and enjoy the flow. You see your rhymes? They're the work of an amateur. Allow me to school you in iambic pentameter: I see your lyrics, I can raise a rhyme. Accept your fate, you know you're out of time. To wit: My wit? You sniveling snit. My words are on fire, yours are a witch's tit.

KVG
Your words? Barely Day-Glo. Mine are moi enfuego,
Your beats are unsteady; my rhymes? Ever ready
To bounce you, trounce you, as you flounce
To the Blue Oyster. Me? I'm in the cloister,
Preparing to rhyme, daring to climb
Verbal cliff faces, leavin' no traces,
Of clowns that I put through the paces,
Drownin' 'em in the depths of my graces.

CL
Dear boy, that was weak, like a slap to the cheek from some tawdry young bink who just moistened the sheets. Now look, not to harass you, or to further embarrass you, but your rhymes about me are lacking in veritude. You gave it a go, but let's end this show. I tire of putting your ducks in a row. Was that the sound of my words going over your head? Oh dear, no - It's your mother, calling you to bed.

KVG
Your words are atrocious, in mouth of three year old: barely precocious.
You need verbal depth and clarity, lobotomize me to finally reach parity,
Face it, you're barely a human, your Neanderthal beard needs some deep groomin',
You stoop, you droop, you can barely stand, you only more toward beer cans,
You're a mongrel, a throwback, firmly rejected by nature,
So go grab Fay Raye, and climb that skyscraper.

A waka I wrote for an RPG

 I play a game called Legend of the Five Rings, wherein one assumes the role of a magical samurai. Unlike other role-playing games, where the object is to smash and grab all the treasure in a dungeon, L5R requires its players to dip into the artistic every so often, and thus, I wrote this for my last session, when my character visited a court session. It is a form of waka known as the tanka.

The sword in my hand,
It calms the beat of my heart,
The Wall, it still stands


My destiny is fulfilled,
My child carries my soul on.