(Read Part I here.)
On this day two red suns rose,
One brought dawn, the other flows
Of molten minded flaming foes
Who tore up from their volcanoes,
Rats of fire ran in droves
Towards those guardians opposed.
The stone cats purred and waited
Aware they were absurdly fated
To always be the herd of hated
Hardened wardens there unaided
Against the fire as rats raided.
Koral watched this out of sight,
Stone was chipped, flame burned bright,
Stone need not win but must not lose the fight.
Then a draton (a giant rat that mastered flight)
Bloomed from lava to unite
All the world in heat and light.
This is a beast from an upcoming book – a bestiary with the illustrations of John Prentiss Benson.
The bebruz is known as the king of the beavers and it dreams big, working tirelessly to dam the oceans. Its greatest success came a few thousand years ago when it succeeded in damming off the Great Lakes of North America from the Atlantic Ocean. It recruits the smaller true beavers to its work. However, as they are unaccustomed to the ocean’s strength and impetuousness, they rarely last long before being swept away to distant shores.
Every day stone cats stand guard
Against the burning rat pack horde.
The flame grows deep, Earth’s heart is charred.
It gives rats life and so is lord.
Rats climb up with flame aboard
To face their fierce feline reward.
Koral was a sharp clay kitten,
No longer sand but still forbidden
From showing claws and so stayed hidden
When lands were rampantly rat-ridden.
As it stood, the storm was paused,
But fire follows hungry laws,
So it rose on burning paws,
The only warning came because
Koral smelled their smoking jaws.
Illustration by Yemm.
Drawn by Eva G.
This plays off of Home on the Range and was written for the Rocky Mountain Land Library. They are wrapping up a Kickstarter project right now to “transform an old cattle ranch in Colorado into a literary ‘home on the range’ for writers, artists, and nature-lovers.”
Tomes, tomes on the range,
Where the wild and wisdom can play;
Where ills can be cured
With one thoughtful word
And wonder’s the rule of the day.
This plays off of Keep a Poem in Your Pocket by Beatrice Schenk de Regniers.
They say put a poem in your pocket
Or perhaps up in your head.
I say there’s no real way to lock it
Lest it end up like a picture – Dead.
Someone’s gotta grow ’em,
But one really can’t be kept or cured.
If it goes nowhere it’s not a poem,
More a small, cold heap of careful words.
So put a pocket in your poem
Where you can pop in as a friend.
Otherwise best let it roam
If you don’t want to be its end.
I make up a lot.
My lies are piping hot.
They’re liked for what they’re not.
But in the end they’re just a dot.
A spark, a speck, a spot.
Just a minor thought.
Past what I don’t know.
Where the last Don’t Tellums grow.
There’s a blasting siren glow.
A vast not yet and long ago.
At the end of status quo.
There are somewheres more to go.
In Hindi it’s “bahloo.”
Arabic’s said as “dubb.”
Swahili is “dooboo.”
Spanish is “oso.”
And French is “ooss.”
In Korean bear is “koam.”
In Swedish it’s “beyorn.”
Russian is “meedveed.”
And Mandarin’s “shiong.”
A group of bears is called
A “sloth” or “sleuth” or “maul,”
But don’t read into that at all.
How does a bear say “bear”?
It asks you your name
And calls itself that.
Details derail, we’re mostly same.
So if you’re Matt go say “Hi, Matt.”
If you’re Heather go say “Hi, Heather.”
Don’t get caught up in clever,
You can call a bear whatever.
Words are just a fashion,
Bears know that they’re forever.
Drawn by Diegopablo Pineda.