Poems and Short Stories

The Kingdom is a series of twenty-nine poems. Find all the poems here.

In the dwarven canyon, dwarves digging down deep,

In search of more riches, their work camps creep.

They dig and they dig, in search of more precious metal,

For great new statues, and beautiful things to peddle.

The canyon got deeper, and the ore began to dwindle, 

And out of one of the cracks, a flame started to kindle.

From the small fissure, a lizard stepped out,

It had small little wings, and a cute little snout.

It spread its wings, and the dwarves pushed it aside,

So out of the canyon, went the lizard with a glide.

Many months passed, since that strange little flame,

But soon a bad fate upon the dwarves unexpectedly came.

The lizard had grown, and, oh, with such might,

Down came the Dragon bringing ill fright.

The dwarves took up maces, to protect their home,

But much of that canyon, became a dark catacomb.

The Dragon smelled the secret dwarven cave,

And only for riches and gold, is the Dragon a slave.

The Dragon took over, the great dwarven hold,

And the dwarves left their home, it is mostly told.

The somber Dwarven King, surviving the fate,

Began to look for a solution, to restore his state.

The Kingdom is a series of twenty-nine poems. Find all the poems here.

The Elves are a strange folk, indeed they are,

They live anywhere and everywhere, quite bizarre. 

They have no towns, and they have no might,

They live on the road, never looking for a fight.

But the Elves are wise beyond their ears,

Which makes up for their lack of spears.

They live forever among the trees,

Doing whatever they so please.

They sing and dance and smile all day,

Well… until the Tyrant entered the fray.

They can heal the hurt and heal the sick,

With a small spell that does the trick.

Their magic can shield against attack,

Something great to have on your back.

The Kingdom is a series of twenty-nine poems. Find all the poems here.

On the edge of the Kingdom, there is a land,

Dark and terrible, directed by a cunning hand.

In its midst is the Black Fortress, oh so tall and strong,

And sitting on its throne is the Tyrant that never sings song.

“What use is a song?” the Tyrant scowls to himself,

For there are many uses for each tool on his shelf.

Throughout his domain, his slaves work and work,

His slaves can be of the race of man, elf, or orc.

They build and they build, for what? It can’t be known.

For in this land, the only thing that matters is his throne.

Their tools build tools, and their power breeds power,

All for the security of the Tyrant sitting in his tower.

But the Tyrant is a coward, it is easy to see,

He intends to never die, his power is a plea.

You must understand his throne is his fear,

And for that, he may never know cheer.

The Kingdom is a series of twenty-nine poems. Find all the poems here.

The mighty dwarves, there is much to say,

Was it the dwarves here from the first day?

Nobody knows if it is dwarves, elves or man,

Nobody knows how this world really began.

But the dwarves still remain, and the dwarves must be,

They may be short, but they are quite easy to see.

There are many kinds of dwarves all across the land,

You will find some thin, some fat, and some with one hand. 

They have shining crystal beards and serious rocky brows,

Much work they feel they must do so everyday they rouse.

While very hard workers, the dwarves clearly are,

Many comforts they enjoy, an alehouse is never far.

From the ground, it is said the dwarves got their start,

And working in the ground is where lies their heart.

In the canyons of the Kingdom, these people reside,

With great big statues, they show us their pride.

At the bottom of the canyon, under the falls,

Sits the Dwarven King with no need for walls.

There is one secret cave, outside of the dwarven nook,

With the great dwarven treasury, accounted in a book.

Oh, the mighty dwarves, there is truly much to say,

Strategic and skilled with a bill they will need to pay.