Canubasraksson III, and so it continues.

is the Balladeer and Poet of LoM.

We're not even into the thousandth thread yet. So here comes so more of Canubaraksson.

Should I paint this pleasant fiction
Of punishment for dereliction
And all of its resultant friction,
Regale you with such gross depiction,

Then needs I must the next offender
Draw and quarter, then to render?
Run the blighter through a blender?
Roast him till he's soft and tender?

"Where's it end?" the artisan cries.
Another sins, another dies,
But when I pause to analyze:
Depicting it makes no man wise

If you would know their fate, my brother,
Whether maimed or merely dead,
I counsel you consult The Other,
But don't forget to duck your head!

We write, we write.
See how we write,
From early dawn
To fading light.
Fountains of letters,
Barely seen,
Cascade from pen,
Display on screen.
We fear the day
Will never last.
The hours fade
Away so fast.
Dying minutes,
Seconds leave,
And not a one
Can we retrieve.
Mercy, Father,
Heed my rhyme!
That which we cannot
Keep is time.

Oh come now, m'dear friend...surely you know by now who it is that does the intentional rhyming around here...

We'll never lack for halflings
The reason, it is plain
The lassie's dance doth quite entrance
The coldest lad or swain
And though it makes but little sense
Against it he hath no defense
He must demand some recompense
Or face her sure disdain

Be he of dwarf or elven stock
Be she unlike to he
Betwixt the hard place and the rock
They sigh most lustily
For that is how the world doth go
I tell thee, friend, that it is so
That of such dances halflings grow
And evermore shall be

Tickle you fancy or tickle you plain
Tickle you once and then tickle again
The reason I do is right easy to tell
When you come to laughter it pleases me well

Wheels within wheels, my friends...see how the ripples spread...

(sung to the tune of anything that happens to pop into your head)

A thoughtful Frost
His arrogance lost,
But friends, let us be wary.
It's bound to return
And we'll shortly learn
'Twas only temporary.

Greetings, lovely "problem girl"!
Ill display makes thy head whirl?
Yet know for sure my words be true
When I avow "It ain't just you".
I've also dwelt in format hell,
And likewise write H-T-M-L.
(I even taught it for a while,
Along with sheets to set the style.)

The thing I oft have contemplated
Is how the page is generated.
Some script grabs text undoubtedly,
But how's it then displayed to me?
Does it, perchance, what I'd abhor,
The tags therein to just ignore?
I know not, and it leaves me stumped.
Meantime, m'dear, we're surely humped.

A Character Story is a royal pain where a pill can't reach...or was that a rhetorical link?

for dimeloas

When I was young my parents would be sure
To beat me if I'd peek behind the door
To Mernac, or to places of such ilk,
Where fantasy shares space with sensual silk.

Yet since I've come to manhood I've discovered
A different mood in Dad, likewise in Mother.
Subjects that erstwhile seemed to give offense
The pair of them now rise in their defense.

All this is natural and well and good,
That parents guard and guide us through childhood.
They point the way until the time we're grown.
Then we must make decisions on our own.

Though we shall miss your art and presence here,
That any bear resentment do not fear.
If we're to meet again, the Gods can tell,
But in the meantime, friend, I wish you well.

She sails in beauty like the breeze,
Over the wall and through the trees.
Sometimes rising, sometimes dipping,
From cloud to cloud so lightly skipping.
No hill so high she cannot clear it,
And never a damper on her spirit.
I'll pledge my word and not rescind:
A fervent fan of Little Wind.

And the avatar looks very nice too.

She flies to the forum, she's all in a fluster.
Her burgeoning laughter, it threatens to bust her.
Her lithe little body caught up in a wiggle,
Convulsed by a truly incredible giggle.
"Great question, Lord Quont; there must be more to come."
"Mernacians, get busy; give those scrolls a strum.
With your sexiest notions to make our heads hum,
Write a question for Quont that will make us laugh some!"

Anybody care to sing?

There are many roads to travel
Many paths to take
Puzzles to unravel
Mernac please, for goodness sake
I know this is a topic
Dear to every heart
But it may be time to stop it
And make some other start

There's a thread on down the line
And it is beckoning to us
There's other matters just as fine
That we could easily discuss
Just how long can we pursue a thing
Before the thing is gone
I'm thinking maybe that it's time
For moving on

Come back safe and whole and sound
From the darkling Earthen ground.
Wind and water, stone and tree;
Fortune, Father, follow thee.

How shall any soul be kissed
While in Mernac thou art missed?
To whom make love's sacrifice
Without the Lord of Lust's device?

See the priapismic rows
Go limp amidst sweet passion's throes.
Without the urgings of Quont's word
Flesh calls to flesh but goes unheard.

So come back safe and come back soon
To be the Pan who calls our tune.
Wind and water, stone and tree;
Fortune, Father, follow thee.

The didgeridoo's not a hit
You need too much wind to play it
It's moans and it's groans
Nearly rattling your bones
And it sounds like it's taking a s**t!

Actually I like the way they sound, but somehow this was irresistible.

Who would believe it?
Can we all trust
That Arleas yearns for
The presence of lust?

I drew my map on a slice of bread
Lest hunger overtake me
Yet now I fear to eat it, dear
For directions might forsake me

Still I'm not concerned that I may get burned
I have left myself an out
The map I drew has a backup too
On this moldy brussel sprout

Aye, horney dust...made from an olde family recipe...Pulverized Horney Toads well mixed with Eye of Nude and tongue of Frenchman...a few other things as well...Igor, fetch the Elixir...


Ok, so I'm only at the 800th post. Its a big search for all the verse. But one that is none the less fun. Til the next page, I'm heading off to the land of nod instead.