Jubal's poems

[Jubal]

Lay of the Dread Nuggon

Fear the mighty Nuggon,
G                           C
That’s found within these lands,
G                                     D
With ears that point to open sky
       Em
And paws like grasping hands,
        G                          D
Oh fear the mighty Nuggon,
G                           C
Its wingbeats spell your fate,
G                                     D
It flies faster than penguins,
       Em
And it’s only rarely late,
G                  D       G

Note: Switch to more minor for verse 4

Fear the mighty Nuggon,
That’s found within these lands,
With ears that point to open sky
And paws like grasping hands,
Oh fear the mighty Nuggon,
Its wingbeats spell your fate,
It flies faster than penguins,
And it’s only rarely late,

Fear the Mighty Nuggon,
Although it isn’t big,
And if you’re used to high dragons
It might seem infra dig,
But fear the mighty Nuggon
Although it’s rather  small,
And sheep and deer and other things
Don’t fear its wrath at all.

Fear the mighty Nuggon,
More scary than you’d think,
Its teeth are sharp as teaspoons,
And its hide is very pink,
Fear the mighty Nuggon,
And fear its fearsome roar,
At least the one I’m sure it has,
I’ve only seen it graaaw,

But you should fear the Nuggon,
It might not seem so bad,
But if you don’t all quail in fear,
I fear it might get sad,
Yes fear the mighty Nuggon,
There’s really nothing worse,
Than seeing its ears morosely droop,
So pay heed to this verse.

Yes, fear the mighty Nuggon,
I’m sure you can see how,
It’ll terrorise creation,
It’s just rather tired right now,
Fear the mighty Nuggon,
Each hero’s greatest test,
For of all beasts and monsters it’s
The one that’s trying its best.

[Ierne]

I LOVE THAT THAT'S FANTASTIC XD

[Jubal]

There Once Was A Fisherman

There once was a fisherman, mild and poor,
C                                  G
Who bade good morning to all he saw,
        Am                                G         D
Yes, there was a fisherman whose repose,
        C                                   G
Was in Honeywood where the garlic grows.
            Em                                D       Em

‘twas the best of days for fishing,
               C                         G
But not for travelling there,
      G                          D
Where the orcs did roam and the knights of Wraith despair,
                  C                                 G                          D

There once was a fisherman, mild and poor,
Who bade good morning to all he saw,
Yes, there was a fisherman whose repose,
Was in Honeywood where the garlic grows.

There once was a fisherman walked his route,
Who a sly adventurer did recruit,
Was forced to walk, though he’d not consent,
Off the path he knew, off the way he went.

There once was a fisherman found a maid,
And defended her from his master’s blade,
That master, wrathful, betrayed his quest,
But a rod and line did his sword-arm best.

There once was a fisherman who did wish,
That he’d not been took from mere and fish,
But he gave his arm and his pole to war,
To defend the lass he was fighting for.

‘twas the best of days for fishing,
But not for travelling there,
Where the orcs did roam and the knights of Wraith despair,
‘twas the best of days for fishing,
When a sorcerer came nigh,
So a blade the fisherman caught to slay him by.

There once was a fisherman, who then found,
The princesses’ parents, then home was bound,
Where he vowed to ever help ailing folk,
Though “nice day for fishing” was all he spoke.

There once was a fisherman, bold and good,
Who walked the paths of Honeywood,
And there you’ll find him, for his repose,
Is in Honeywood where the garlic grows!

Yes, there once was a fisherman, bold and good,
Who walked the paths of Honeywood,
And there you’ll find him, for his repose,
Is in Honeywood where the garlic grows!


For those who think this is familiar: yes, it's the plot of Baelin's Route in folk song form.

[Jubal]

Go Cry

Go, he said.
Cry me a river.

It tires you? Cry me a river.
It hurts you? Cry me a river.
It is unjust? Cry

me

So I cried a tear,
That became a spring, bubbling fresh and clean
That became a stream, whistling down from the mountains,
That became a torrent, crashing over waterfalls, tearing at the rocks and stones
That became a river

Rolling and inexorable, I will cry you a river,
Reshaping the land, reaching for the sea, I will cry you a river,
Sweeping all before it in deluge, in tears of hope and rage, I will cry you a river,

And when you cling to some last flotsam in the open sea,
Perhaps then you shall wonder
If the canals and concrete you built around the flow of sympathy
Were quite such a good idea
After all.

[Jubal]

The Desman

The desman is a thoughtful beast,
Who in the river dwells,
She thinks upon her snuffly nose,
And all the things she smells;

She wonders where the beetles are,
That she would like to chew,
Oh, for a desman's wisdom -
We could learn a thing or two.

[Jubal]

An Exhalation

The year breathes out into autumn:
In months to come, trees will pour copper and gold to earth,
And I will think of them doing the same, where you are;
Throwing down warm, rustling wealth in colours of kings,
Nest-leaves I cannot bring you,
So I ask the trees -
Who always will.

[Jubal]

The Urchin Ballad

Once an urchin-hog saw a maiden,
C/Am
With bows all in her hair,
C/G
Who came unto the forest edge,
Am/C/G/E
Until he spied her there,
Am/Em

Once an urchin-hog saw a maiden,
With bows all in her hair,
Who came unto the forest edge,
Until he spied her there,
She’d curls soft as a lamb’s wool coat,
He’d spines sharp as a knife,
He gave to her a bluebell flower,
And pledged to her his life.

When an urchin-hog wooed a maiden,
He rode on a yearling doe,
Until he came to her father’s hall
And called for her to show,
When an urchin-hog wooed a maiden,
Her father, this he said,
“Before my daughter weds a hog,
I’ll see that hog fall dead.”

He met the hog with two good swords,
And bade the urchin choose,
On which to rest his dainty paw,
On which his life to lose;
The hog said “you insult me, sir,
To think I have no blade:
I’ve a hundred sabres on my back,
To see your words repaid.

Her father struck out once and twice,
But nothing did he gain,
Then stepped onto the urchin’s spines
And fell right back in pain,
So the urchin said to the maiden,
“Our freedom I have earned,”
He sat the maiden on his doe,
And to the woods returned

When an urchin-hog wed a maiden,
All through the summer long,
He danced and sang like a gentleman,
And wrote his love a song,
And when the winter came around,
His wife, you can be sure,
Did curl up into an urchin-ball,
And they wait there ‘til the thaw!

[Jubal]

This inspired by watching vicorva (https://twitch.tv/vicorva)'s streams of the game Fallen London. The tune is basically a slow version of Fakenham Fair with a few more minor chords and a new chorus.

The London Rooftop

CHORDS:
There was a London rooftop where I was inclined to clamber
          G          D         G          Em          G                       C
And there a rubbery man I found, and gave to him some amber,
          G          D         G          Em           Em        D              Em
He'd tentacles upon his face, his jacket smelled of gin,
         C          G    C        G             G                         C
He shook with me a clammy hand, and waved a clammy fin,
          G          D         G          Em           Em          D          Em
And we'll go, where the moonlit rooves they glow;
                   C                     G                             Em or G
And we'll know, where the amber, seeks to go.
                 C                          G                   Em

There was a London rooftop where I was inclined to clamber
And there a rubbery man I found, and gave to him some amber,
He'd tentacles upon his face, his jacket smelled of gin,
He shook with me a clammy hand, and waved a clammy fin,
And we'll go, where the moonlit rooves they glow;
And we'll know, where the amber, seeks to go.

There was a London rooftop where I was inclined to be,
And there a rubbery man I met who told me of the sea,
A salty sort of fellow and not easily impressed,
When I mentioned calamari as one does in honest jest.
And we'll go, where the moonlit rooves they glow;
And we'll know, what the amber, seeks to sow.

There was a London rooftop where I was inclined to meet,
A rubbery man, who was my friend, and bade me take a seat,
Who showed me, too, his rubbery cat, his jellyfish as well,
And neither of us commented upon the other's smell.
And we'll go, where the moonlit rooves they glow;
And we'll know, when the amber, seeks to grow.

So come you men and comrades all if amber ye shall find,
And give it to a squid-like friend if be ye so inclined,
They hopefully aren't plotting to destroy the world we know,
And even if they are, just think of amber's warming glow.
And we'll go, where the moonlit rooves they glow;
And we'll know, how the amber wind shall blow.

There was a London rooftop where I heard this little verse,
That's sung to you by honest men who're probably not cursed,
So fear no cause ulterior within our little tune,
Just come upon the rooftops, bring your amber to the moon,
And we'll go, where the moonlit rooves they glow;
And we'll know, who the amber, seeks to know.

[Jubal]

Oh Come, Oh Come (And Read the Manual)
Co-written with David Jenkinson

Oh come and read the manual,
To help install this towel rail,
That’s strewn here in bits on the floor,
I’m sure this looked much simpler in the store...
Rejoice! Rejoice! The manual,
Gives insight on these matters technical!

This flatpack wardrobe is a mystery,
Don’t know what I expected from gumtree:
I’ve googled for help, but I swear,
There’s as much chance of Narnia being in there.
Rejoice! Rejoice! The manual,
In PDF form on the web doth dwell.

Midst boards and legs and handles I’m stuck here,
Until replacement screws come from IKEA,
Then I’ll force these joints to sit tight,
So I might have a bed to use tonight,
Rejoice! Rejoice! The manual,
Gives answers upon this subject as well.

Where is the Allen key they said would come?
This DIY is driving me to rum;
The spare parts aren’t arriving ‘til June,
And I’ve got shelves to fit this afternoon.
Rejoice! Rejoice! The manual,
Will resolve these predicaments cruel.

How come, how come this manual is armadilloe,
Its author just had no clue how to write:
They needed a different career,
The diagrams are anything but clear.
Rejoice! Rejoice! The manual,
Has nothing useful on this fault to tell...
Rejoice! Rejoice! The manual,
Consigned shall be unto the fires of hell!

[Jubal]

These are the lyrics to the theme song of my little Game Jam game, Fenlander. Also, first poem of 2022!


Fenlander

A glaive, poised like a heron’s beak
Quicksilver soon to seek
Rivers that wend and weep
Down to the sea,
Tell me, what do you whisper, reeds?
What do you whisper to me?

A spade, hands give its blade its might,
Black gold it brings to light,
Burned in the dark of night,
Smoke running free,
Tell me, what do you whisper, reeds?
What do you whisper to me?

A scythe, on fenland veils it feeds,
Brings golden whisper-reeds,
Back to my home it leads,
Past rush and tree,
Tell me, what do you whisper, reeds?
What do you whisper to me?

A song, sung to the mire drum,
Under a wingbeat’s hum,
To the place I shall come,
Still to be free,
Tell me, what do you whisper, reeds?
What do you whisper to me?

[Jubal]

Herons

I went to see the herons today.
And Putin is invading Ukraine.

There's an island, you see, in the lake of a park near the Donau
Tanks are crossing the border north of Kyiv.
And herons nest there, thirty nests maybe, or even more
Paratroops have dropped near Hostomel airport.
And you can look down from the road and see into all the nests,
From the Crimea, Russian units are advancing on Kherson.
And they fly around the island, wheeling, circling to shade the world under wide wingbeats
And Putin is invading Ukraine.

They're collecting sticks for nest-building at this time of year
Cluster munitions dropped on Kharkiv. Mariupol is being starved out.
For the sun is coming back after all, and spring is creeping in
A lady was filmed giving seeds of the sunflower to Russian soldiers.
And some of them perch high, feathers ruffled and streaming into the wind
The wind and the disturbed dust around Chernobyl has caused a radiation spike.
And some quarrel, and some give greetings in the way herons do, and some stalk the shallows for fish
And Putin is invading Ukraine.

This little space where the herons cry and dance - I flee here,
More support is needed for growing numbers of fleeing refugees.
Herons come and go, and nobody stops them at all, and I wish I could make that true for
Roma, people of colour, being stopped and prevented from seeking asylum in Poland,
And I stop, for it gnaws at me, here by the lake, that I have torn myself away when so many cannot,
Because Vladimir Putin has ordered nuclear weapons to be readied and placed in Belarus.
To see herons, in the hope that they know nothing of munitions and wars and empires
And Putin is invading Ukraine.

Yes, Putin is invading Ukraine.
A man went to see herons today.