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!