Legends of the past

Spotted with spots, and mottled with motts,
o' strange are your ways,
You twist and turn, and writhe and churn,
shrouded in a grey haze.
Greens and blues, and mysterious hues,
splashed over your skin,
You duck and soar, swing aft and fore,
far above the bustling din.
Come night come day, come work or play,
unfazed remains your face,
Through thin and thick, though brat and brick,
bathed in a calming grace.
Skilled in stealth, and of sturdy health,
power courses your veins,
You tower above, all hate and love,
when nothing else remains.
They drop their jaw, and bow in awe,
as they shiver to their core,
And legends are born, through nights and morn,
about you ninjas of the yore.

A towering tale

History has shown us through the long ages,
once upon a time, there was an age of mages.
They welded logic with powerful spells,
and were the first to tie cats to bells.
Numerous moons spread over their skies,
more than truth, they dealt in lies,
Well, not lies per se, but distortion of truth,
and most of their actions were lacking in ruth. (ie ruthless people)
While this may cause us some grave surprise,
it did save them from an early demise.
So, you see, not all you see can BE white,
the vicarious wrongs do coexist with right.

Going back to some of their magical tales,
overturned houses filled their dales.
Now while it may seem tough to enter those,
all you needed was a bit of green hose.
Through the hose you'd enter their abode,
and the color of green maintained your code.
The innards of those hovels were quite a bit rough,
what with furniture hanging upside down, and all paintings in the buff.  
However, among all these marvels that'd make you gape,
the most strikingly spectacular were the staff and cape.
The capes were adorned in sparkling golds,
and magical charges crackled from all folds.

But even more stunning were those magnificent staffs,
the slightest tilt took down a thousand riff-raffs.
Impossible dreams all turned stark real,
as they caressed those staffs with a gentle feel.
As the mages and their staffs grew oh so close,
a crisis that threatened all gradually arose.
                                                                                         The intimacy between them in the realm of magic,
                                                                                         made all their love affairs stale and tragic.
                                                                                         Soon, the gathering doom depleted their clan,
                                                                                         till only two were left - gandalf and saruman.
                                                                                         Saruman tried in vain, to seduce his pure friend,
                                                                                         but gandalf felt man-on-man shouldn't blend.
                                                                                         Hence ensued the battle of 'the two towers',
                                                                                         they clashed long and hard with their stupendous powers.
                                                                                         This teaches us all to rely more on our own selves,
                                                                                         and thus began the era of the mysterious elves. (who by the way, reproduced asexually)

Transformation - past and interim

I enter my office, I see a pile at my door,
Madness clouds my eyes, I want to settle the score.
Day in and day out, nobody cares about the time,
It's as if I'm stuck in a box, a deaf-mute mime.
I shouted and screamed, in consuming fits of rage,
But all on deaf ears, it was time to turn the page.
So I looked around with timid eyes, was there a shred of hope?
As I crawled along the dark, searching the proverbial rope.
And suddenly then, out of the blue, it dawned right in front,
the glorious face of a warming job, mellow and not that gaunt.
It smiled the most disarming smile, extending a warm hand,
transported me away to a joyous place, far from that dreary land.
Merry bells all ran in sync, proclaiming the merry times,
Lo and see, I was bathed again, free from dirt and grime.

Transformation - present

I would dance and skip, and gleefully squeal,
Tackle all new work with a ravenous zeal.
I would jump and bounce, and be all aglow,
 Work with vim, not against, but with the flow.
The ones at the top, were immensely kind,
would always keep me in their mind.
All I felt here were oodles of joy,
My salads would flow with noodles and bok choy.
It was as if the times out here, were the ones god sent,
these days I spend here, in the MNE d-e-p-a-r-t-m-e-n-t......
(written for Tammy after she transferred to mechanical and nuclear engg dept.)

A scratcher's lore

I scratched my back, I scratched it good,
I scratched it like a real dude should.
I scratched my back, I scratched it well,
took me over the top, I felt so swell.
I scratched my back; I'll scratch it once more,
I'll keep at it till my fingers are a bit sore.
I scratched my back, I proudly proclaim,
As proud as a king, and it was NOT lame.
I scratched my back, I'll do so again,
And those opposing me shall know pain (grrr). 

Taming the beast

Catch a monkey while it sleeps in a dream,
hold it still, take it to a silent stream.  
Maybe he'll wake up, maybe he'll cry out loud,   
hold it tight, make your mamma proud.
If he throws a fit, kicks up a wicked storm,
whisper to yourself, this is what might be the norm.
Keep it deathly quiet, croon a tune or two,
let the splashing waters fall as evening dew.
As it slowly drifts back into its dream,
creep back to the kitchen, grab a can of whipped cream.