NBI Poetry Slam
One of the many fun activities the New Blogger Initiative lined up for October was the NBI Poetry Slam! I was invited by Syl, my long-time blogging friend, to participate, so I knew I couldn’t say no (not that I would have, of course). Here’s my product of the endeavor.
Not, I’ll not, Karazhan, Prince, not wipe on thee
Not rage quit – tempting it may be – this last pull
of the guild run or, most weary, cry, “I’m calling it.” I can,
can something. Watch vids, check logs, not choose not to raid.
But ah, but O thou boss, why wouldst though red-hood a healer
that can’t kite a boss for his life? drop an infernal on my head? wipe
with arcane explosive deaths my bruiséd raid? and fly,
over my head, and one-shot a healer, when I’m frantic to tank you and live?
Why? That my raid might wipe? Our bodies lie, in piles of bones?
No, in all those repair bills, those empty spots to fill, since (seems) I grabbed a shield,
the raid leader role, rather, my toon lo! specced avoidance, learned the strats, would praise, cheer.
Cheer whom though? The boss whose knockbacks flung me? Crushing blowed
me? Or the toons who fought him? Which set of toons? Each set, perhaps? Those raids,
That zone of now completed content I raid leader laid struggling with (my guild!) my guild.
(My apologies to Gerard Manley Hopkins)
Stubborn (and all poetical)