Lord Vileheart
Poem: “You.” His finger pointed right at me, “I’ve come to shut you down.” I asked, “Could this wait half an hour? I’ve only just sat down.”
Lord Vileheart
I was halfway through a biscuit
Avoiding Chapter Ten,
When someone kicked my office door
And barged right bloody in.
He wore a long dramatic cloak,
Wet boots with quite a smell,
The sort of man whose tragic past
You know extremely well.
“You.” His finger pointed right at me,
“I’ve come to shut you down.”
I asked, if this could wait a bit,
I’d only just sat down.
“No, it can’t.” And he drew his sword.
“I’ve come to make you pay.
You’ve ruined everything In a
Most dark and tortured way.
You murdered my horse in Book One,
My brother died in Two,
You burned my castle in Book Three.
Merde! What is wrong with you?”
I looked at him above my mug.
“Well… conflict drives the plot.”
He snapped, “Everyone hates me and
Conflict’s the best you got?”
He paced around my cluttered room,
Quite murdery and tense,
Then knocked aside my favorite pens
And made me quite incensed.
“You gave me power but I’m alone.
No children wave hello.
The villagers throw cabbages
Each shop I try to go.”
I rubbed my eyes and sighed a bit.
“Perhaps I’ve been unfair.”
He froze. “Do you really mean that?”
“Yes,” I waved at the chair.”
And honestly he looked relieved.
He sat down with a thump.
Still clutching his enormous sword
Across his moody rump.
I said, “Right then, let’s talk this through.
What would improve your lot?”
He muttered, “Maybe some more hair.”
I grinned, “I’ll make you hot.”
“And perhaps,” he said, “in future books
I need not scream with rage?
I’d quite like one calm conversation
That lasts beyond a page.”
I nodded while he carried on,
Now fully in the flow.
“I think I kill because you keep
Refusing me to grow.
Each time I nearly make a friend,
You kill them in a fire.
Or make them secretly my aunt.
Or sucked into a mire.”
I wrote this down quite earnestly.
He watched me from the gloom.
Then softly said, “I really think
I’d like a nicer room.”
“Well,” I added, “I could attempt
A redemption arc next spring.
Perhaps let someone else go mad.
A bishop. Or a king.”
He blinked at me. “You’ll follow through?”
“Yes. you should save a cat.
The readers will go wild for you.
And we could work with that.”
He slowly sheathed his giant sword.
“You know… I’d quite like bread.
And maybe one romantic friend
Who doesn’t wind up dead.”
I opened up my manuscript.
Crossed out the doom and gloom.
Then added, Lord Vileheart retires
And rents a quiet room.
By Heather Patton / Verdant Butterfly
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By Heather Patton · Launched a year ago
A creative space with over 170 enchanting stories and poems. I write fantasy, folklore and genre bending prose that can step off the path into comedy, adventure or the unsettling at any moment.
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Another first for me, funny poems. You make poetry do what stories do but with rhymes and rhythm.
That's so funny! Love it.