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Deep into Undermountain

One evening as the sun went down,
And our cooking coals were glowing,
Down the path came a party hiking,
And they said, “folks, we’re all going,
We’re yearning for a portal far away,
In a tavern full of shoutin’
So join us, friends, and let’s descend,
Deep into Undermountain!”

Deep into Undermountain,
There run dungeons hot and cold,
Where the monsters surge in pushes,
And the youngest runes are old,
Where the mimics all lie waiting,
And the goblin werebats roost,
All the wisps and wasps,
And the mezzoloths,
The hidden pit,
Where we’ll all plummet,
Deep into Undermountain

Deep into Undermountain,
All our blades will sing like choirs,
As our arrows strike like drumbeats,
And our green flame pops in pyres,
Our barbarian will stomp a brute,
As the rogues dance shadowplay,
O we’re sworn to go,
At a great tempo,
We’ll chant our spells
As we now delve,
Deep into Undermountain,

Deep into Undermountain,
You’ll always find new gear,
And your old mundane accoutrement,
Can be handed down, don’t fear.
The magic items you’ll attune,
And the artifacts you’ll find,
There’s armor with gems,
And weird potions,
And a propeller hat
that lets you ascend,
Deep into Undermountain.

Deep into Undermountain.
The Mad Wizard stood gates,
So folks can open portals,
He left clues to activate,
He has a thing for puzzles,
And he likes to throw his voice,
We’re going to delve,
To where he dwells,
To the lowest tower,
To seek his power
Deep into Undermountain.

I’ll see you there, the lowest lair,
Deep into Undermountain.

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Existential love

Are love and beloved commutative?
You are beautiful and I love you!
I love you and you are beautiful!

What about loved but beloved?

Is that something one can even say, or something one must show?
Or something one must hear,
Or something one must see?

If we are made in God’s image, is he disappointed when we follow his example the way we are with our children when they follow ours?

Does the Lord feel what parents feel when their children copy their vices each time I harden Pharaoh’s heart?

Does he shake his head when you command survivors of ethnic infanticide to remove their sandals?

Does he plug his ears when we command our session trumpeteer to blow his fifth horn and our vocalist to belt out, “Woe! Woe! Woah!”

Does he hide his face as we cover the earth with water?

And where are our faces?
Why don’t we reflect the light we feel,
Do our contorted masks distort photons,
Like planes skew radar,
Our profiles misleading and shrunken,
While our bellies are exposed to any naked eyes looking up at that moment,
as our backs are exposed to sky,
And what do we have to show for it?

But where are our faces?
Why don’t we feel the light we reflect?
Do the photons scatter like outstealthed radar from our false smiles,
Our cross-sections lighter than air,
While the heavens and the earth envelope us completely and form a shape around us that we push through each day wondering why we feel such resistance?

Are endure and endured commutative?
You are cruel, and I love you.
I love you, and you are cruel.

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Like your enemy

I made war on the sea and became the waves.

I made war on the peaks and became the stone.

I made war on the heavens and became the sky.

I made war on my neighbor and died, flesh and bone.

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Where in these Chunks is Cubfan of the Convex?

Where in these chunks is Cubfan of the Convex?
Well, he builds around the island,
From Modern to Medieval,
He’s a sticky-piston-pusher from build height down to bedrock.
He’ll take you on a flight to the Convex Cathedral.

Tell me where in these chunks is Cubfan of the Convex?

Swipe your soul sand from the nether,
Make the village golems bubble,
From our redstone to Grian Tag, he’ll be dealing abuse.
I never Tennessee him steal from his base to the portal,
Tell me, where in these chunks is Cubfan of the Convex?
Tell me, where in these chunks is Cubfan of the Convex?

He’ll go from village to void space,
From the end to Iskall’s base,
From Mumbo’s to TangoTek’s fountain, and back!

Then he’ll ban half Hermitcrafters,
Run a gauntlet, jewel-encrusted,
Then he’ll have the Convex plunder,
And go prank Python’s Pots.

He put the mail in malefaction when he tampered with my postbox,
Tell me, where in these chunks is Cubfan of the Convex?
Tell me, where in these chunks, tell me where can he be?

From mob spawner to far lands,
From spawn via Pirate Land,
Tundra to jungle to iTrade to loot you.

Well he swims beneath the seas,
Just to sell immoral coral,
He’s a bubble-breathing brigand with a flair for dolphin speed,
His shulker box is loaded up with maps for his mural,
Tell me where in these chunks is Cubfan of the Convex?
Tell me, where in these chunks is Cubfan of the Convex?
Tell me, where in these chunks is Cubfan of the Convex?

Here’s me performing this terribly:

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International Space Station

We saw the ISS tonight—it was really quite far out.
Reflecting sol’s more distant light, and as it arced its route,
It passed beyond some nearer cloud, and faded out of sight,
But dad and daughter didn’t frown, it really made our night.

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City of Brotherly Love

In my heart I was glad, but the city preys at night,
So I was walking angry, looking angry,
Seeming mean past Ben Franklin’s darkened grave,
Past his mint too toward my hotel
When across the street I saw
A bus shelter sheltering someone,
Heaped defensively under dirty blankets,
Sleeping buried trying to stay warm,
I couldn’t see anything about the stranger,
Except that they too didn’t want to be disturbed,
And that they weren’t a bus.
We have bus shelters on every other corner.
Maybe we need more people shelters too.

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It’s only a rental.

A rental car is worse than a rental home,
Because you can’t paint it the way you like,
Then paint it back when you’re done.
Two coats of primer
Should be enough for anybody.

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Gratitude

Thanks, I say,
Over and over.
Thanks, I say,
But its never enough.
Not because others are ungrateful of my gratitude,
But because what I owe to others,
To their patience,
To their kindness,
Cannot be repaid with words,
or one word,
Thanks.
I say.
Above and past that,
Thanks, I must do.