Chaucerian Poetry

The Portrait of the Killer

Cold, blue calculating eyes had he,
Expressionless face, not easy to read,

Contract Killer, fast as lightning was he,
A dark, stalking ghoul stealing life from thee,

A killer, with cropped, smooth, spiky black hair,
His victims, he will stealthily ensnare,

Well toned arms, strong muscles bulging out,
No matter what happened, he’d never freakout,

A fine black blazer with a crisp white shirt,
Stylish silk ties, his talk, always curt,

A man not to be messed with, dealt with,
It feels he has come straight out of a myth,

He grabs his gun, and takes his position,
Sniping his target with perfect precision,

His parents died in a terrorist attack,
Now he tells a story, that takes us aback.

 

The Killer’s Story

Rykov was, by profession, a hitman,
Hired to kill Dan, a certain businessman,

Dan was a scammer, cruel and corrupt,
If his scams failed, his anger would erupt,

He took money, saying he would invest it,
Through his fake mutual fund groups, not legit,

He scammed the rich, made them live on the roadside,
Bankrupted the poor, made many suicide,

Dan had filthy, oily and thin black hair,
His teeth stained, long awaiting repair,

Rykov stalked Dan, memorized his circuit,
He once saw Dan pick a stranger’s pocket,

Rykov sniped Dan in the heart, killed instantly,
He called his client, demanded his bounty,

Now tell me, really, truthfully, honestly,
He was right, killing this sinner, wasn’t he?

The Victim

It was a wild, dark, stormy night. But no rain could penetrate through the thick canopy; nor could the moonlight. Not even satallite rays could go through. For that reason, no one could see what was happening in the jungle. No one dared to go in, the jungle was too big and had many poisonous insects. This became the perfect training ground for Lioness.

Lioness was an agency which did mainly two things – smuggle all sorts of goods through countries, and assassinate people. Anything you wanted from cocaine to plastic explosives was sold by Lioness. They were brutal and leathal, and only wanted one thing: money. They had recently blown up a powerplant somewhere as a training drill. They didn’t care how many people they killed, how much harm they caused, as long as they got the money. “Give us the money, we’ll do what you want!” General Alberol had once said.

Blam! Blam! Blam! A chirping of birds came from the heart of the forest, then stopped. A young boy, only 9 years old, had shot his first target with a foreign made AK-47. He was another victim of the Lioness’s ‘youth training’ program. He was exploited from his family when he was only two years old. The boy was told that pistols were toys and killing people was a game. Anyone put through the Lioness’s ‘youth training’ would not lose a night’s sleep over firing a real bullet into live flesh and bone. “This is the best toy in the world!” The boy had said, when he was six, while firing a hundred bullets into the jungle, killing hundreds of animals.

The victim was ready, to claim victims. It was wild, dark, stormy …

Elemental Warfare

Over the hills of Tegron, was an alley of houses. They weren’t weak, old houses, with roofs made of straw; nor were they huge, glistening mansion with rooms of treasure; they were strong red-brick houses with plastered walls, photos, elegant chandeliers and comfortable seating. In house Overland 4, lived Azegon Lo and his family.

The Journey of Me : River

Bubbling brilliantly from below,
I start my life as a spring,
Like a rabbit I was, timid little thing.

Short Adventure Story

As the bear came nearer and nearer, Patrick feared the worst. Just then he heard the familiar unzipping of the tent. Joe stepped out of the tent, still in his pyjamas, as a cool breeze wifled through Patrick’s hair.

“Patrick,” Joe called. The bear’s head flicked swiftly and Joe screamed. The bear jumped on top of Joe, but Joe dodged the bear in the nick of time! A park ranger hurried over and shot a pistol up into the air. The terrific ‘Bang!’ of the bullet scared away the bear. It leaped away as fast as a jet.

Volcano

The outburst of hot lava,
Spilling from the open crater.

As it flowed, viscous,
The putrid ash filled the grey skies.

Houses burnt, memories destroyed,
People boiled, loved ones killed.

Collosal Waves

As the green waves bashed and clashed,
The white foam slashed.

The water soared like an eagle,
And plumetted down like a falcon.

The icy waves shivered,
As the massive walls sunk deep into the sea.

The Abduction

On the top of a cliff, in the wide, sweltering deserts of Arizona lay a robust nest. In this nest lived a family of falcons; a father, and his two children.

Frank and George, the kids, had learned to glide, soar and fly when they were young. The brothers would play with falcons older than them. They loved to race against Ernest, their friend.

Tron

Early in the morning as little white whisps of mist cleared, Tron looked out of the window. Longingly, he stared at the dense, erie, dark forest. Later that day, Tron slipped merrily across the road. He was going to the forest to explore.

Narrow Escape

Tracker ran down the narrow alley at top speed. He turned the corner at jet speed and zoomed passed the tall, haunted building where nobody went. He could hear loud footsteps behind him. Suddenly he felt a hand clasp his shirt. Tracker got pulled back. “Help! Help!” he cried but no help came. Tracker punched the kidnapper and he fell to the floor. Breathing hard he ran off, tired but safe.