My Dragon, The Trilogy.

Ivor.Plumber/Poet

My Dragon.

A Monstrous Dragon, breathing fire.

Did arise from the gurgling mire.

Dark gangrenous green, from head to tails.

Claws blackened, sharp as nails.

Purple secretions, from his scaly chest.

A spear harpooned, a grizzly mess.

Nostrils ablaze, bloodied red.

Eyes seeping yellow maggot heads.

My Dragon’s crying, and nearly dead.

My Dragon, The Revival

My harpooned Dragon’s fallen and out of breathe.

Gazing around, pleading, near death.

The slayers spear, protrudes from his scaly vest.

And I quietly hear his soulful pounding chest.

Quickly, I plunge my sword, cutting shard.

Removing the spears horrid barb.

My Dragon exhales a fearsome howl.

Eyes Bulging, tears flowing down his jowl.

In agony, thrashing his spiky green tail.

Then slowly abating, like a windless sail.

Is he dying, lying there loudly groaning.

Nostrils snorting, neither afire nor smoking.

Suddenly, his left wing begins flapping.

And my Dragon’s head rises, stretching, arching.

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Left Over Dew

I know I’m far from perfect.

I make awful mistakes.

I know I’m overly loud.

I dominate and crowd.

 

I do have a big heart.

A soul so soft.

I do love to hold and to kiss.

To cuddle and caress.

 

I feel your reluctance.

Your barrier fence.

I feel like a fog over you.

Like the morning dew.

 

Will you ever need another.

Or love another.

Will you ever let me remain.

Or look for me again.

 

Ivor Steven.

My Dragon, The Trilogy.

My Dragon.

A Monstrous Dragon, breathing fire.

Did arise from the gurgling mire.

Dark gangrenous green, from head to tails.

Claws blackened, sharp as nails.

Purple secretions, from his scaly chest.

A spear harpooned, a grizzly mess.

Nostrils ablaze, bloodied red.

Eyes seeping yellow maggot heads.

My Dragon’s crying, and nearly dead.

 

My Dragon, The Revival

My harpooned Dragon’s fallen and out of breathe.

Gazing around, pleading, near death.

The slayers spear, protrudes from his scaly vest.

And I quietly hear his soulful pounding chest.

Quickly, I plunge my sword, cutting shard.

Removing the spears horrid barb.

My Dragon exhales a fearsome howl.

Eyes Bulging, tears flowing down his jowl.

In agony, thrashing his spiky green tail.

Then slowly abating, like a windless sail.

Is he dying, lying there loudly groaning.

Nostrils snorting, neither afire nor smoking.

Suddenly, his left wing begins flapping.

And my Dragon’s head rises, stretching, arching.

Green horns twitching, like a mythical serpentine.

Yellow eyes glowing, like magical sunshine.

My Dragon’s revived.

And ready to skydive.

 

My Dragon, Can He Fly.

My wounded Dragon, stands so proud.

Neck arching up, looking to the clouds.

Seeing graceful birds flying apart.

He feels a huge scar close to his heart.

My dragon bows, and shakes his beastly head.

But his enormous tail feels like lead.

Flapping one wing, then the over.

Dejected he looks, not even a hover.

Nostrils snorting, no sign of fire.

To fly again, his deepest desire.

From within I hear, gut-rumblings soar.

My Dragon angrily spews an almighty roar.

And his gigantic jaws open wide.

A bloodied tongue swishes his fangs side to side.

He swallows and belches another gruesome howl.

A flame burst forth from his boughs.

My dragon frantically begins to respire.

Again and again his exhales are fire.

And gyrating his heavy green tail.

He spreads his wings like full sails.

Frightened at first, fluttering end to end.

My jumbo sized reptile gradually ascends.

Twenty, then fifty, a hundred leagues above.

Suddenly flying, like a flock of beautiful doves.

Magically rolling and frolicking he flies.

Happily he shrieks and swoosh, rapidly down he dives.

Majestically gliding, he arrives.

My Dragon, again King of the skies.

 

Ivor Steven.

 

My Dragon, Can He Fly.

My wounded Dragon, stands so proud.

Neck arching up, looking to the clouds.

Seeing graceful birds flying apart.

He feels a huge scar close to his heart.

My Dragon bows, and shakes his beastly head

But his enormous tail feels like lead.

Flapping one wing, then the other.

Dejected he looks, not even a hover.

Nostrils snorting, no sign of fire.

To fly again, his deepest desire.

From within I hear, gut-rumblings soar.

My Dragon angrily spews  an almighty roar.

And his gigantic jaws open wide.

A bloodied tongue swishes his fangs side to side.

He swallows and belches another gruesome howl.

A flame bursts forth from his boughs.

My Dragon frantically begins to respire.

Again and again his exhales are afire.

And gyrating his heavy green tail.

He spreads his wings like full sails.

Frightened at first, fluttering end to end.

My jumbo sized reptile gradually ascends.

Twenty, then fifty, a hundred leagues above.

Suddenly flying, like a flock of beautiful doves.

Magically rolling and frolicking he flies.

Happily he shrieks and swoosh, rapidly down he dives.

Majestically gliding he arrives.

My Dragon, again King of the skies.

lizard-213680_1280

 

Ivor Steven.

My Dragon, The Revival

My harpooned Dragon’s, fallen and out of breath.

Gazing around, pleading, near death.

The slayers spear, protrudes from his scaly vest.

And I quietly hear his soulful pounding chest.

Quickly, I plunge my sword, cutting shard.

Removing the spears horrid barb.

My Dragon exhales a fearsome howl.

Eyes bulging, tears flowing down his jowl.

In agony, thrashing his spiky green tail.

Then slowly abating, like a windless sail.

Is he dying, lying there loudly groaning.

Nostrils snorting, neither afire nor smoking.

Suddenly, his left wing begins flapping.

And my Dragon’s head rises, stretching, arching.

Green horns twitching, like a mythical serpentine.

Yellow eyes glowing, like magical sunshine.

My Dragon’s revived.

And ready to skydive.

 

Ivor Steven.

My Dragon

A monstrous Dragon, breathing fire.

Did arise from the gurgling mire.

Dark gangrenous green, from head to tails.

Claws blackened, sharp as nails.

Purple secretions, from his scaly chest.

A spear harpooned, a grizzly mess.

Nostrils ablaze, bloodied red.

Eyes seeping yellow maggot heads.

My Dragon’s crying, and nearly dead.

 

Ivor Steven.

My Monster Story entry for this month’s Slasher Monster Magazine, please check the Magazine out, by blogging our wordpress site.

Soft Showers

Those years have been and gone.

Since you’ve lived here, my lonely swan.

Sadly, I’ve existed through love again.

However, nothing like your passing’s pain.

And I’ve found I’ll never be the same.

Unveiled by life’s everyday falling rain.

Sometimes the heavy rains flood my very core.

Other-times the soft showers soothe my pores.

And as I once said.

Out of my wounded head.

“How many rivers of tears must we cry,

Before all the deepest wells run dry”.

 

Ivor Steven.