Hapless
—
“Be weary young ones, for he is upon you. That cloak of ash, hovering above us all, suspended beneath the graying sky.
His legs are but spindled limbs of an old and haggard pine. Eyes like the sun, fiery and billowing.
Woe upon those especially, who glimpse his tapering death. The weapon he yields upon his face, this will be surely be your last memory.
There’s no helping your brumes, if this is what you last witness. He pierces your skin, quick and clean. The crunch of your bones, the squeeze of his bill.
You must understand that he is always watching. This is why we look to the sky. Be ever watchful. Listen to every sound. Do not just hear it- feel it.
Fail, and your death will not be as swift as he. Anura bless you.”
— A common tale of forewarning, dedicated to froglets about the danger of great blue herons. Featuring ‘Blunder’, a tragic tale/character in traditional bullfrog folklore.
[ Children of Anura dictionary / glossary ]
Brume: Ghost/spirit
Anura: The ancestor of all modern amphibians, called by different names between species. She is known as Anura to frogs and toads.
Alternative art under the cut for eye strain.
Shall our bond be unbroken by nature’s will.
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Love poem between the Joker and Kermit the Frog please, written seriously and without the jokes.
Jokes? I don’t write jokes. I WRITE POEMS!
In the heart of Gotham on the way to Sesame Street
The king of darkness… and the joker meet.
They were green and they gooned
And they swooned And they spooned
The unlikely romance all of a sudden bloomed
Kermit the frog writes in his blog
He's going to blow up Gotham with his bubby
Oh my god Kermit is the mastermind
Someone shoot him in the head
The joker and the croaker they fall in love
Ooh that's crazy, hmmm.. crazy mix
Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?
my name is the joker and I’m about to pon dey r r r replay
cause honestly all these love poems are cliche
and that bitch ass miss piggy, big backed breaking the scale with how much she weighs
putting on my lipstick looking real fine
unlike Mrs piggy, lipstick on a pig, pause I’m drunk let me take another swig while I throw on Megan while I do a little jig
bomboclaat Kermit
how about let’s get perverted
I mean what? what’d I say? I’m gay, let’s play a little game, piggy I got murder on my brain
bomborasta kermit
I NEED YOU
US TWO
I just know that bitch ass pig ain’t French, does she even know that means deux??
listen here you little maggot
you know I’m a good person!
so let’s keep this little secret
and lord miss piggy is a behemoth
let’s Jack and ennis til we get broken up by Kamala harris
that was a good bar
Were all stars to disappear or die,
I should learn to look at an empty sky
And feel its total dark sublime,
cause in Gotham I love committing crimes
Someday we'll find it, that sigma connection, the mewers, the gooners,
And me.
Thank you for the request!
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Frog Autumn
Summer grows old, cold-blooded mother.
The insects are scant, skinny.
In these palustral homes we only
Croak and wither.
Mornings dissipate in somnolence.
The sun brightens tardily
Among the pithless reeds. Flies fail us.
The fen sickens.
Frost drops even the spider. Clearly
The genius of plenitude
Houses himself elsewhwere. Our folk thin
Lamentably.
--Sylvia Plath, written 1958, in: The Collected Poems, 1981
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“And God told me / I had been almost right about the ponies, just / looking at it backwards. Things, God told me, / grow smaller.”
Read it here | Reblog for a larger sample size!
@play-now-my-lord
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I thought I'd had enough of noise, until a small tree-frog started trilling right outside.
As if singing a little song, it calls out at regular intervals.
August seems an odd month to hear such a sound.
The end of summer, long past spring, leaning into autumn, August is something else, something in between.
I think this frog is lonely.
Lonely, just like me.
Azuki Lynn
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