Well, dear readers, I believe it’s time for my inaugural reading of the troll poem. So gather ’round the fire, friends and listen to my tale of . . .
THE TROLL PRIMEVAL
trolls come and go
like days of sun and days of snow –
one pictures them as tiny things
with crooked backs and insect wings –
and eyes that roll like a drunkard’s moon,
and florid breath, aye, one could swoon –
from whence they come? well, no one knows,
but a school of thought says: from Black Holes!
with their clamminess and dark thought ramble-ly,
some think they’re of the mushroom family,
that they grow in forests where the sun is nil
and sprout small legs eventually, but still
others think that their rife debasement
means they were conjured in some voodoo basement –
each theory has merits I must entertain
for as we have noticed, as they appear yet again,
all of them, down to the last nutter
is as though designed by cookie-cutter:
the garbling, the syntax, the fever of brain . . .
the notions themselves – they’re all the same!
what if – no, it cannot be –
yet they bend the mind towards conspiracy
most foul and thoughts all undone
for what if there’s not many a troll . . but one!
Aye, one massive troll, always in flux,
the size of one of those Monster Rally Trucks –
let’s say it lives in the death valley gloom,
because, c’mon, who’s going to rent it a room?
it’s got glowing red eyes and giggles a lot
as it squats huge over its cowering lap top
as it posts its dribble and nonsensical spume
under one of many a nom d’ plume,
be it “peter”, “stan”, or the dithering “fugs”
(when the troll is drunk, it’s default “anonymous”)
and when the troll shifts buttocks on the dried up rivers,
somewhere a Richter needle shivers –
all right, OK, this is only a guess –
perhaps I need an aspirin and a good eve of rest –
but when the hour is wee and the lights dim,
and your thoughts begin to churn grim,
you’ll wonder if the fluttering leaves
aren’t really fat massive fingers working the keys –
but enough! you all have your own memes –
goodnite, sleep well – and oh yes – sweet dreams!
(stolen from here)