Upon a weekend once, in modern day
The jazz band took a trip to Monterey
To play and hear some other school groups’ tunes.
The driver was a cranky, mean old man
Who all devices for amusement banned.
On bus rides long like this, some DVDs
Would usually be viewed. Not by decree
There’d be no movies watched, for broken was
The reader of all discs. And so because
Of this, a storytelling contest made
To pass the time and boredom keep at bay.
Every person was to tell a tale
Though excellent were some, and some did fail.
Approximately passed three hours had
A Saxophonist’s sister told one bad.
This girly-girl had no imagination
So boring were the things of her creation
To dreamland went a couple people deep.
This girly-girl then finished up her tale
Examining her perfect, pale pink nails,
She said, “Who’s next?” and then she made a face
Of great disdain. The volunteer to grace
The ears of listeners with a new tale
She cared for as she’d care for gross brown snails.
A Trombone player stood up in her seat.
And this was not much of a simple feat.
The old bus driver’s heart had no compassion.
All teenagers he hated with a passion
Especially the ones he thought were punky
And ones who seemed like crazy human monkeys.
He hollered, “Little girl, sit yourself down!”
The band was far away from any town
But on the road, en route to competition.
The grumpy driver wanted to petition
Ensuring that he’d never have to drive
These teenagers, or he might not survive.
This Trombone player was another girl
Her chestnut hair was never nice and curled
But short and choppy, with the tips dyed red
And two small braids, dark blue, tied with black thread.
She usually wore black with red or lace
And looked not like the rest of the rat race.
Her eyes were rimmed with colors thick and dark
Her black shirt bore a panda, and inside
A red one she made no attempts to hide.
Her belt, skirt, socks, and gloves were also black;
And her Doc Martens, no surprise, were black.
(She didn’t dig that girly-fluff appearance.)
She did not care for others’ interference
On how she dressed or what she liked to do.
This girl was interesting, and that is true.
Pomona Jessica Satomi-Ramsey
Her full name ‘twas, but she thought it too fancy
So she asked all she knew to call her Panda.
She didn’t like “Pomona” too much, and the
Panda was her favorite animal.
She often wrote about intangible,
And deep and often dark things in her stories,
And poetry and songs in all their glories.
She posted them on YouTube or her blog.
She kept a sleek-furred cat and not a dog.
Surprisingly it minded not her practice
(The cat itself was somewhat of an actress)
For Panda was quite active in the band.
Piano also, with a practiced hand
And singing too, all these she learned herself.
She kept all of her music on a shelf
As well as in her iPod. She preferred
The music to that girly-girl absurd,
(Alternative, or soundtracks, all but pop).
She also does a hard karate chop.
Now we move on from our short meet-and-greet.
“Hey, guys!” she called out loudly from her seat.
“Do you know how, sometimes, you have a dream
That is completely bursting at the seams
And then some idiot has to destroy it?”
Replies were none. The topic which she’d hit
Upon was not a nice one to discuss,
Especially not here on the band bus.
“So you know how whenever there’s a solo
The…never mind. Oh, geez, I’m such a dodo.
It’s rather curious, I’m thinking how
The person wrong will often be endowed
With honor of a solo or a feature
‘Cause there was no audition from the teacher.
“Um, never mind. Forget what I just said.
What is going on inside my head?
Now I’m not pointing fingers, and I’m not
A jerk trying to be, by a long shot
So this is just a story, yes, a tale
I’m sorry if it is an epic fail.”
Quite long ago, in ancient faerie land
All fates would rest in the powerful hands
Of ten and nine Immortals of that race.
So every year the contests would take place
A six-week season, all to try to please
The Council of Immortals. These trustees
Would bless the favored faeries every year
With talismans that kept away the fears
Of faerie race. These prizes helped them thrive
(Back then it was quite hard to stay alive)
Protecting them from all the world out there.
This six-week season was a huge affair.
In complicated rituals performed
A special one would sometimes be adorned
With very coveted a role. It was
Desired by the multitude because
The chosen one was featured in a rite
Oneself, and only one, was in the spotlight.
So why have all these rituals each year
Besides before the Council to appear?
A good display upheld the reputation
Of faeries represented in that nation.
A faerie girl, named Kei of Bonnysmoke
She was a Comrade of the Willow Oak
And had a skill of which she’d never boast
Although she better was at this than most.
The opportunity arose this time
For status of the Willow Oak to climb
By choosing one to feature in the rites
Of ceremony, taken to new heights.
The Comrades’ leader to Kei’s group announced
That one of them could have the role pronounced.
Kei practiced several months to take her place
Among the honored members of her race.
She wanted not this honor to display
The things that she accomplished to that day.
Kei worked instead with all her heart and soul
Profound the beauty she saw in that role
And knew that it was made for her to take
In spite of everything that was at stake.
Just one small problem there was with her plan.
Another Comrade of a different clan
Fionn of Rose-eclipse, who had more years
Than Kei. Fionn was music to the ears
Of Comrade Leader, though she had no skill.
Her eyes had always held a certain chill
Of arrogance. Kei did not like Fionn
The only one she was who saw beyond
The pretty face Fionn put on each day.
Fionn’s cruel side, when she did it display
Was never known by anyone but Kei,
Pretending this was always done in play.
Fionn was an abomination to
The role she’d claimed. The only one who knew
And dared to think this way was Kei. But age
And favor in the leader’s eyes prevailed,
Injustice of these acts were unveiled.
The right one for the job was truly Kei
Seniority had always been the way
So no one ever knew what Kei could do;
Fionn, the leader gave the honor to.
The Comrades’ leader always told Fionn
Corrections needed; would have Kei then won
A contest for the metaphoric crown
The leader, very happy would he be
But flawless was Fionn, which he could see.
The nights Kei spent bemoaning her cruel fate
Were countless, for Fionn who she did hate
Had stolen ruthlessly Kei’s chance at life
So bled Kei’s heart, as if in it a knife
Had plunged itself.
The season now begins;
The Comrades fighting others for their wins!
But time and time again was it declared
The Council thought the Comrades unprepared
For pleased none of the Council members were
With Comrade rites. Instead they did deter
The Council’s vote in Comrades’ favor gone;
Displeasèd was the Council with Fionn.
To Comrades, all the Council made it known
Her lack of skill was ruining the rites
The Comrades labored hard to make precise.
Wore on the season, Council begging hard,
“In order to avoid a presence marred
By ceremony blemished and askew,
Do give the honors to which they are due.”
Did anybody listen? No! No way!
Fionn was one who Kei dared not betray,
It never would have aided her at all.
The leader’s mind and outlook was so small,
He simply did not recognize the fact
His foolish choice was getting them all smacked.
As time continued, Comrades losing favor
In Council eyes, Kei recognized the danger
Of honor that Fionn did not deserve.
No talismans to Willow Oak preserve
For all nineteen Immortals of the Council
On Comrades’ rituals looked they far down still.
Kei had but one desire: to have the role
Fionn had claimed, for deep inside her soul
Knew Kei that it had been just for her made
But this was quite impossible. She bade
Her time pretending everything was fine
Although her heart was on a steep decline.
One night as all of Willow Oak reposed
The ancients from the sands of time arose
And walked inside the dreams of sleeping Kei.
A figure from the haze said, “Come away
And follow me to find your destiny.”
The shadow Kei did follow breathlessly
She wondered where this wraith was taking her.
Now Kei and ancient in a clearing stood.
Then, ghostly figures from the fog appeared,
Solidified. The trees then disappeared
Left nothing but a ring of flowing mist.
An ethereal figure flicked his wrist
Stepped forward, introduced himself to Kei.
“I’m Laren Lucentsnow. Now if you may,
As Guardians of Dreams we’re here to aid.
Your dreams and your hard work did not evade
Our watchful eye. We want to see you thrive
Your dreams come true, as it was meant to be.”
Kei listened to the ancient give his spiel
Although it was a dream, ‘twas truly real.
“Now take this bell,” said Laren, “and this gem.
The bell’s clear tone will show the truth to them
The gem is made of shattered dreams like yours
Collected from young broken hearts in scores
Infused with power only we control
And activated by an injured soul.
Now this is only for a last resort.
If ignorance our primal plan does thwart,
Then swallow gem and we will do the rest.
Goodbye now, and best wishes with your quest.”
Then Kei awoke, the bell and gem in hand
Prepared to face the day and its demands.
So Kei approached her leader and Fionn
She rang the bell, and on them it did dawn
The truth about Fionn who had no skill
But both of them held their conviction still
Superior Fionn was since in age
And therefore was more competent and sage.
Plan A died hard, so swallowed Kei the gem
She raised her hands and power entered them
A wave of force sent all the Comrades reeling
Except the two which Kei had need of dealing.
A scream tore from her lungs, her hand thrust out
The duo hit the ground, and Kei did flout
As killers turned to victims and were wrapped
In thorns which twisted round them till they snapped
“Confess we do,” they cried, “our great mistake
So let us go, our lives please do not take!”
Then Kei spoke in the voice of ancients pure
The Guardians of Dreams it was for sure
And issued Laren Lucentsnow a curse
(For sake of time think I’ll keep it terse).
“Old Leader! You will be replaced with one
More just than you. Your Comrade rule is done;
Unfit to lead, you’ll be a follower,
A minion of a Leader.
The power you enjoy will now be gone
No longer will malevolence reward
All that you want, you with. You’ll be ignored.
So cursèd be your life and family!
The Rose-eclipses now will always be
Unfortunate for all eternity.
You’ll die alone, the sound of madness in
Your ears for all your life of deadly sin.”
The leader gave the role to Kei. Fionn
Her throne she abdicated. She was blown
To darkened borders of society.
With now the rites, the Council full of glee
So talismans did Willow Oak receive
For Kei had skill. I’ll say before I leave:
Came true Kei’s dreams; the ancients did avenge
Her shattered heart and dreams. O sweet revenge!
O cruel seniority! O cursèd age!
O power of the old but not quite sage!
O hierarchy evil to the core
For hearts you break and dreams you make no more!
O wishes granted, age used over skill!
The foolish swear by fickle words of yours
Till death comes knocking at their very doors!
Seniority the weak rely upon,
Go burn in—”
Panda felt a finger jab
Into her side. Her poker said, “I think
Audition should you for the next production.
Dramatic that was quite. For interruption
Apologize I do.”
“No problem ‘tis,
I’m done with tale. You’ll hear no more of this,”
Replied our teller sheepishly. She smiled.
Then there was silence all around the crowd
Till a Pianist dared to speak aloud.
“Well, that was…new,” she said after a pause.
“So what is with the flopping of the jaws?
You asked for tale, therefore I told you one.
This tale was only meant to be for fun,”
Said Panda, sounding sticky sweet her voice.
“Your problem tell me. Was I not discreet?
I said it’s just for all your entertainment.
I don’t at all attempt to make a statement.”
A Drummer glanced up from his practice pad.
He said, “I don’t think that your tale was bad.
I liked it. I think that it’s really great
How all the characters deserved their fate.”
He thought and then he added, “By all means,
Now this is my opinion that it seems
You’re trying to tell us something with your tale:
We’re making measurements with the wrong scale
And saying we should probably think twice
Before we judge, and that’s a major vice.”
Then answered Panda, “You’re on the right track.
But there is something that your statement lacks.
I think that not it’s relevant to you
And if it was, it’s really nothing new.
Should know, all those who hear, what I did say
If not, then you I guess just never paid
Enough attention to pick up on it.
I only want you all to think a bit.
“Please mind me not, I know not what I say.
Ignore me as disclaimers long I bray.
So who’s up next? Will anybody go?
Who cares if it’s not quite the status quo?
It’s still a couple hours till we get
To where we’re going. Maybe better yet,
I think I’ll choose a victim.” Then she paused.
Her tale had hit her victim, biff-bang-pow.
A Trombone player, Panda noticed now,
Looked guilty and ashamed. Panda then said,
“Have anything to say? Or is your head
Too full of air to tell us what is true?”
She needed no reply because she knew.
‘Twas him who;d claimed her solo for himself
Seniority had Panda on the shelf
Forgive she could, but chose she to avenge
For satisfying ‘tis. O sweet revenge!