Get Kraken - 1. Chapter I: Of Spoiled Fish and Salty Moods

Lively little Pacari, a port town by the knolls,

And a stop down the long wagon road,

Is known to be cheerful and bright

A place to settle for a good sleep's night

The inhabitants are ruddy, shapely and rude

Honestly, traveler, they mean no harm

Their spirits are fillered with the wind and the breeze

Their shocking vocabulary? No cause for alarm!

But of late the citizens of this city

Were upsetish, irate, really quite busery

Infernal storms hemmed, hawed

Circled skies, brought forth misery

The easterly winds marched in cold rains

“Where is the outside? We can't play games!”

Cried the children stuck inside classrooms

Bedrooms, kitchens and cabinets

The currency of poor Pacari

Consisted of delectable fish

Visitors came by the hundreds

To savor the gourmet dish

Thunder’s crackle, frackle, nackle, brackle

Led to frightened, flummoxed, fickle sea life

And anyone can tell you that when meat is unhappy

The taste of the thing goes from zesty to sappy

They were in a funk-a-dunk

You could say that twice

No smiles, and no laughter

Not even from the wet mice

So they battenered down the hatches,

To wait for the gloriousum day

When their windows could open

And the storm would go, go away

No matter how many days they waited

The candles lit, in a fit of fearful hesitance

No matter the fervent prayers said

On the horizon, dark clouds took residence

With it they brought a nasty, flopsy downpour

Hear the air rumbler, whistlegig and roar!

Soaked down the water, making for floppy red-brimmed hats

Dowsed and smoked to the skin, to the cuffs of their pants

The grown-ups of Pacari had collected one eve

Under the surly, dark roof of the Pub Koruni

A gripe, a complaint, in their stock did they grieve

For the fate of a beloved home beset by storm

Their grumbles saw no end, no limit, no stop

“Can't we do something 'bout bein' rained?”

“My coffers are dwindlin', they'll be gumped out!”

“What's it doin' here, s'what I'd like explained!”

Oh! the sight and sound of Pub Koruni

Awash in a harrumphing chorus of sighs

“I reckon a storm’s not somethin' mere mortals can allay!

Our chance lies with the goodgrace of the gods, we pray!”

“If Captain Marchen were here,

Our circumstance would be different!”

That loverly name caused smiles

To flash on lips right instarant

Memories bloomed of Captain Marchen's

Adventures, odysseys and crusades

Of his daring, of his do!

His scurvy schemes and valorous raids!

The old ones remember, the young ones, they dream

But in all of their eyes, lurks a mischievous gleam

“Captain Marchen! Captain Marchen! Where are you now?”

“Bilge water and rumrat! Bless ‘is good soul!”

Then came a voice to cut through the brief sun of their thoughts,

“Bah, and fiddlesticks, you can't be serious!

Captain Marchen is a fairy tale, a hoax,

Landsakes! Poppycakes! You're all delirious!”

With that, the brief dream

Flickered out like the last of a flame

The hope-y-ness and the faith

In the hero who bore that name

But what's this? What's that? What could it be?

A loud thumpering on the door from yonder!

With a “Goodness-gosh!” the denizens of the pub

Turned to the door to see what’s the rub

In a flash of lightning

In a torrent of rain and wind

The door opened

And a man stood within

There was a gasp, there was a shout

The disbelief grew

Because that silhouette in the door

Was one that everyone knew!