Sunday, September 20, 2009

Dragon Temple: Keeper of the Heart

The Nimbobula Journal

There once was an intrepid explorer. His name? Well, nobody remembers it now, but it was long and sounded very important. This explorer was walking, stalking, slashing, pulling, tugging and lugging his way through the deepest, darkest jungles of Nimbobula. Nimbobula was a land full of imaginings and dreamings, day or night, didn’t matter much. And such terrifying dreamings they might be. Could scare a person full to death and back again!


Where were we? Oh, yes, the slashing, dashing explorer whose name we cannot remember though we do know it was definitely NOT Bob Brown or Fred Jones. As he pushed deeper and deeper into the steamy rainforest (all together now: PU-USH!) the explorer stumbled (ouch, what was that?) upon an ancient, fusty musty dusty, towering, touching the sky building all covered in vines as thick as an elephant’s trunk. (Okay boys and girls, one loud: WOW!). He cut, he yanked, he groaned and moaned with effort, but he could not budge even one of those hundreds and thousands of vines sealing, hiding almost hugging the huge ancient wooden doors. The explorer finally realised he needed help and as much as he hated the idea he knew he had to go back to the hustling, bustling, loudly muscling cities to ask. Not many people lived in the deepest jungles of Nimbobula, and those that did were just as likely to be cannibals or witch doctors with no manners and horrible eating habits!

So off to the city he decided to go. He was a man of very quick decisions and once his mind was made up it was a bit like a bed, all neat and smooth, with corners finely ticked under and dang hard to climb into! The explorer knew it had to be a very special city. It had to be a city where the hope was not lost, a city with some sign of the goodness of the world, a city where the joy still shimmered in secret corners. The explorer - hang on a minute. I’m a bit sick of calling him the explorer! Can we come up with a name as no-one truly remembers his real one? How about Aloysius? All-loo-ish-ee-os. It sounds the sort of important name that our dashing explorer might have been called. We can call him Alo for short. But he wasn’t short, oh no. He was tall and terrific, tanned and toned with rippling muscles finely honed. And a mind settled tightly tucked into his adventure.

To be continued...

Nimbobula: The Dreamings Life

Nimbobula the tireless land
Calls to you though it is banned
Dreams and nightmares hand in hand
The other kids, they’ll understand

Nimbobula the name scares most
Winds all howl from coast to coast
Joined by sun so hot can roast
Turn you into crispy toast

Screams they seem to run right through
Not so good for me or you
Imaginings, they leap out too
Is there nothing we can do?

This place echoes of stark terror
Its name not be said in error
Only screamed whilst with a carer
Then it's bad news for the bearer

The witch doctors all travel there
To train up how to do their hair
They’ll drag you deep into their lair
Would anybody really care?

The cannibals roam jungles deep
Don’t say a word now, not a peep
Or in the pot we must soon leap
Our juicy flesh they will all reap

They’ll cook us up or eat us raw
If they spy us here we’ll be no more
Wouldn’t wait for us to thaw
Don’t give a hoot if someone saw.

Be nothing left at all around
Not even bones flung on the ground
For flesh they’ll take more than a pound
Dinner time and we’d be downed.

It tastes better if we died
Crying out to stay alive.
Brains they like to chew deep fried
They’ll store the rest all mummified.

We need to leave but don’t know how
Stuck between the then and now
If Mummy knew she’d have a cow
Tan our hides till we screamed “OW”

Nimbobula, don’t say it fast
That big word could be your last.