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The following is a poem I wrote for my pal Jon Morris' birthday.
 
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a daily assortment of random search engine queries leading people to the Ludic Log in the past 24 hours

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LUDIC LOG
01.05.2005

I.

Rodney J. Dillingham,
Mum’s favorite Sunderland --
Child of a groundskeeper, child of a nurse.
Born in a hospital,
Raised in a Barnstaple --
Art was his blessing, ambition his curse.

Family’s quite talented;
Ain’t he or Islington?
Look at his drawings – it can’t be denied.
What other lads drew, though,
He drew – just Biggleswade
Until the barn was filled up on each side.

Tore through his sketchbooks and
Pens like the Windermere;
Family was bankrupt before he was six.
What’s the solution, then?
What missing Lincolnshire?
There must be some sort of permanent fix.

Oddly, a giant, his
Heart black as Colchester,
Happened to rule over this tiny town.
“Draw me big, Rodney, and
Riches you’ll Winchester –“
Thus spoke the giant – “and you’ll wear my crown.”

Rodney got paper as
Wide as the Waterford,
Inkpots like oceans and pen nibs like spears.
“Portraits I’ll draw you, and
Capture your Hartlepool –
Mind you,” he said, “It might take a few years.”

II.

Rodney worked tirelessly,
Fair skies or Nottingham,
Drawing these pictures of sizes ne’er seen –
Always did his best, and
Never would Fakenham
Although his master was frequently mean.

Finally one day, he said
“Look on my Workington!”
In barged the giant, excited and loud.
“What!” yelled he.  “Finished?  This
Paper is Whitehaven!
Nary a mark you’ve made! That’s not allowed!”

“Look a bit closer,” said
Rod; “It’s still Newcastle.”
Then, as the ogre peered over the page,
Rodney crept up and then
Shrieked like a Shrewsbury,
Piercing the giant with pens in a rage!

Bleeding, the giant fell
Dead in the Dorchester;
Rodney took over his keep and his court.
Later he’d say, with a
Smile like a Scarborough:
“Always remember, art’s long and life’s short.”
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TODAY'S DRIFTWOOD:  "Sell all and buy liberty." (Patrick Henry)