In the year of the Pig ...

Next to flowering peach trees, I took my stance with hands clenched.
Five paces away, a masked ninja set itself hooded in black silk.
Nearby, a splash, as an agile frog propelled into padded lily-pond.
Leaping toward the black figure, I launched, spinning my awkward drunken dance.

The misty purple mountain to the east wore a dark hat flashing low rumbles.
Mushrooming thunderheads billowed above Mt. Hengshan, stirring the four winds.
Our impact was a small thunderclap, and I landed a glancing blow,  it vanished...
Drizzle began adorning the trees with diamonds, lightning, a pause... CRACK...I looked...

It's said of the parrot, it is a cunning bird able to hide openly in a fruiting branch.
A master of imitation, mimicking any voice without the need to interpret meaning.
Ghost-like, the spidery ninja crept near, it sprang up kicking my cheek, countering, I spun away...
Alarmed, the painted clown flew to the top of another tree, chattering beaked rebukes.

Staring at me, this Shinobi stealth fighter crouched shimmering silken-black in the rain,
Intrepid, I am a drunken wushu master; Kung-Fu intoxicates me with illusive slurred movements.
Abruptly, sun-beams poked, flooding holes through the clouds, quickly melting them away.
The kunoichi ninja stepped back and bowed; I bowed too.  It was over - for we both knew the truth...

© Brian Hodgkinson Jr. (aka) The Limericist 2008