Nundleberg, the Barking Poet of Feckleton

What child of Feckleton could possibly grow up without knowing and loving the poetry of Nundleberg, the Barking Poet of Feckleton? Every young lad or lass fondly remembers the rolling rhymes and stirring works of the poet sometimes called "Mad Nundleberg". Born to humble parents in a simple one-room shack on the outskirts of Feckleton, Nundleberg quickly distinguished himself in the literary arts, when he wrote his now famous poem "Kettle Cat". Sadly for Nundleberg, he wrote it in crayon on the wall of the shack. It is ironic that the first "payment" the greatest poet of Feckleton's history received for his work was a sound spanking.

    Kettle cat sits on the window sill
    Biting the head off a rat
    Kettle cat vomits, suddenly ill
    Talk about gross!

Of course, the section of wall on which the "Kettle Cat" poem was written has been cut out of the wall (much to the consternation of the poor old man who currently lives there) and is now on display in the lobby of the King Crouton Memorial Theatre.

As a young man, Nundleberg refused to go into his father's business (which involved scraping gum off of park benches, repackaging it, and selling it to tourists as "Bench Berries"). Instead, he insisted that he be sent to the University in Lower Warthampton, and enrolled in their literature course. Unfortunately for him, his parents were very poor, and couldn't even afford the price of a carriage ticket to Lower Warthampton, never mind the tuition! So, from the ages of 7-16, Nundleberg scraped gum off of park benches while he mumbled his poetry under his breath.

At the age of 16, Nundleberg was in the park, trying to scrape off a particularly large deposit of cherry-flavoured bubble gum, and mumbling one of his more recent compositions, "The Ballad of the Roving Navel".

    My bellybutton's moving, I think that's kinda weird
    It started on my midsection, but now its on my beard
    Its moved down to my kneecap now, and now its on my thumb
    But I like it best of all when it moves onto my bum.

Fate was with young Nundleberg that day, for sitting on the end of the bench was Professor Nink of the University of Lower Warthampton. Professor Nink taught literature at the university, and specialized in bizarre poetry! He heard Nundleberg's poem, and immediately recognized its unique power. He grabbed the young poet, and whisked him away to the university.

While at school, Nundleberg realized he had finally found a true home. He loved everything about university - the school, the books, the dorms, the cafeteria, the learning - everything, that is, except the other students. Nundleberg discovered that he despised every other student...he didn't know why, but he didn't seem to care. It was then that he developed his "barking" habit that gave him is sobriquet. Whenever another student would talk to him, or indeed, get within 20 paces, Nundleberg began barking at them. Quite loudly and viciously. Soon, the other students began calling the young poet "Nundleberg the Mad" and "Nundleberg the Barking Poet".

Nundleberg's barking served its purpose, and the other students left him well alone. This suited Nundleberg fine, and gave him plenty of time to compose his poems. In fact, shortly after he began barking, he composed one of his most famous compositions, "The Summer Flower".

    The summer flower [bark!] grows in dirt,
    The flower's [yip!] pretty, but the thorns do [growl] hurt.
    Summer flower [yip!] takes a [bark!] nap,
    Man, that flower [bark!] smells like crap.

Of course, this poem later became famous as "The Barking Flower", and was adopted as the official poem of the Feckleton Insane Actor's Guild. It was this poem that won Nundleberg the coveted "King Crouton Award for Stuff I Like". However, the poem was branded "...puerile, disgusting, annoying, and just plain awful..." by the Royal Garden's Camouflaged Gardener's Society.

Nundleberg spent the next fifteen years putting out poetry at a fantastic rate. In fact, one of the Royal Statistics Officers estimates that the Barking Poet must have been creating poems at the rate of 17 per day! Truly an astonishing and prolific poet!

In his last few days alive, Nundleberg wrote his last poem; one that seemed to prophesize his own bizarre death. The poem, called "The Flying Rock", seemed to predict Nundleberg's own last days.

    Flying rock, up in the air,
    Flying high without a care.
    I see the rock, and I ask why?
    I don't think that rocks can fly!

    The flying rock, he heard me too,
    Thought a bit, and said "Oh, pooh!"
    Because rocks can sit, but never fly,
    So the flying rock fell out of the sky.

    The flying rock fell to the ground,
    Like a missile it fell down.
    The flying rock fell on my head,
    Which really sucks, 'cause now I'm dead.

Like the character in his poem, Nundleberg the Mad, the Barking Poet of Feckleton, was struck on the head by a flying rock, and killed. Amazingly, this occurred 3 days after Nundleberg wrote this poem! Some scientists have theorized that Nundleberg was a prophet, and accurately predicted his own death. Others scoff, and say the jerk just got lucky. Some believe that assassins decided to kill Nundleberg, using a method mentioned in one of his own poems. To this day, no one knows for sure.

The only thing that is sure is that Nundleberg the Barking Poet of Feckleton remains one of Middle Oerth's finest and most talented poets.