Chalcid

A long while ago, in a forest so dark
Where the trees were so thick, the sun made no mark
There lived a young Weedle, the runt of the swarm
His egg had been damaged on the night of a storm.

The others looked down upon the scrawny young thing
Too weak to use string shot or even his sting
No prowess in battle, not cute and not smart
Domestication just wasn’t his art.

No wish to contest, no desire to battle
Didn’t want to be like the rest of the cattle
He wanted to dance, to perform and to sing
A stage act with unlimited joy to bring.

The elders mocked his lack of use to a trainer
‘What use would they have for an entertainer?’
The plucky young Weedle remained undeterred
One day his voice would not go unheard.

He practiced his act, all night and all day
He knew that nothing would stand in his way
No Kakuna, no Beedrill would tell him what to do
When he was the star they’d all look up to.

He was training one evening out by the pond
When a young girl startled him, looked like a blonde
Her clothes were just rags, her face caked in mud
Just like him, she was misunderstood.

She saw the young bug and smiled down at him
She kneeled to him and offered a limb
He looked up at her, saw her puffy blue eyes
He knew how it felt to feel pint-size.

He sniffed at her hand, she smelled of despair
No home to live in, nobody to care
She lived in the woods, like him an outcast
Fate had brought them together at last.

Over the years, they grew stronger together
There for each other, no matter the weather
The young girl blossomed into a dame
Weedle’s songs hailed with much acclaim.

He gave her hope, she learned how to smile
She had reason, her life seemed worthwhile
Together they lived in a house by the beach
Both of their pasts far out of reach.

One day his young lady found a strange stone
A crystalline mystery with powers unknown
Weedle’s talents brought fortune and glory
But that is not the end of his story.

He woke in a panic early one day
He sensed there was trouble far away
The rest of his colony were under attack
The hive mind told him, he had to go back.

He frantically called for his friend to assist
In taking him back to the home he’d dismissed
She carried him up, they couldn’t leave any sooner
His skin began to glow. Evolution. Kakuna.

Stronger than ever, with a keratin shell
His newly improved form would give them hell
His girl gave him courage, his mind not at ease
He had to save the rest of the bees.

He didn’t know why, he didn’t know how
He just knew, his time was now
This would be the day that he’d prove his self-worth
He’d leave their enemies dead in the earth.

For hour upon hour, they travelled by land
By car, by bike, on path and on sand
Until they finally reached the edge of woods
Saw the stumps of trees, bodies & blood.

A rage was building inside our young hero
He had to prove he wasn’t a zero
A bloodcurdling scream, he was going to kill
For him to do that, he must be a Beedrill.

He looked at his girl with anger in his eyes
He told her that he needed her prize
The stone she found on the beach before
Would Mega-Evolve him, weak no more.

She looked at her friend with his golden cocoon
Surely evolving for him was too soon?
She held the stone against his chest
She closed her eyes and hoped for the best.

A great white glow erupted from him
Unleashing a great power from within
He emerged from the light, an avatar of fear
The price for attacking his home would be dear.

He flew through the woods, to the heart of the hive
To see who still remained dead or alive
He reached the centre, a small enclosed pocket
The villains were there, the scum of Team Rocket.

He lunged at the men with his Fell Stinger raised
The rest of his family were completely amazed
He struck at the crooks with a trusting blow
They fell to the ground, their efforts so-so.

Our Beedrill, the hero, had one last trick to bring
He’d show the rest of the group how to sing
The attacker fled from the scene because of the sound
Of their harmonious devastating Round.

And so ends the story of a singing insect
Who overcame his years of neglect
This just goes to show you, you never can tell
Who’ll save your skin from an evil cartel.

Spoiler

Target Mon - Weedle
Rank: Easiest - 3k
Char Count: 4053

Tried something a little different, hopefully it works

 

Prolly woulda been graded faster if you posted on PWN... idk man...

grade up soon!

 

Narrative:

I adore the story you put in place
that put the reader and Weedle on the chase
I wondered how the Weedle could sing, bring
his lovely lady all the world of comfort like a ring

but a good narrative excuses minor inconsistencies
like singing and the summoning of a hive mind's mysteries
when she found a Mega Stone out of nowhere I said
WHAT THE HELL
but in all truth the goodness of the story rings here like a bell
and not one of here that screams to sound the alarm
for the sweetly characterized singing Wheedle had the utmost charm.

for future stories I'd like to see
an explanation of certain salutations
of goodbye, why the Weedle had to be so different
what biological or sociological consequences made him be.

but regardless here exists
a fun story of certain twists
and while I oblige you not to compose poems,
the creativity and effort here was never amiss.

Form:

there's a lot to be said in a thorough comb
I wouldn't have attached to this a job application form
for you chased paper and pages on the mark of stability
with decent quatrains and two couplets I expected a trilogy

that being said though I implore you to explore
different form patterns that will challenge you that much more
consider the ballad for a love story or a tragedy
I'm not calling the Ancient Mariner, that bird bee's all raggedy

but the more your form matches the thought
you engender within your poem an even more profound lot
of girl and boy characters who rule the landscape of a more intellectual plot
and out of simple couplets that's something that can't be easily bought.

Nuance:

there was something amiss about the slant rhyme
"woods / blood" or "mud / understood" seemed out of time
I think you best correct this by composing this aloud
by speaking you do away with a foggy mental cloud

a poem is something meant to be sung
twist your reader up on punctuated rungs
for example I really liked "evolution. kakuna."
by forcing the speech to a close you get the story on a move-a

Assonance you could consider as a sound technique
repeat those vowels got us thinking you chic
I wanted to see more simile and metaphor
to feel more apart of the descriptive galore

but alas this grade runs long
to drag the line out any further across the page would be wrong
so here I'll say Weedle Captured
I hope you're raptured!