The
Hawg Series -1– A Date with Destiny
She danced
with silver feet,
Delaney
watched, eyes glued to the tap
the light
infantry of dance steps
the miniscule
telling of Hawg’s delight.
Gerard
Skinduly held a rifle
an ungainly
act for a career politician
the photo
shot a chance for pennies,
Margery the
photographer tilts her chin.
Hawg sniffs
glue, has done since 7
remembers
Doom 3 and Battlestar Galatica
his lithe
frame attuned to sudden movement
the girls of
Satswanry keep his pleasure.
Delaney’s
got a boil in the middle of her head
such is the
way of ShapeDancerettes,
days wind on
with a well worn clock
Hawg starts
his dinner, a Moro bar
and smiles at
the destruction splattered on TV
the
Islamabad’s fighting with their masters
the Iranian
Peace Corp fighting Oilrigs
the Israeli
Opposition winning peace.
The dance
continues, she soars aloft,
reaches for a
piñata, burst starlike into the night
the daisy
chains of laughter rocket around,
all in
viewing order assuaged to the effect.
Badly lit
stairs trip an assassin, death like stride
to the top of
the stairs and the dancing queen,
Hawg’s onto
it straight away, spills the glue
and runs full
pelt into the landing, gun ready
The Ninja of
his arcade game days to the fore,
fires a
volley at the running assassin, death in the back
the hole wide
enough for two dogs to run through,
a blast as
equal as a Doom 3 shot against 10 troopers.
The dancer
with star shine eyes smiles laconically
reaches for a
tissue, light strobes of tears tumbling,
then she
starts to spiral, and howl, the baying wolf,
dance of
death and sadness , a cantilevered moan.
The
Hawg Series -2– Why she Vomited
Hawg carried
his lofty Prize
a King
Charles Spaniel stuffed with down
and a built
in bark, carried it to the mantel
and placed it
with his Ox Eye Tibetan trophy
and the
picture of He meeting the President,
July 2213
she waxed
lyrical as you do in Cliché Lounge
the star
light still shining from silver slippers
the memory of
Hawg in her mind, the gunman
still lying
in the stairwell as she danced home,
she vomited
twice passing him, knew it was right,
“Mr
President, are you taking calls, Hawg Senior”
The phone
handed over, a few mutterings, silence
a cough to
clear a rustic voicebox, sherry sipped
“Yes
of Course Mr Hawg, send him to the DYI,
A baby in a
perambulator pushed by one mother,
it’s not
unusual - multiple mothers in these tough days
the more the
merrier in days when assassins ruin,
but a single
mother with her baby walks past Hawg
as he stepped
down from a stoop, legged it to Hinnies
to meet with
the Dancing Queen, his girl in bright silver
the sun
shining from her hair, her lips dry from vomit.
He answered
his blipphone, a suicide bomber panting
wanting to
rescind his ways, become something normal
He bends and
touches her toes, feels a baby coming,
says his
apologies and rushes for Grand Centralle
Spies the
bomber pulling a string from his vest
and charges
with full force, yelling to all to duck,
the bomber
see him and pulls the string harder
but nothing
happens, the bomb faulty, disarmed
they both
walk off to a local Precinct, to capture.
Hawg senior
stands with his son’s fifth citation
such is the
way in superheroes land.
The
Hawg Series -3- The Tap Dancers Pirouette
Hawg sits at
his favourite bus stop,
the seat
placed opposite myriad house gardens
suspended by
due rods from window’s
the five
storey apartment alive with joie d’evrie
see a friend
lean precariously out of her window
2nd storey,
far right, the one with the triple planter
sees he hover
out the window, silver littering her path
as she began
her daily ritual, the dance of watering
she soared
through the air and started her dance
two step
tripping twofold over ten entrancing violets
the music of
her song the reverie of faeries, nymphs
the silver
rain of love water oozing from her sandals
Hawg measured
the distance, as he always did,
sent an arrow
with unerring accuracy, pin point
that flew
through the open window and imbedded
in a
messageboard built for such love and attention.
The assassin
down the road steadied his Lazrifle,
the young
dancer in his laser sight, aiming, zeroing
ready to pull
the trigger, another arrow from Hawg
true to aim,
the lady saved, his lady, his pet, his!
Hawg stands,
hits his phasephone, calls her indoors
the day bound
to be routed with wayward minds
the flowers
happy with their watering, silver dripping
to a
boardwalk empty save for one dog scratching .
The
Hawg Series -4- The Hawg
What is a
Hawg? Why do they exist?
Are they
Human, cyberbotics, superhero?
Well that’s
an easy one really.
You need to
know this, see in the year 2156
an alien
invasion was thwarted by Planet Gearth
by and large
Humans
and their
thermonuclear weapons;
for once all
fought as one
But as a
result, Radiorobotic cyborgs
survived the
war, the machines of servitude
the invaders
slaved and used.
Yes they
could regenerate, much like humans
and soon
became servants of Mankind
to help save
Gearth from another attack,
until one
day, a vagrant disease, ape we think
lowered all
till one was left, Hawg Senior.
He was
quarantined and studied so that his secrets
and many
there were, could be enhanced to aid
mankind in
it’s search for security from outer space,
and he was
enticed by a woman, intense lust
and as a
result a human Hawg was born, the mother
a space cadet
with Planet Gearth Consortium
reared her
child for three months until it was realised
the child was
starting to develop too quickly,
the
realisation that nature had been interfered with,
the
realisation the child Hawg II was something else,
the
realisation the kid had special powers, the ringing
of the
telephone from outside the area where phones
were frozen
in servitude, the knack to know when
others were
around, his special powers of knowing.
He grew
rapidly, but at the same time, he grew things
not evident
in Man or Cyborg, the antennae that could
and often
would, locate Nijahoe Assassins, like the
one that
almost killed his mother, she now a retired
scapegoat for
man’s folly, the son now well and truly
a Presidents
Man. And now, many Presidents past
a mother
denied longevity, and a father, Hawg Snr.
now a World
Icon, last of the species on this planet,
and of
course, at 57, the super fit, super intelligent
Hawg II or as
he is known in society The Hawg.
Why I hear
you ask, the Nijahoe Assassins,
from a day
where Jihad
and Kamikaze
were catch
cries,
the days when
Yellow and Brown evolved
to beat
White.
A war that
still rages, but now only the Nijahoe chase
the breeding
pogrom of the superheroes,
the dancers
in Silver and Gold
the ladies of
magnitude
and one in
particular
the one to
bear child of the Hawg.
They all know
her well. The Hawg knows her better.
And is
winning her safety.
The
Hawg Series -5- The Girls of Satswanry
The dancers
of silver feet, they are,
a scant ten
in a world where fewer
is the norm,
the remnants of fighting
the dancer
girls of royalty, selected, trained
the
girlfriends of Superheroes.
Hawg’s lady
has no name, she just is
he likes it
that way too, least the human side does
the Hawg side
calculates continuance
both sides
agree she’s the one for all
A new
President in the making,
president of
anything, maybe hero
maybe like
his (or her) dad,
maybe
hopefully a silver dancer
supreme in
her knowledge of stairways
the ability
to water plants from feet
the lofty
heights of star, moon
and anything
in the sky revolving.
Hawg calls
her Sparkler, and she’s happy
happy to have
a human name, a human face
to be once
human now a starlet shining,
like her
sisters, to delight all eyes,
except those
of the Nijahoe, the hated
the assassins
of all things beautiful,
Today she
found the arrow in the noticeboard,
another tally
of Her Hawg, after watering the plants,
she knew,
cyber transmitted to her girlfriends
a warning,
that they had found her, were aiming
they cyber
replied things are cool their end
Hawg senior
had visited everyone, explained
The Hawg sat
motionless on a park bench
South Central
Presidential Park, under the Yew
dedicated to
the Hawg of the past, counted his arrows
and cybered
Ten Central for replacements, pronto
A lady of
Leisure sauntered up, raised a skirt
The Hawg just
motioned her to leave, to depart
and find a
Human of apt quality to fulfill her needs.
The Moto
scoota passed through the Amber Light
the corner of
Tenth and Henry, at a speed designed
not to be
surpassed by even Law Cruisers,
came to a
stop at the Yew, a package dropped
then scooted
away, off to another Government errand.
The Hawg
chose his moment to bend over and uplift,
Swirling
Death Disks, three in total, whizzed overhead,
the vector
200 metres at 140. ten arrows in action
ten targets
acquired (the arrows register cybertalk)
The Lady of
the Dance senses his home coming
his glee,
notices on the message pad eleven Nijahoe
in two days,
they were upping the ante, destruction,
of the
Dancers, the Hawg’s, all off planeteers,
the battle
goes on, life well and truly in the balance.
The
Hawg Series -6- The Elimination of the Nijahoe
It’s been
another 24 years, Hawg III and Father
in seclusion,
with mother and wife, succour
they make a
rare excursion out, the Nijahoe silent
unaware as to
their location. the Hawg senses
not too far
away, maybe a day’s trip, silence
the Doktour
runs his calculations, His Nijahoe
ready to
unleash the minute the sensor activates,
the Hawg’s
Arrows his DEAD giveaway,
Nijahoe
manufactured, why The Hawg finds
victims so
easy in range, but in 24 years
the Nijahoe
have grown again, expanded
until the
plight of Two Hawg’s lends existence
or non
existence to a deadly cause, wasted
the many
human rabbits, many simulated Hawgs
many times
the fighters of the Old Millennium
strike
targets in readiness of the return of the Hawg
to see if his
son was the same brute force, powerful
together as
one or solo strength, the power
about to be
unleashed, the sensor goes off
Red Rum
Hanging Tree, a town on Gourmands.
All Nijahoe
deployed, all fifty four, the nearest
ten miles as
the crow flies, as a Nijahoe strides
the sensor
only points to one, the Hawg himself,
but still he
won’t handle 54, 30 at most, maybe more
dependant on
the newest weapons developed
over time and
hiding, the first Nijahoe in range,
taken out at
3 miles, a well aimed arrow, dead
then 2 then
three, and soon the pile grows to 15,
reroute,
reconnaissance, search for the boy
the true
target, does he dance hovering Mum like
or is he the
ever present Bulk of Hawgishness,
soon a reply,
they sense but cannot see, a hunch
Invisible,
dancing above the ground, spreading
poisonous
Daytura Juice, Nijahoe choking
poison to
their veins, hallucinations, self kill
The flight of
son carrying father, both exhausted
back to the
lair, to Mummy’s Den, the lady’s palace,
the Nijahoe a
thing of the past, life changing, curtains
pulled wide
open, what other changes in those years
what other
enemies for the three aliens of Gearth.
The
Hawg Series –7- The Ladies of the Dance retire
She still
hovers daily, feet pointed down, toes dipped
silver
sensation dripping and littering the hover
the smile
everlasting for a man and boy, hers
she says
little, just creates beauty with each pass.
They now live
in a woodlands, separated by fields
cityscape
still strong in the blood, in the eye line
all three
retired heroes of civilisation, each tree
a home for
silver dancers, their men folk, humans mostly,
The days made
up of dancing, weaving, magic
the days
short, the nights long, the ladies sing,
the men,
dance, warriors full of vim and vigour,
the days full
of laughter and beer, barring the Hawgs
no the Hawgs
are busy still, son and father, cops
in
intergalactic affairs, journeys to far off places
their lady in
toe to assist with her skills of observance,
all three,
though retired in mind, in kind, behind
Rooftop Yew
12, the great heart of Time and Space
the tree that
beats out the rhythm of Heartbeats
the master of
the Oaks, keeper of the Redwoods
the Great
Tree of Masterkind, the scholars, invent,
the
triumvirate Man, Woman, Home the purest
the sanest it
has been for eons, the doors open now
society safe
from Nijahoe terrorists, of Street Urchins,
the little
overgrown rogues of Brroklin, a subcity
The ladies
still dance, the 12, a remnant of past times
a time when
the Geisha Honies were given their gift
now in semi
retirement, dancing less, singing more
the Great
Annie Lennox – Ladies Mother, crooner,
Gave them
voice, passed it on, and they sing longingly
for their
former dance partners, Great Cops of Ludite
all in
passing now, just the Humans, the superheroes,
the lonely
Hawgs, the lonely trees, all company for life,
retirement,
until the need to fight inner and outer space
until the
need to reactivate, to reinvent, to breath, live
to sing and
dance with their ladies, mom’s, sisters
to forget the
horror of the past, build a future.
The
Hawg Series -8- Retirement.
The Hawgs 186
now, his boy a little younger
they’ve
both been off planet saving Gearth
the lady (and
mother) training Silver Dancers
a time when
peace rules supreme, quiescence,
Two days from
now, Hawg will lay down his legacy,
his peace and
quiet for his retirement, writing
memoirs of
adventures and battles, won or lost
the proof
that Gearth is relatively safe for eons
Hawg Junior
to take command
of the Gearth
Intergalactic Force
To deal with
the mechanics of power
to let his
father pamper his mother
It’s
written in glass,
the end of an
era,
the end of
time
for the Hawg.
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