The Gamechnoid
Trilogy – Part I - The Eibe
Dragons fire
breaths death – life
– rebirth
the small knight
in a fight
his plight
tarnished
his domain weakened
a princess in a tower
hair flowing silver
blonde
sends a love spell dove
mail
to her brave warrior.
Dayna the freelance
jester
steps on the dragons
tail
for effect,
quick reflexes
tail lashes
a cart smashes
the donkey honks goose
calls
calls The Gamechnoid
the slayer of dragons
the wizard of Etheron
the wise man of
Sagerious.
An eagle, Fradickon
swoops to the call
changes shape to giant
man
strides south
noose in mouth
where else
the River Eibe shallows
where a huge foot leaps
the shadow cast on
little animals
running helter skelter.
The death of a dragon
ensured
when man and giant
battle
side by side, the hiss
of steam
the drowning of smoke
in a frigid River Eibe
a Princess sings, dove
mail returned.
The Gamechnoid
Trilogy – Part II – Pansture Castle
A lady in red
lays in bed
as if she was wed
the Prince of Ewermore
saddles Actuute,
ready for the long ride
home
Sathmore the Peregrine
Falcon swoops
another small rodent
for cat food
a brittle ice covers
the Glade of Hericles
women wash clothes
through holes
hacked with sturdy
Whippet Poles
the lace of masters and
mistresses
laid in a drying winter
sun,
the passing of an
entourage noticed
A giant eagle floats
above the group
it’s wise eyes and
knowing head
searching ahead for
vagabonds and thieves
anything that can
interrupt love.
The castle flexes its
bulk,
ramparts strengthened
and garnished
dust and dirt thrown
off
the ladies and
gentlemen warned
Death stalks every
second.
The Gamechnoid
Trilogy – Part III Harmenquast Union
The horns of invisible
trumpeters ring out
the billowing blossom
of fluffy white clouds
the majestic wave of
long green grasses
the raising of Hell’s
Gate at the south end
the direction from
which the travellers come.
Gate Post seven on the
edge of Glockmere
the old petrified
forest of Etheron, now the great
raise the banner
proclaiming the passing
of the retinue, The
Prince of Ewermore
a jester, and falcon,
eagle wizard overhead
a princess now looks
from her seventh tower window.
The fanfare grows
louder the closer they approach
then an Eagle swoops
and becomes a man
the prince disappears
into a jester
an eagle leaps around
as a frog
and the whole menagerie
turn away from the castle
and find a place in a
passing circus.
And ......
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.
