The Writing of Thane Zander
The Hawg Series
The Hawg Series
General Poetry Six
General Poetry Seven
General Poetry Eight
General Poetry Nine
General Poetry Ten
General Poetry Eleven
General Poetry Twelve
General Poetry Thirteen
General Poetry Fourteen
General Poetry Fifteen
General Poetry Sixteen
General Poetry Seventeen
General Poetry Eighteen
General Poetry Nineteen
General Poetry Twenty
General Poetry Twenty One
General Poetry Twenty Two
General Poetry Twenty Three

The Hawg Series 


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.


Two more in the series to go.