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.
