A Midsummer Night's Massacre
A Midsummer Night’s Massacre
“Again” Acorn asked “and avoid all allusions
And also ambiguity!
Truth must be located and disseminated
Throughout the constabulary!”
“But brother, believe,” bellowed Bramble and Briar
“Bereavement brings blood and brings bile.”
“He’ll be free to go as soon as we know
What happened in that leafy pile.”
“The chaotic cacophony,” Cinnamon cried
And besides collecting, disturbing, expecting,
Four giants horrifically
Decided to drop deciduous death
On daffodils and dandelions.
The pile grew higher, the funeral pyre
Of thousands of petals and scions.
Every expression of every ego,
Each exclamation of Earth,
Was roundly ignored by the gigantic horde
In their apocalyptical mirth.
Fiercely, the fatal flames finished their foes,
A fannable furnace of fear.
Infernal justice? Killing leaves musters
No obstacles. Palpably queer
Grew the gargantuan guffawing gits,
Gleeful and ghastly and gay.
Maybe the dance or the fatal parlance
Of the fire pleased ‘em, who can say?
Hellishly howling at their hateful holocaust,
Hideously heaping on hurt,
They regretted the plight, once they caught sight, of
A hedgehog alight in the dirt.
Insensitive ignorance, I’ll illustrate,
Immolation indecent and ill –
Rescued summarily, this urchin verily
Wailed a xenophobe’s yell,
Jittery, jeered at, just jeopardised.
My jealousy jabbered and jumped –
Why should this urchin deserve such attention
While all of we flora are dumped,
Kept for kaput, KO-ed and kowtowed,
Kicked by these keen kings of karma?
Between blood and sap, what difference is that
That they watch us burn, and stay calmer?
Left in the lurch, leached of liaisons,
Laboured a little lone leaf,
Zounds, and besides, continental divides of
Entirely fiery grief
Masterfully menaced the muddled up mite
Meticulous in their malaise.
They burned him to bits, the venomous shits
Caught up in a blistering craze.
Near to this nasty, non-natural negator,
I needed a nearby niche,
For I stood in the way of this murderous flame
And I burn as one bruises a peach.
One opportunity offered oasis,
Obstinate to be obliged.
How I just kept living, myths now omitting,
Promises quail regicide!
Pilching peripherally from the perimeter
Prior to perching, the pest!
The head of the clique snatched leaves with her beak
To line her palatial nest.
Quaking and quivering, quashed by this quandary,
Queasy and quelled by this Queen,
I hoped beyond hope that she’d pick this poor dope
To anoint her newborns’ nursery.
Rejoice, oh rejoice, I rebutted the razing
To relate this rebellion real!
Simplicity tickles, unbearable victuals
Wasted that xenophobe’s yield.
Salvation sensed, I submitted a signal,
A scent of such seductive strength
That in a few seconds, my soon-to-be weapon
Had lured her to snatch up my length.
Tucked away tightly, transported from threatening
Titans, though terrified,
I resolved swiftly that I did not wish me
Wallpaper, no matter how fine.
Using my utmost, I unleashed an update of
Zounds, atishoo, banished Cinnamon drew
Exhalation from good herbalment.
Vicious velocity veered the victim
To vex and vandalise,
For the sneeze’s own torrent was so abhorrent
It blew her nest into the skies.
Wailing and wittering, they wobbled world-wards
Weak of wing, woefully so,
The plummeting progeny of royal homogeny
Splattered like eggs on the road.
Xenogenous, oh xerotripsis xylophagous
No xenial xenagogues here
Impishly jettisoned – kindred, listen!
My narrative’s o’er, persevere.
Yanked o’er the yawning yield of yester-yipping,
The yolk of the young o’er a yard,
I soared on the wind from the site of such sin
And landed here, safe from harm.
Zipped like a zephyr, zig-zagged and zoomed
I was no zealot of zen,
But though I panicked, I could not have planned it
My escape was Mother-Earth’s ken.
I’ve answered your questions, I’ve told you my story.
We’ve all learned our lessons. Acorn, I implore thee
For now my bed beckons, for, no doubt, before me
Are days of impressions that I’ll fill with glory
When telling the tale, the incredible tale,
To every seedling and every snail,
To every forest, and mountain and dale,
The legend of how I defeated the Quail,
And from the inferno did flee, yes me, and
From the inferno did flee.
Ah behold, could death ever force Gaia’s hand
If judicious karma loves me?
Xenagogue – a guide, someone who conducts strangers
Xenial – of or concerning hospitality towards guests
Xenogenous – due to an outside cause
Xerotripsis – dry friction
Xylophagous - wood-eating
I'm pretty happy with it, over all. There are some jumps in the meter, and a few slightly stretched rhymes I might come back to (jettisoned/listen in stanza 24 being the obvious one), and I did invent the word herbalment, whatever that means, but Shakespeare invented a load of words, and everyone thinks he's a genius. Which he is. And I'm not. But fuck it, I discovered some amazing words along the way - did you know that ultramontane means either south of the Alps or being an extreme supporter of the Pope?
Anyhoo, I'm not funny like Tim or Johnny, so I'm not going to try to be. That said, if I were going to write a historical context, it would look something like this:
"The Triumverate of Alphabetical Discourse is a relatively fresh style of poetry. It's origins lie in the early 1900s, when the popularity of the world's best nonsense poet Edward lear, responsible for such magnum opi as the Owl and the Pussycat. Lewis Carroll was perhaps the originator of the movement, paying beautiful homage to Lear's work with the unforgettable Jabberwocky, though he did not invent the form. Where exactly the TAD began is lost in the mists of time, but what is known is that by the middle of the 20th century, interest in the form had been almost lost. Despite rampaging its way across poetry bars and readings from new York to New Orleans, and currying particular favour with the beatniks, who were drawn like flies to the horse by the captivating meter, the form never made its way to the dizzying heights of, say, the limerick, or the ballad. Nonetheless, it has found new popularity in the new century, and, with the rules finally formalised in all the major languages, disagreements about what exactly constitutes a TAD have boiled down from an inferno to a simmer."