Pulp Diction
Twisting of words and
turning of phrases
by Robert Cameron Hazelton
Briar's Patch
I
While walking through the woods one day
I heard a rustling sound,
by peeking through the leafy splay
a brand new world was found-
quite startled, I beheld an elf
who smirked then introduced himself.
"Be steady man, I mean no ill
consider me a friend,
my name is Briar from yon hill
an onus to expend,
so listen now as I regale
a strange and tragic sylvan tale."
Intrigued by this impromptu plea
I swallowed down my shock
meandered to the nearest tree
and sat upon a rock
"Okay" I said, intent on him,
"and by the way, my name is Jim."
He gave me an appraising glance
then let a chuckle slip,
assumed a most dramatic stance
one hand upon his hip
a scripted pause, then he began
the saga of his troubled clan.
"For eons we have roamed this place
at peace with all around
avoiding those who sought our race
by living underground
the shield of nature's verdant arm
has kept us safe from any harm.
But one day not too long ago
a strangely shriveled sprite
found the place where we lay low
and told us of her plight
a necromancer very grim
pursued a sly malicious whim."
Once more he paused and slowly cast
a most discerning stare,
some kind of test I must have passed
for he said, "Now prepare
yourself to hear some gruesome facts
which just may drive you from these tracts."
My interest piqued, I merely shrugged
allowing him to speak
apparently the dam unplugged
and then in one long streak
he blurted out the ugly truth
his knuckle gnawed by nervous tooth.
"It seems this cur, by name of Zack
has somehow found a way
to siphon off what he should lack,
his power grows each day
but also warps his addled mind
which rots inside a fragile rind.
He seeks all creatures who possess
the mystic eldritch spark
to feed on them with eagerness
while welcoming the dark
that shrouds his heart with blackest silk
the foulest foe of fiendish ilk."
I cleared my throat respectfully
to interrupt his spiel
"So what's this got to do with me?
Divulge the real deal."
Once more he chortled, eyes aslant
"My, my you are impertinent,
all right, here goes, I need your aid
our nemesis is strong
'tis fate that led you to this glade
my instinct's never wrong
so please come with me to our cave
we'll sup, then plan to beat this knave."
I gauged his twinkling impish eyes
uncertain of this quest
but much to his unmasked surprise
benignly acquiesced,
"We'll make an effort not to flub
now let's go get some elfin grub."
II
And thus the human Jim
along with valiant Briar elf
would take a chance, though slim,
to reach beyond the centered self
to face a grueling test
defending those innately meek;
we bow at Fate's behest
or scale the highest snowy peak.
So Briar led this gangly
man to chambers down below
where whispered spurts of slang
revealed how little humans know
his clan distrusted those
that weren't conceived in open fields
they'd witnessed jealous throes
with all the horror hatred wields,
but kindly showed the hand
of truce proffering a repast
"Eat all that you can stand,
for this could surely be your last."
The food was truly strange
but still the best he'd ever had
amazed at such a range
of tastes Jim gorged himself like mad
from ant-encrusted cakes
composed of sticky honeyed grain
to frothy fruity shakes
which made him numb with frozen brain;
he sampled all the treats
he could, his gusto quite intense
apparently the threat
of death enlivened every sense
but once he felt his hunger
fade his fear began to grow
he knew the evil monger
would be ready for a show.
"So Briar, tell me what
the heck are we supposed to do?
This Zack sounds like a butt
head who will strike if we pursue;
perhaps a trap would be
the best, but who would be the bait?"
and gasping Jim could see
that this was sadly Briar's fate.
© Bob Hazelton 2007
...to be continued next month.
Editor's Note: Bob Hazelton, a great
believer in brevity, was once asked why he always wrote such
short poems...they asked for it.
This is one of his finest works in my
opinion. I can just see it illustrated and in book form. It's
an epic tale that will be told in it's entirety next month. And
one day, when it's illustrated and published, I want the first
copy Bob!
Robert Cameron Hazelton lives
in Amsterdam, New York and writes the poetry blog Average
Poet.
For more from Robert visit his
columns: December,
then, before;
and his poetry: December,
then and before.
Or his online home.
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