Pulp Diction
Twisting of words and
turning of phrases
by Robert Cameron Hazelton
Can You Hear Me Now?
 Tap-tap-tap, my fingers mechanically stroke the keys of this
black keyboard as a gentle hmmmmm fills the room from
the exhaust fan in the hood over the furnace. From the warehouse
behind me I hear engines revving vroom, and I know another
load of quality product is on its way to a customer so I can
get paid this week - ka-ching!
I love sounds. I don't know if it's because
of being a musician or a natural mimic, but the way anything
sounds fascinates me. I often burst into spontaneous imitations
of any type of noise you can imagine when watching TV, to the
chagrin of my wife (sorry honey).
There's actually a word for this type of,
well, word, and it's - Onomatopoeia (occasionally spelled
onomateopoeia or onomatopœia, from Greek  ) a word or a grouping of words
that imitates the sound it is describing.
Imagery can be so hard to construct, especially
that which involves the physical senses. Everyone experiences
things differently, but sounds are unique in that a cow says
moo in any language.
Here is one I wrote a while ago that tried
to imitate the sound a coin makes when scraping one of those
infernal scratch-off tickets that I can't seem to resist buying
whenever I'm at the convenience store:
The Coin Goes Quick
Chicka-chick,
the coin goes quick
on flashy paper ultra slick.
I've spent my share of change not spare
a little fortune's only fair!
I'm feeling prime, my scraping dime
I know will show a win this time-
Chicka-chick, the coin goes quick
when vying for that lucky pick.
And yes, for those of you wondering, my
coins have quickly gone away,
though I usually break even on the damn things.
Here is another one I thought of after
hearing of a bad forest fire started by a child with a lighter.
The title refers to the Don McLean song American Pie where
it says 'fire is the Devil's only friend':
Only Friend
*chik*
An amber imp is born
another life will soon be torn
*whoosh*
The menace quickly gains
a foothold in supporting grains
*pop*
A cache of sap explodes
unsettled by such searing goads
*crash*
The framework kisses dirt
and still this fiend is not inert
*hiss*
At last the pest subsides
but ever in the pit resides.
Ring -
my phone startles me from the state of concentration I am currently
enjoying, reminding me that there is still much to do today.
Creak, my chair protests my shifting frame which is getting
fidgety because I seldom sit this long nowadays. Slam
- I hear the big fire door close outside my office and my next
appointment is here to calibrate that furnace I spoke of earlier,
so I bid you adieu.
Robert Cameron Hazelton lives
in Amsterdam, New York and writes the poetry blog Average
Poet.
Send Bob a message either directly or using
the Word Catalyst feedback form. For more from Bob visit the
Word Catalyst archives or his online
home.
| 
Cheshire Cat
Songs of