an extract from my novella-poem "Sludge White and the Seven Curmudgeons"

this brief extract recounts the terror raining from the skies
that the Curmudgeons (& Pally, the transvestite barmaid)
encountered as they made their way home after rescuing
Nate the Woodsman from the elite's clutches.

(this bit is not for the faint of heart)
* * * * *
as the night wore on the cryptic mist lifted.

shards of starshine skimmed the surface of the earth.

by dawn even shade loving nooks and crannies

had dislodged the haze from its hovering berth.

Mock was astonished to find himself waking

and the cavalcade advancing on the woods.

though Sappy and Gropey scratched their groggy heads,

snores were still seeping from several slumping hoods.

the sun warmed the hills in ByWater Landing,

tanning fishwives and ferrymen on the dock.

children splashed laughter on the glistening beach,

while skipping and squealing and running amok.

when the file of Curmudgeons reached the river,

as that's where the ponies had wanted to go;

a flying contraption sundered the heavens,

a throbbing steal beast that flashed a baleful glow.

the destruction it unloaded was blinding;

the crater it gouged inconceivably vast.

Sappy tried to steady his rupturing chest,

certain his heart would be shattered by the blast.

when it was over and the ground laid back down,

they frantically inspected all that was left.

what was missing took longer to tally;

of its children the Landing was wholly bereft.

Pally raked the dirt in a frenzied fury,

despairing disbelief distorting his eyes.

even muscular Mock couldn't constrain him

or soothe his wounded, inconsolable cries.

but his outbursts were hushed and his struggles stilled

when unbearable shock left him dazed and numb

on discovering a foot in a sandal

and fingers still clasping a miniature thumb.

and they placed him on a shying pony

tendered by the mercy of the carpenter's hands,

then went on helping the desolate peasants

sift for survivors in the stained, shifting sands.

yet their efforts only piled on torment

for naught that's familiar was wrought in that hell;

only twisted, uninhabited fragments,

and the futile corpse of a cracked, chapel bell.

the prospects for rescue steadily decreased

till the misery was utterly unmixed.

in the silence the Curmudgeons remounted

while the neighbors stood by, wooden and transfixed.

like disfigured effigies stripped of their limbs

their senses were blunted and their dreams effaced.

whatever befell this town without children

its stolen future could never be replaced.

leaving ByWater Landing to its sorrow

they took comfort in the shadow of the trees.

but the keening of the mourners stayed with them,

its burden of aching distressing the breeze.

the rest of the day passed without discourse

as each on their own tried to fathom the attack.

the madness they'd witnessed offended reason

and even the ponies were taken aback.

*****

(thus ends the excerpt. - Evan Hawthorn, 14th of April, 2015)