Fit For A Greatersnatch

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Fantasy  |  House: Booksie Classic
A whimsical, nonsense poem in the tradition of Lewis Carroll but with the tone of Samuel Taylor Coleridge both of whom I have admired greatly over the years. Rhyme is perhaps a depreciated form of poetry these days even though it is not an easy format to do without sounding forced or trite.

Not that I am saying I have achieved the same just a play around with words and concepts that I had immense fun in creating.

I hope there are those that will enjoy it half as much as I enjoyed writing it.

Submitted: September 02, 2018

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Submitted: September 02, 2018



(Apologies to Samuel Coleridge and Lewis Carroll)

Slytherin across the blustrades we twardle
Avast the greynormous cliffs of Invargle
Their sprightly shadows fall on whitened brows
Like soft brown stripes on slow Afghani sows

Twas but a speckle in the caverness blueness
That widened skyvista of azure imbuement
When first we espied the dotted mass in the farinstance
And watched its approach with rapt childlike insistence

Slouietly and sloently the figment dipscended
Thin filaments of light raditiously resplendent
Disperceptively accruing rapacious appendments
On the slouiet descent to our lonely sandbankment

Without abatement it continued its dipscention
Its dotiness growing in measured immenseness
Transforming slowly til finaltiously it presented
As a flocksical known as “Separatisious Maloventness”

“Tis a Greatersnatch!” we yelried as one
And snaggled deeper off the sandshore
“Tis a Greatersnatch!” we crielled for fun
Fright fear forcing our hystorantic furor
“Tis a Greatersnatch!” we said and all was undone
(For as we all know, thrice three is an ominous sum)

A crueler terror than the Greatersnatch does not exist
Except perhaps the Snark, but that is mere myth
This Greatersnatch was real and faraway fiercer
And extremely hungry by its present demeanor

The creature’s sharp montetudal claws
Were perpusually smeared with incremented gore
Deadly and ragged, they seized and they tore
A devilish abomination to one and for all

Its giant fleweathers, as large as long oars
Flappedled and shilivered as a matter of course
Its eagle eye, that giant solitary orb
Starooked relentlessly, never blinked, never paused

On its ample breast, I hesitate to confess
The bright red stains and flittered flesh
Gave testament to the fiends past feasts
Of human, fowl and all manner of beast

Small crodents scamperated into their burrows
With sqreiks and cryells of abject stark horror
They plumped down in the ground then turned again
To lift their striangled heads atove the smalafe glen

A groar sounded within the foresungle green
That edgined the sandshore that glittered pristine
“No doubt a Lioger”  intoned the first mate
“With that at our backs, there will be no escape”

Our smalittle group huddled askewish
Amidst the shadows of those great clingiffs
Seeking shelter inside scatterands of shrubbery
Praying salvescue from the terrifying banshee

“We’re doomed” yelied the Bowman
Who was wont to such reactions
He was as skitlish as a woman
But with none of the attractions

(Resplendressed in a floppsy coat
He also wore a wide rimmed stoat
Which, whenever the opporcassion arose
He would flipspin around by its little grey toes!)

“The Greatersnatch downproaches!” he hastily cried
Pointing upward at the ravenous demon
Quicaster than a Banderstrike the Greatersnatch dived
And swoopelled up the indignant Bowman

And so our dear friend met his untimely demise
The finonly reminder, his finonly reprise
A paiset of empty shoeots on that stark sandshore
Clear proof of the speed of the Greatersnatchs claws

“Oh fuchits” yelried our stoutheavy Quartermaster
Normsually unlouded and a reportedly good father
“Oh fuchits” he crielled with overwhelming abandon
“That monster has takeaten our own dear Bowman!”

Unheedtupidly he walked to the place on the ground
Where The Bowman’s shoeots stodaiting to be found
Upon that same sandface he threw himself down
And proceeded to wail, to sobry and to pound

Quicaster than a crazed Bojolie
The Greatersnatch plucrabbed and swallowed him wholly.

In the foresungle the Lioger groared once more
Then all fell quisilent on that desolate shore

Our pair of grimly plumbwrights, full of bluster
Tried climcaling the walliffs to evade the disaster
The first twin, TweeSlumber carried the grapple
The second twin, TweeBumbler shouldered the tackle

End over end they juxtaposed their migrations
In a tremulous pendulums that raised their elevations.
A feat of acrobatics quite utterly astounding
Their perilous escape both thrilling and rebounding

But quicaster than a Boojub’s prayer
The Greatersnatch struiked and carried off the pair

From deep inside that greemerald foresungle
The Lioger’s groars twice echoed and rumbled.

Young Tom Clipsal was our party’s solonly jester
Always the life of any meeting or fiesta
Now whitinened and wan and bereft of all laughter
His whip thin body appearing impossibly gaunter

The harlequin bells jingjangled to the beat of his shivers
While his ridiculong shoes stamped out a staccato of jitters
In foolifearediness he ran from his quiesafe covehelter
Dingdingling and slapflapping from the furious impaler.

Quicaster than a ProngHorns frown
The Greatersnatch pounceapt and gobbled him down.

From a distance unfar we shortly detected
The Lioger’s groar, by now quite expected.

So, one by one my trusloyal group were swallowed up
And at each loss the Lioger’s full groar would erupt
Until finalastly I was alone in that dwarful dead land
All was quisilent, I was the finonly finlast living man

As the Greatersnatch starooked me with its reddened eye
My whole life flickered past, I cannot tell you a lie
But with no reason or notion that could indicate why
The creature merely turned and upsended with a sigh

On that dead sandhore I was alone and strandicated
With all my good matriends long since dissipated
Risking death and worse I ploalked back here
To relate my sad taltory in this pub with no beer

© Copyright 2018 Paul R. All rights reserved.

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