Drammelslayer

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Drammelslayer

“The story of Ulysses & Agamemnon & Menelaus, of Jesus,

of the Good Knight of Chaucer lives in every one of us.”

--James Lee Burke

The baronis barricaded bungalow

                    stood on it stilt-stanchions

                    near the cusp of the Tharakian Forest;

impervious 

to the torrential Rains of Riprore

                    that came too often        unannounced,

                                                     as the pernicious purple

tides would run four feet deep,

                     sweeping all the sweet ferrischrooms

                     & fairy muklarks away, carrying

them unceremoniously down to the muddy Dartoon Delta,

where the pink-winged garfs

                     & the shark-finned electric pinto seals

would gobble them as glorious delicacies.

Kronis arose with the second sun,

ate his pelicoon eggs cold,

dipping his toasted rye-fingers

into his golden mug of steaming green kafteen.

He strode proudly out onto his pecan porch,

                 stretching his powerfully muscled arms

                                 over his head, rippling

                                 & popping his abs, gluts. & calves

                 during his morning sun salute.

                 His silver-plated armor hung

on its willow pole horse, beckoning to him.

                 He pulled on the metal leggings first,

squatting several times as the iron knee joints brayed

                             & squawked--limbering up,

                             before          pulling on Pyrothian

                             snakeskin boots, slapping at

the red & black scales embedded in the leather

                             for luck;        strapping on

his chest plates with their bloodfire mercurian mango crests

emblazoned on them,      tied on his golden wartdog eppiletts 

& his forearm protectors, before picking up

                       his thick heavy broadsword--Drammelslayer,

                       sheathed in its white-fringed 

                       Palimanus scabbard, & artfully slung

it across his broad naked back--a warrior

               never wears armor behind him

               because his foes

               would always be in front of him.

His war helmet, Bertranius, shone brightly

of bronze, jade, & gold-plating.               He carried it

under his left arm as his Stygian attendants

walked over from the stable

                with his Mars Stallion--Ferocitus.

He mounted confidently, without assistance,

this morning, & galloped off toward

                the Vermillion Mountains--for a yellow-backed

boar Drammel had been raiding a village

                near Mt. Shaknoid, devouring cattle

                & villagers alike, before burning huts.

Kronis would introduce himself

that day at the end of Ramgust,

& he rode without doubt

that the dastardly Drammel

would soon become

his hundredth kill.

Glenn Buttkus

Posted over on dVerse Poets MTB

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