On 10 March 1999, Peter Just posted a note (below) about a drowning on the Westfield River. Blake Werner, knowing that Richard Frank and his fabled Pigs lived near there, inquired whether any pig prints were found near the recently-deceased. That was all it took, it was after all wintertime.
From: Peter Just
Subject: calling all wayward souls
Yesterday the body of a drowned man was recovered from the Westfield River, a pretty good trout stream in central Mass. On the tv news report the reporter described the area where the dead man had fallen in as a place frequented by "fishermen, the homeless, and other wayward souls." Too bad about the drowned man, but I had to chuckle.
pj
From: Richard Frank
pigs cover their tracks
calling down the snows of March
heinous crimes concealed
From: Blake Werner
ides of march songfest
under the cover of night
pigs protect their stream
From: Richard Frank
sanguineous pigs
stuffing Peta sausages
the river cries out
From: jim woolacott
light glints off cold steel
pig squeals and dances no more
bacon frying, yum
From: Fred Smith
cries swallowed by winter's gray
wayward soul meets icy fate
pigs are on the prowl
From: Bill Schudlich
Wayward intruder
Two legs are better than four
The pigs have their way
Damn, I said I wouldn't get sucked into this.
From: Matt Jorgensen
Can't resist:
A scream and a splash
A shadow retreats upstream
A single cry, "Oink!"
From: Richard Frank
down with bait slingers
FF liberation pigs
catch but no release
From: Chris Knight
Bill wrote:
>Damn, I said I wouldn't get sucked into this.
I didn't. 8^)
chorus grunts omen
patrolling the waterfront
surrepticiously
wayward soul got the
subaquatic homesick blues
hey, that smells like pork
From: rob tucker
'nother wayward soul, checking in.
Pickled pigs feet
are farts waiting to happen
methane kinetic
From: Blake Werner
lord, what have we done
to unleash the rath of swine
is the West Branch next?
From: Jim Tefft
neither West nor East be saved
from the sweard that lay upon the bank
of the hallowed fishers trek
From: Michael Dell
what is all this stuff
about pigs? I thought we were
talking 'bout fishing?
From: Neal Gilchrist
Porcine ninjas go
Like shadows into the night
What mystery has happened?
From: Richard Frank
at the river edge
boar bristles beneath dead nails
a baffling clue
From: Agust Kr. Gudmundsson
smelling of bacon
a body washes ashore
cloven avenger
From: Richard Tardy
More bad 'ku.....
Trotters of porcine ilk
scowering the murky depths
curiously sublime
Searching for soulful pleasure
Finding it in small measure
cheating death
From: Dave Murphy
iggypay, iggypay been you?
four legs bad, two hind legs meaty
Hickory, smoke, enjoy the rub
Am I close?
pigs in blanket, catsup on top
fried rind of pig, appetizer
trout almondine, turf n riffle
From: Rich Swartz
I'm not sure if 'ku
sign of impending doom or
cabin fever dregs.
From: Agust Kr. Gudmundsson
aware of danger
five swine scream out in unison
run for the river
From: Dave Lewis
bleached naked corpses
swolen wurstlike visages
fixed stare cast styward
Can't believe I took 20 minutes out of a too busy day to do that. (VBG)
From: Rob Tucker
LASmithers wrote:
>There are souls and there are souls and it often hard to tell the
>souls from the aresouls. there are also wayward arseholes stop being
> wayward arseholes
Sounds like pig squealin'
Uncle Bud got a purty mouth
deliverance nigh
From: Bob Perry
posturing begins
all seats sold try pay per view
coot vs the pigs
old bird or new pork
lets get ready to rumble
title on the line
anotherlisterdraggedintothemuck@AOL.com
From: Jim Woolacott
piscatorial
or porcine, no difference
all fair game for 'ku
From: George Jacox
wayward souls sleep on
while fiendish swine are snacking:
pigs in a blanket
From: Robert Morger
porcine squeal upon lips
devilish twist of tales turn
stomach runs amok
canadian bacon
old coot squeals wayward aresouls
cloven hooves retreat
et tu brute
From: Mark McMillan
homeless wayward soul
Spied by porcine avenger
Swine hath no mercy
From: Claude Freaner
Pigs wading ashore
Wiggling tails with flies attached
Guard the fish poorly
River's edge mud shows
Cloven hooves, empty 12 gauge...
Serious guard pigs
----
ok, I've been trying for the past two days to not respond (or contribute) to this...but you finally wore me down...
Enough with the bad pig haiku:
As a thread, it just will not do!
It's not about fish
As many here wish;
Egad, I'm now involved, too!
When guarding your stream from affront,
Sit on the bank, not in a punt.
Be not alarmed,
Your life is charmed:
Your guardian angel can grunt!
From: Richard Frank
Robert Morger wrote:
> Listen did you here that?
> Yes the sound of countless pigs rolling over in their graves.
>
> Very interesting thread here folks.
You are right about those pigs, robert. They are not used to being treated in such a contemptible manner. With haiku! They remember when the great bard himself almost staged "Edward's Third Pig" Here's the opening.
Act 1, Scene 1
A stye behind King Edward's manor house
Enter PORCINI (the King's third pig), solus
PORCINI
Now is the winter of our discontent
Made glorious summer by this sum of pork;
And all the lard that lour'd upon our house
In the deep bosom of the ocean buried.
Now are our bowels filled with victorious slop;
Our bruised hams hung up for admiration;
Our stern squels changed to merry meatings,
Our dreadful cries to delightful sausage.
Grim-visaged war hath smooth'd his wrinkled front;
And now, instead of mounting barded steeds
To fright the souls of fearful adversaries,
He fishes nimbly at the water's edge
To the lascivious pleasing of a lute.
But I, am not shaped for sportive tricks,
Nor made well to cast a slender wooded pole .
Nay, I am rudely stamp'd, CHOICE, and wait his majesty
To claim my hocks and cheeks for his own pleasures;
I, that am curtail'd of fair proportion,
Cheated of feature by dissembling nature,
Deformed, and unfish'd, sent before my time
To the slaughter house, scarce half made up,
And that so lamely and unfashionable
That dogs bark at me as I halt by them;
Why, I, in this weak piping time of peace,
Have no delight to pass away the time,
Unless to drop my bottom in the mud
And descant on mine own enormity:
And therefore, since I cannot prove a clever fisher,
To entertain these fair well-spoken days,
I am determined to prove a swine
And hate the idle pleasures of these ways.
Plots have I laid, inductions dangerous,
By drunken prophecies, libels and dreams,
To set my brothers Clarence and Clarence upon the king
In deadly hate at the river's edge:
And if the wayward king be as true and just
As I am subtle, false and treacherous,
This day should Clarence and Clarence closely be mew'd up,
About a prophecy, which says that 'G'
Of Edward's heirs the murderer shall be.
Dive, thoughts, down to my soul: here
Come my brothers.
Of course it's not clear whether this play was written shortly before or after Hamlet, Pig of Denmark. Some scholars question whether the immortal bard wrote either of these plays. Of course, the pigs are indifferent to the debates of scholars. They know full well that these plays provide an opportunity for them to unleash the full measure of their thespian skill and vigor. Haiku indeed!
richard