Badger Promotions
BADGER
Contact/Email
Band Links
Mail Order
News
Press Releases
Gig Listings
Links Page
The Market Tavern
Badger Poetry
The Old Railway
Badger Resources
Ironman Records

Badger Poetry

Alan Zimbabwe
John Dillinger
Others
Clarence Peabody
Summer Fauve
Nick Green

When the shagwag whoops
In the boggy climes,
And the Cooka bund cries
In the darkling time,
As the shadows shudder
In that desolate place
Comes the Homgock hopping
From his resting place.
Through the foggy thin,
Stomach all a-rumble
He gnarls and snowls
In a dreadful tumble,
Seeking high and low
For a crunchy snack,
Gnawing to the bone
On his warty back.
Shut up all your windows
When he roams abroad,
Boiling water on the fire
And lock up all your doors...
Every seventh year
At the Thirteenth Moon,
He stirs slowly from his slumber,
Waking from his swoon,
And his stomach rolls like thunder
Round the peaks and dales
The children run and hide
And the maidens wail...
As he rises like a baby
From his boggy bed,
And stalks the lonely places,
Seeking to be fed.
 Now the Homgock has a horn
That grows between his eyes
That can answer any question
And never, ever lies...
If the noblest adventurer
Can pluck it from his head...
To do this is much safer
If your Homgocks cold and dead -
But their skin is thick as oak-wood
And their claws as sharp as knives...
To be successful in this venture
Requires all nine lives.
It's safer far to lay a trap
And snare the snarling brute,
Then barter for the horn's purchase
In any terms that suit...
For Homgocks in a fair fight
Are very rarely beaten,
Their teeth are big and hungry-
Their adversaries eaten.
So dig a pit, wide and deep
With sheer and slippy sides
100 fathoms deep
And 30 horses wide...
With the earth you excavate
Construct and turf a mound,
And peak it with a Menhir
To help you stand your ground.
Maidens fair must honour it
Each quarter of the year
Before the Homgock rises
And the waking of the fear,
Then taking several summers straw
The Wives must weave a Hall
Of fragile straw so blended
Into windows, doors, and walls...
Fixed upon a thin wood frame
And perched above the pit
It must be painted gaily
And by a lantern lit.
So when at last he wanders
Upon the soggy heath
He'll spy this homely dwelling
And a morsel for his teeth!
For the fairest of your maidens
Must be tied tight to the stone,
Twixt her and the Homgock
With luck, will lie the home...
Or pity poor  maiden!
She'll make a tasty snack,
So build it on a ley-line
Beside a fairy track.
This way, so they say,
Is the path that he should tread
With his red eyes all afire
And the horn upon his head...
From the roof of the twig framework
Hang a Chicken and a mouse
And other smelly sorts of things
To lure him to the house.
And when he falls into the pit,
peek over the rim...
And check he cannot leap so high
And stays stuck deep within.
Let the maiden blow him kisses
And sing him soothing songs
Of other Handsome, friendly Homgocks
Who now are lost and gone...
And feed him tender sweetmeats
From her watching place above...
The result of all this effort?
The Homgock falls in love.
When seven moons have passed this way
He will like thunder sing
And beg for her to be his bride
And offer her a ring,
This she cannot contemplate,
Be sure that she has sworn -
Her only wedding dowry
Must be the Homgock's horn.
He will growl and cognify,
But eventually defer
To tear from between his eyes
For the love of her....

So now you have this charm of truth,
The Homgock must be freed,
But the maiden disappeared
Is still his burning need...
He'll howl and bawl his heartbreak
A thunderstorm of sorrow,
It will flood the relieved country
In the weeks that follow.
How ever do you stem his tears
And heal his broken heart?
You need the horns of two more Homgock's
And a maiden, for a start.