(Fytte the Secounde) by Caradog le Doux
The Questor hath stepped ashore on
the fabled Isle of Trolls
...No sooner was my advent conned
than there arose a tout-le-monde
engulfing cloud of gibberish,
a wracking-wailing —
storm of words, all liverish!
Those trolls leapt forth with mad intent
and breath quite problematic;
they yodelled high, they gargled loud,
in terms less than grammatic:
gross similes, barbaric tones,
sounds far from complimentary,
disturbing phonemes, oafish verbs,
inflections rough and idioms gruff,
phraseology not gracious,
delivered in a style of speech
with labio-dental fricatives,
voiced and unvoiced, and glottal
stops, and plosives guttural,
bilabial trills, and splutter - all
made me fair lose my bottle.
Paralinguistic features, too:
arched eyebrows and ears cocked askew,
farts, vigorous chest-thumping,
frenetic rap-tap-tapping shoes,
St Vitus' Dance, leg-humping,
rolled eyes and wild fist-pumping -
till, "Heaven forffend!" I cried, "Ffair do's!"...
If you have any comments on this poem, Paul Stevens would be pleased to
hear from you.