A PORCINE PANEGYRIC
(© Words by Paul F. Cowlan)
With apologies to Placentius who, in the 16th century, wrote a poem of 253 hexameter verses entitled ‘Pugna Porcorum’ (The Battle of the Pigs) every word of which begins with the letter ‘p’.
Peregrine Percival Pocklington Pig
descends from a long line of blue-blooded porkers,
and though it is true that he’s not very pig
he can be the most entertaining of talkers.
Just ask him to tell you of Shaolin Kung-fu,
and how he himself has pursued one or two
years of pertinent study and Zen meditation
to enable him now to punch boxes right through,
be they never so sturdy or solidly jointed,
and I’ll guarantee that you’re not disappointed;
for there’s no other black-belted pig in the nation.
His High-flying Drop-kick is very well-known,
and his Pig Trotter Punch is a terrible snorter.
He once took a farm on, entirely alone,
chased after the mistress, and damn nearly caught her.
They had to put wire screens over his cage
to prevent him from going out on the rampage
and rousing the pigs in the neighbouring sties.
He has lain at the feet of a wallowing sage
called ‘Peach-blossom Prince of Illumined Perception’,
who ended the rites of his student’s inception
by revealing the secret of ham and pork pies.
And shortly thereafter in Pocklington’s mind
a scheme began forming, in slow evolution,
which, had it succeeded, I’m strongly inclined
to believe would have led to a Pigs’ Revolution.
But recently he’s reassessed his position,
and following up on his own intuition
has tended instead to become a defector
from tactics of violence, and brought to fruition
a milder philosophy, founded on Reason;
proclaiming that, as from this turning-point, he’s an
unwavering, staunch Conscientious Objector.
So though he may tell you of head-butts and blows,
and swine’s snout and knuckle swipes rapid and furious,
remember he’s pacifist now; but who knows?
Perhaps he’ll still demonstrate, if you are curious.