by Anthony Hassett (2 of 3) Amongst their kind was one thrust through, who fell off from his house and made such a lowing that we Christians thanked Almighty God for his delivery, and fell straight way to our labor with full power upon his body. To be short, there was no time misspent, wherein every man leapt in all haste to cut off his limbs and mangle him so that no man should discern what he was. These people are of a tawny color and bigger ordinarily of stature than the most part of our Christians: Marvelous fat, they wear their hair long and dwell in towns unwalled -- a very rich place from which they bring a great store to exchange and traffic. In the end, our general commanded some half dozen arquebuses to be made ready, and himself struck one of them while others fled. But they were so nimble we could not discern whether they were killed or not, as they would leap into the trees like devils, and so prevent us... .
. Anthony Hassett is a poet, illustrator, and the author of Gazette. The first poem in this series can be read here: Centra Coronalis
The New Word is a poetry submission column. Poems should be no more that 300 words, with a maximum grouping of three related poems. Before submitting, please make sure every word has been considered and the poem has been edited to the very syllable, to the rhythms of each sound and step.
Send to email@example.com, subject line The New Word.