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Inin

by

Erik Streightoff

Youthful smile upon the earth,

Crescent isle of human mirth,

Waves upon her ocean hearth,

Brought forth men who brought forth birth,

Who could count their plenty deeds,

When woven fingers wove as weeds,

Women won and fair achieved,

Hundreds woven there conceived,

Each winter woven bare conceded,

Three of summer’s share completed,

Upon the isle fair nature bent,

Its laden branching firmament,

In transgress, then, were three maids spent,

Departed by their compliments,

And oddly were they left in heat,

Their honor theft and thieves retreat,

They stayed like snails, then, from their hearth,

To lay as naked on the earth,

Until a giant saw their worth,

And put his sovereign hunger first,

The giant grinned at such fair game,

‘This feast’ he said, ‘Must have a name,’

‘Doubly I dub, if one I awoke,’

‘I’d likely find her name she spoke,’

He savored all, save one,

Whose beauty saved her, save his tongue,

Upon from which his question sprung,

‘Tell me how thy name is sung,’

‘That I am, that you have caught,’

‘A virgin maid of Macinot,’

Said the lady as she fought,

‘Melsasha! Now my name is taught,’

Held within the firm embrace,

Melsasha’s wit began to race,

Sadly, to her wounded pride,

Fair Melsasha spoke aside,

‘My name is sung by eager men,

And then forgotten in the glen,

Now I feel a foolish hen,

Caught within this giant’s pen,’

But fair Melsasha, fair and wise,

Watched the giant’s watching eyes,

And with a clever compromise,

Bound them both with wedding ties,

‘O’ Melsasha thusly said,

‘If thou wish me thee should wed,

Ere shall find a stricter bread,

Note upon these vows I’ve said,

Let that the moon,

Be set as the eye,

Ere shall I swoon,

Swallow or sigh,

And only by its fullest light,

Dare you open yours to sight,

And though you try with all your might,

Wax and wane will shut them tight,

And as the sky is one moon laden,

I leave but one for hunting maidens,’

And so Melsasha robbed the left,

And wed herself to pay the theft,

Now within this wedly pledge,

How beyond its deadly edge,

Could the Cyclops hope to see,

When half his vigil were the fee,

In hunting he was idle, then,

And much preferred to sidle,

And though he were much, he starved his vitals,

For the vigil that carved his title,

No sooner than this lunar marriage,

Two sons had passed Melsasha’s carriage,

Melsasha also counted blessed,

The first son, Cyclops never guessed,

Came to take the form of men,

By father further from the glen,

The second son, by Cyclops born,

Was birthed within the hour of morn,

In his hand he’d held a horn,

And never were he from it torn,

And where the water freshly runs,

Melsasha lived with her two sons,

It were her wicked copulation,

That held them from the population,

Such misfortune had it brought,

Since laws did lay in Macinot,

That should a maiden lay with giant,

Then ‘gainst these laws she stood defiant,

To stand against by laying down,

Struck Melsasha’s turning frown,

She could not find a proper noun,

To curse against her false renown,

Indeed, her deeds were pity in sake,

As a whore she were mistaken,

It were pity that the eye was raked,

And pity dressed her naked,

The first son, Inin, named so well,

Loved the forest where they dwelt,

But heavy a heart had Inin felt,

For slander ‘neath his father’s belt,

‘One day,’ Inin gladly thought,

‘I’ll sit king of Macinot,’

The second from Melsasha’s pride,

A fierce five headed god of tides,

Could truly make the sea subside,

Or bring the waves to fierce collide,

And from the day his father died,

He slithered to the woods to hide,

He made the ocean foam and froth,

He stirred the seas like witch’s broth,

His name was given Gogmirthoth,

He smiled at his mischief wrought,

But one day from the woods emerged,

Gogmirthoth with tears all purged,

His golden horn had been submerged,

And carried by the river’s surge,

His five heads fought and blamed each other,

As if they were five single brothers,

And all at once they all cried ‘Mother!’

‘Enlist the help of our dear brother,’

Inin bowed and gave his pledge,

To search along the river’s edge,

‘Perhaps it’s washed beneath a hedge,

Or ‘tween two rocks has found a wedge,’

Inin marched the river ripe,

And passed he many a cypress,

And when the day had ripened riper,

Inin yawned to match a viper,

He’d made his way, it seemed to be,

To where the river met the sea,

He took his leave then, from the delta,

And as he had no goodly shelter,

He made his bed upon the beech,

Than share it with a river leech,

By two great boulders, near the deep,

He laid his shoulders down to sleep,

As yonder morning yawned awoke,

Inin heard a voice that spoke,

A giant caught between the boulders,

So angry that his beard should smolder,

Had ever so misjudged his breadth,

That now he barely drew his breath,

‘In the night, and as you slept,

I saw you so I softly crept,

But here between I so mistepped,

That here till morning I was kept,

And though you think I cannot reach you,

Rest assured that I will eat you!’

In the light of early morn,

The giant held the golden horn,

To his lips he held it drawn,

To break the hush of early dawn,

The tide came fast without much cause,

Or minding much its proper laws,

The giant’s mouth, dripping drool,

Opened wide to make a pull,

And pulled poor Inin from the waves,

Into the giant’s innard cave,

Inin alighted,

But was not delighted,

For further was he down there plighted,

He fell upon a pile of bones,

And heard the giant’s innards groan,

But still he was not left alone,

Persisted by the giant’s tone,

‘As you melt to nameless nectar,

Down there in my gastly sector,

I shall be a goodly host,

I’ve many splendid tales to boast,

Have you, down there, in my cave,

Heard of the mistress and the slave?

A master and a mistress,

Once did have a slave,

And whenever there were chores to do,

The chores he had to brave,

From the well he drew the water,

For the mistress bath,

But had to wear a blinded fold,

Or bear his master’s wrath,

While the slave was folded blind,

His reflection had a chance,

To climb in the bucket and out of the well,

And freely roam and prance,

The slave could never understand,

Just why he got in trouble,

His master came running round the bend,

To give what he owed to the double,

Although his reflection came from the well,

It was not well to do,

It made love to the mistress,

While the slave brought water to,

The mistress found it most amusing,

To laugh at such a strange abusing,

And hear her husband’s mad accusing,

That brought the slave so many bruisings,

One day to spy the mistress,

The slave did lift his fold,

And what he scarcely could believe,

He to his master told,

The master judged them side by side,

The two slaves stood astrident,

How could the master hope to tell,

The real one from the ident,

Then the slave most clever spied,

No shade the other cast,

And so the master and the slave,

Did fall upon him fast,

They lowered him into the well,

And so to make him cripple,

Threw a pebble in the well,

And dizzied him with ripples,

Said the master to his wife,

‘This crime has not been little,

First you took me, then his double,

But now your love has tripled,

Since you made me give him bruisings,

You’re guilty to this grand confusing,

I pity him, so disabuse him,

Repair him of my false accusing,’

Inin laughed upon his raft,

Of the giant’s fallen foes,

His laughter were feathered a thrush,

And through the guts it rose,

The giant did hear Inin’s echo,

And blushed at the applause,

Then to start his second tale,

Took a mighty pause,

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‘We all have heard of how the man,

Who sat beneath a tree,

Sat so very long indeed,

That peace did come to he,

But one who heard it shunned the shade of borrowed canopies,

He said the door of joy did smile,

At many different keys,

He said he did not need a tree,

While naked and astute,

He sat in one place for so long,

That he himself sprung roots,

From his navel to the ground,

A hundred varied shoots,

Brought forth from the simple earth,

It’s finest of tribute,

An army of arms grew out from his joints,

But never did salute,

In each hand grew a multitude,

Of varied passion fruits,

But never did a piece of fruit,

Take fall upon the ground,

But handed down from hand to hand,

Until his mouth was found,’

Inin laughed upon his raft,

Of the giant’s fallen foes,

So hard his laughter turned to tears,

And then his joy to woe,

‘O great giant, ere my death,

Let me draw upon my breath,

Let my death not come to claim,

The spark of living’s lovely flame,

Inin, that’s my given name,

See that one day it sees fame,

To cast away the bird of shame,

Which too long in my breast is tame,

And how good do you find my taste?

For I am young and much to fresh,

How quickly one could find the count,

Of seasons blessed upon my flesh,

Giant hear me in your gut,

Steer me towards your mouth ashut,

Freedom’s fit for shameful birds,

Cast me like a heavy word,

The door of joy indeed does smile,

At many shapes of keys,

Let your jaws find cause to open,

To these many pleas,

I will rid me of my season,

Salted much by trial of reason,

The reason that you did get stuck,

Is you couldn’t be much fatter,

And never shall you struggle free,

Until your form is flattered,

And listen here, I say to you,

The thing that really matters,

Is that your size will bind you much,

If I amount to batter,

And furthermore, the golden horn,

Belongs to my dear brother,

Would you also take a son,

Away from his dear mother?

Keep the horn and keep it well,

For it was fairly won,

But let me go back to the brook,

Where water freshly runs,’

The giant, facing inland,

And hearing Inin’s pleas,

Did not do a lesser thing,

Than cast him to the sea,

What horrid shame and infamy!

To pass through such a portal,

In all of writ’s analogy,

Befell no living mortal,

Inin’s shame did weigh upon,

Within his breasted scale,

How sour it is to be the butt,

Of a giant’s twisted tale,

As the ocean round him settled,

Inin heard a woman’s mettle,

A voice so soft upon a tongue,

Somewhere from the darkness sprung,

Inin followed such a voice,

Such as men can have no choice,

Such a sadness held her tone,

As one is held when all alone,

Inin braved the decent slope,

To find the voice that had no hope,

And never did he step amiss,

But found upon the steep abyss,

A woman kept upon its edge,

A singing vigil from the ledge,

And sadly Inin saw at last,

Her buried body laid avast,

For as her mouth did move with prose,

No single merry bubble rose,

‘O my love has perished,

Salted by the sea,

I killed the one I cherished,

And the fault has salted me,’

‘Alas a mermaid lullaby,

Has lulled me to the deep,

She stole me further from the shore,

Where the willows weep,’

Within the ether, wide and deep,

Inin drifted off to sleep,

Yet by a beast of noble burden,

Inin woke upon the bank,

Within a lady lion’s grasp,

Inin’s body had not sank,

He lay upon the lioness,

And lying ‘pon the shore,

He saw across the river’s rush,

His footsteps from before,

The lea made to shore to lap,

The river’s well of ridden sap,

Then she purred contrarily,

And laid upon the bank to nap,

T’was a nap of kids and kin,

For as she slept upon the earth,

Seven cubs were born with manes,

And leapt upon their joyous birth,

Within the wake of the lea’s hush,

The cubs did cross the river’s rush,

And ‘pon the bank of riper lush,

Stepped where Inin’s feet had crushed,

Then they wandered off alone,

To find and seize their separate thrones,

Inin stood with happenstance,

To understand such happy chance,

‘A sign from the gods,

Who slumber in heaven,

My sons shall be kings,

And number to seven,

And greatly brave the oceans wrath,

To dubly pave upon my path,’

Inin harkened from the shore,

A distant many miled snore,

Little standing stood defiant,

That such a snore was born of a giant,

For where the snore had so far traveled,

The stench of a giant’s breath unraveled,

The giant, caught upon the shore,

Surely slept and surely snored,

Revenge is born by open doors,

So Inin paced the path before,

And as the giant snored and slept,

The horn within his beard was kept,

Inin tore the horn from hiding,

And poured forth notes of triumph’s tiding,

The giant woke beneath the moon,

To hear the call of Inin’s tune,

‘In the night, and as you slept,

I saw you so I softly crept,

I saw the horn and so I leapt,

To win this lofty perch I’ve kept,

Above your head, and surely your shoulders,

I stand upon a Gemini boulder,

The both of which do stand like soldiers,

To light your angry beard asmolder,

Now the tide does surely rise,

To fashion flesh with firm demise,

And passion’s mesh will well be lined,

By heaven’s lofty scale’s design,

And by the gods who slumber in heaven,

My sons will be kings and number to seven,

{}

My sons must never know their order,

Lest blood be drawn to draw their borders,

They must not know the haunt of shame,

No giant’s tale shall flaunt their names,

A father’s name must be so stainless,

Lest his cubs should come forth maneless,

Men cannot be led by fools,

Whose tales pass through giant’s drool,

Now the tide must come to claim,

To keep your slander off my name,

Thus my shame shall go unheard,

Its ghastly tale shall fall to words,

And let those words then fall to thirds,

And then be fell upon by birds,

And then from birds, so much the better,

So should the thirds be fallen as letters,

For when a tale is bitter in taste,

Better it fall as litter and waste

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The crown of drowning, prince of deaths,

Framed the frown of water’s breath,

The giant fixed between the rocks,

Died bellow the risen loch,

Upon his return,

Inin learned,

The walls within the city burned,

Fires lit the sky afry,

While down below a battle cried,

Melsasha wept into the brook,

To hide her tearful flood,

For upon the walls of Macinot,

Read Gogmirthoth in blood,

Gogmirthoth had raised an arm,

Of allies won with darkest charm,

The warlord sat upon the throne,

To hear a wounded minstrel moan,

He held a bow and arrow taught,

To hold the minstrel’s ear in shot,

On pain of the quiver’s sharpened marrow,

The minstrel’s choosing seemed so narrow,

And still he sang with the voice of a sparrow,

Though twice by now he’d taken arrow,

He feared that a third,

Would make him a bird,

For arrows are ended in feathers,

Never was heard,

So many fine words,

As he sang like a bird in fair weather,

‘O majesty, which now you are,

What providence of stars and mars,

Our former king would sit there idle,

A boring book, despite his title,

You took the throne by proper force,

And married what the king divorced,

And as I pluck upon this liar,

With preference I have called you sire,

Let your five heads sing in order,

That whichever you rechoir,

And in these times of such great dire,

Should not, should we, put out the fire?

But here nor there do I digress,

For we are not within distress,

How safe we are within this tower,

In vantage is the surest power,

But from the window, checks and mates!

I see the king flee through the gates!

His men do follow,

Armored but hollow,

Even with such pride to swallow!

Their bravest men their horses drag,

And still they wave such tattered flags,

Tails tucked, but also wagged,

Keep an eye upon such stags,

And keep me always by your side,

Trust in me with safe confide,

See how summer’s grass has dried,

But neither has the fire died,

But our agenda’s far too wide,

Until the king is bound and tied,

He must repay his kingly debt,

Before we make the fires wet,

He kept your kin without the walls,

To live like beasts in tattered shawls,

O how I cry for Gogmirthoth,

Who never did as evil doth,

If but my tears wept for you, sire,

Could but douse the climbing fire,

But joy would stop them, sure and fast,

For Gogmirthoth is king at last!

See him sit upon his throne,

How calmly does my sire postpone,

The pressing task of dousing fire,

To hear my song upon the lyre,

My limber timber is lumbered with numbers,

To count your plenty deeds,

I count as well the fire outside,

Is growing like a weed!

O Gogmirthoth, you rule so well,

Although our city burns like hell!’

{}

Gogmirthoth’s five heathen heads,

Howled upon the knights he led,

His fellows in betrayal,

Said their hellos, ‘Hail!’

{Gogmirthoth addresses his knights}

Shouting from his window sill,

Made Gogmirthoth a winded mill,

And likewise, heads turned will and nill,

And clockwise turned around until,

The pent up rex,

Was half past hex,

And stuck within the window vex,

His highness found his many necks,

Had wound and bound each other’s checks,

He spoked the wheel of words profane,

And with his mouth he pulled the reigns,

And thusly reigned upon his knights,

Who turned their steeds and fled to fight,

{Inin drowns the knights with the horn, a store of wine breaks upon the waves}

Caught within his window sill,

Gogmirthoth did drink his fill,

The risen tide of rozen shade,

Rinsed his tongues like bloodied blades,

The fiven heads of Gogmirthoth,

Drank the wine as drunkards doth,

All for one and all from a trough,

With hidden heads and bubbled coughs,

His horsen head was first to guzzle,

And drank to thank a welcome muzzle,

The sire’s face of a heathen hound,

Beneath the surface surely found,

A wine so sweet and ferment of scent,

He knew such lovely firmament,

His feline face made licks on the cur,

And won the drippings from its fur,

His head of a bird bobbed and stirred,

And bit from the spire so fondled a lure,

But doubly bit upon a hook,

And ‘pon a horn his beak mistook,

And like a rhinaus did it look,

The fivant head that peeked the rook,

But as the light of a hilted sheen,

Proved the window guillotine,

Inin rose his tempered sword,

And rid the rook its fiven lords,

Inin’s blade was a shade usurpant,

As the fiven necks turned into serpants,

Fiven separate ways they went,

To drink the waves with strange lament,

Inin climbed into the vent,

And blew his horn till breath was spent,

And to the sea the waves were sent,

To bide the tides that nature meant,

{}

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Beehkoog into folly’s cage,

Braved the woods without a page,

He bore his bow to kill a beast,

To give up to the gods to feast,

For never a god had ever been stricter,

Than faced with a man ungrateful as victor,

And very ‘pon the forest floor,

Foolish fish who’d crossed the shore,

Had follied themselves to puddles,

And close among their brethren huddled,

Worthy prey did Beehkoog search,

And walked him under a tree of birch,

And came beneath a lofty perch,

Where just above a crab did lurch,

And so much did the crab admire,

The golden crown that kinged the sire,

That truly he tried a tyrant’s attire,

And snatched the crown he so desired,

To higher a branch he took the crown,

That tucked within his shell,

Which made the arrows Beehkoog sent,

Resound his belly’s bell,

And not an arrow made a dent,

As Beehkoog quivered with lament,

‘What selfish a greed,

My crown should concede,

What wretched a kingdom,

Now shall you lead?’

Beehkoog stumbled through the woods,,

To find the path his feet once stood,

Far away, upon a lyre,

Played the minstrel from the spire,

From high above he watched the sire,

And watched to see the fates conspire,

‘Good king Beehkoog, I betrayed,

With ev’ry note my lyre played,

But harken me, my ev’ry tone,

I serve you better than your throne,

For many times my voice has thrown,

And from this window seeds have sewn,

Now a spark from the siege has flown,

To where an olive branch has grown,

The final spark it surely is,

Now Inin takes the branch as his,

The arm of Harmony,

Olivia’s reach,

Softly do her fingers breech,

Beheld within good Inin’s hand,

She holds this hour’s final brand,

Arm in arm, with careful brace,

Embers kept in good embrace,

Inin holds the branch with care,

And steps he down the rampart stair,

And comes he through the steps of the gate,

To hold the branch before the state,

Hark, the Olivian hand has caught,

A spark of the branding of Macinot,

The foundling flame of a lion plot,

Betrothed of branched insignia wrought,

Carnal made by enfantal flame,

Care to behold our candle dame,

Let our vigil never douse,

But always keep a torch endowed!’

Inin stood in figure proud,

And brought the branch among the crowd,

Down among the peopled bank,

Along the brook they knelt and drank,

That wine it was the gods were praised,

And of the branch a fire was raised,

That never again should pax be wilt,

They feasted of the fire built,

And brought they to the fire’s hilt,

A wealth of beast that stirred the silt,

Olives taken of the branch,

Did the people’s number match,

A maiden fair dispensed the batch,

For one in every mouth to catch,

And wayward beasts that washed ashore,

Now lay fresh upon the floor,

Flesh once ‘round a narwhale tusk,

Wound in carves of melon husk,

And flowed the length of the peopled brook,

To the people from the cook,

He kept the fire at one end,

That by the current food should wend,

So did mollusk also send,

In pumpkin rhines around the bend,

Fruits that brimmed with hidden meats,

Also made the ample fleet,

Maidens scarcely kept their seats,

But made for what they found was sweet,

Mouths amingle of passage tongues,

Kissed of lips from young to young,

If ever songs were silent sung,

Amid the vines their passage hung,

And bellies bare at mornings cue,

Looked as pares adorn with dew,

Shone upon with rozen hue,

As rose the sun with out further a dew,

And still the meal did linger well,

Till Inin’s fingers pried from a shell,

A golden crown that fate befell,

Should therefore Inin’s kingship spell,

High above, upon a lyre,

Played the minstrel from the spire,

From high above he watched the sire,

And watched to see the fates conspire,

‘Good king Inin, let me warn,

Beware the crown that fate adorns,

For now it seems this fateful morn,

The sun arose with many thorns,

Be thee ware they questioned line,

For if your heir should be divine,

Would he upon the people dine?

For you are sprung of Cyclops vine!

The people fear a vengeful god,

Would spring again of Cyclops pod,

So do all the people nod,

They fear the king they now applaud

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