Up to the sky, the wrecked ships flew,
Toys in a tub, all thrown askew,
Broken in half, stripped of rigging,
Overboard sailors, dying, screaming.
And magic helmet, giant wore,
Sparked, and changed, and gathered more,
Wind and clouds, in swirling streams,
Swelling tides, and making steam.
And the Giant, in finishing,
Maligned the dead, and mocked the living,
Casting down, in violent rounds,
Bolts of lightning, upon the ground.
And as he did, the MerQueen’s people,
Rose up from, their water steeples,
And threw long coral grapple hooks,
And spears, and lances, and dirty looks,
Upon the giant and pulled him down,
Their tails straining, their faces frowned,
And for a moment the Giant teetered,
Backward, Backward and then repeated,
Until it looked that he might be,
Happily drowned, beneath the sea.
But then his eyeballs bulged and swelled,
And his body strained and strelled,
And struggled up, standing well,
So that his balance never fell.
The Giant, thunder-stepped ashore,
Each pounding step, a league or more,
And stopped just when, the whole port city,
Was under foot, crushed without pity.
Again his lightning bolts laid waste,
Upon the gritty fishing place,
Blasting havoc and destruction,
Wild and random, without deduction.
And as the giant screamed and bellowed,
He spotted out, a building yellow,
Barred high walls, sea all around,
That he surmised a prison ground,
Built of blended wood and sand,
A smaller island, within the land.
There the MerQueen and the Smith,
With their forces raced forthwith,
But as they got there, weapons tendered,
The giant stooped, and tore, and rendered,
The roof clean off, the yellow jail,
And looking in, he gave a wail,
Down to the building’s prison cells,
Where he saw, quite clear and well,
Bar and Persephony, shackled tightly,
Once downcast, now beaming brightly.
Into the jail the giant reached,
With fat green hands, and grabbed one each,
Lifting them high, up to the sky,
And letting loose, his rage to fly,
He laid his waste, to every place,
Until the eyes, in every face,
Had no more tears, in them to cry,
And fled the land, or stayed to die.
Moving for his final strike,
The giant’s eye, caught in its sight,
A misting spray, across the ocean,
Approaching in a rapid motion,
Preceded by, a whistling tune,
Of growing tone, and pitch, and zoom.
When it finally hit the shore,
The tune was screaming loud, before,
It struck the giant, thunder crack,
And sent him, stagger stepping, back,
Hot in pain, with fat face grimaced,
And filled with fear, and drained of menace.
And then his hands, unflexing wide,
Dropped Bar down, from the sky,
Catapulting down to rocks,
Screaming, while his pristine locks,
Blew out of place, as if a gale,
Had blown, and ripped up strands, of sails.
And as his body crashed to ground,
It made a sickly crunching sound,
Especially when, on rocky jut,
His face cracked open like a nut,
Breaking nose and cheeks and eye,
Still alive, but soon to die.
Persephony too, fell rockward, through,
The screaming air, dropping her shoes,
And flailing wild, until the earth
Came rushing up to give her death.
Landing just abreast of Bar,
Her skull split open, twice as far.
Next, the Giant, fitfully fell,
Kicking, and jerking, and thrashing, as well,
Skin a-boil, with billions of bubbles,
That merged together, in stunning numbers.
His body shifted, stretched, and shook,
Face expressing, horrid looks,
As lightning clouds, rushed overhead,
Bursting, heavy, crackling red,
And blasted him, and at their whim,
Rent his body, limb from limb,
Until the pieces shook and shuck,
And plopped to ground, into muck.
Landing hard, in blobby chunks,
Kaboom! Kablam! Kabang! Kathunk!
They melted down, and very slow,
Began, began, again to grow.
Up from the blobbies, shallow or deep,
As if awoken, from long sleep,
Small mini-giants, rose from ground,
Screeching, yowling, horrible sounds.
Only taller, than two men,
They went berserk, and rampaged, when,
Smith and MerQueen’s soldiers recovered,
And counter-attacked them, and discovered,
That each mini giant head,
Was mortal made, and easy bled!
Every minimized, nasty, creature,
Had the giant’s fearsome features,
Except that they were different colors,
Ugly sisters, ugly brothers.
Some stared at hands, and ogled the scene,
As if awaking from a dream.
Some ran away, from the fray,
As if afraid of light and day.
Some looked relived, as if escaped,
From a personal, horrid scrape,
And stumbled, like intoxicate,
Had crippled their perambulate.
Yet most of them just raged berserk,
And picked up sharps, and things that hurt,
And jumped upon, and whacked each other,
While beasts, and people, ran for cover,
Staying safely out of way,
As soldiers kept, the things at bay.
Then suddenly, all spirits lifted,
Because the battle balance shifted,
As mini-giants, en masse fled,
Routed, spineless, dunderheads!
And all the soldiers, cheering, said,
“Huzzah! Huzzah! The Giant is dead!”