Feeding Big Man

Once upon a time, there was a village near the river

like other villages, but in this village was a man - taller

than everyone else. Jolly and bright, an optimist who

could build huts, plough fields, catch fish too.

With each passing day the man grew more confident

and villagers  more adoring and complacent

forgetting their skills they focused on worship

invested in hope, their eyes looking up.

So in awe of Big Man they planned how and when

to feed, wash and clothe him,  elected chairmen

who instructed the villagers of their duty
to keep Big Man strong and beefy.

Soon got so big he couldn't leave his house

stuck behind the door, fearful chairmen marched

up and down the streets in a solemn search for

answers now that folk were retired, poor

keeping Big Man in style and manner to which

he'd become accustomed, his appetite large and rich

too big for his humble home, he demanded more

– a castle or a mansion, while the villagers bore

the cost with their labour, health, and their virgin

daughters, crushed under weight of his lust, his sin

but what could they do? It was tradition, his right

until a child crept with courage to the castle at night

to speak with Big Man, to plead and to show him

how poor the villagers were, their lives so grim

her last feint hope for reason and compassion

and he wept, overcome with guilt he thanked the maiden

promised to create a village based on fairness, equality

and when the girl ran home to tell her kin they were happy

but the chairmen were outraged and charged that girl

with treason, called her wicked, wanton and evil

to go above her station, above their counsel, to enter

the sacred castle of  Big Man, so they banished her

they will save the village,  bring them wealth

stealing from neighbours with arrows, with stealth.

Forgetting their hunger they painted their faces

thumping their chests they mounted wild horses

charging the commons, the forests, the rivers

killing their innocent neighbourly sleepers

no blood was enough to fill up this story

no more was the Big Man the object of glory

filled with ambition the warriors planned

campaigns everywhere, let peace be damned

Big Man and chairmen were sacked and replaced

with new gods, their history censored, erased

forgetting their skills as fishers and builders

as lovers and fathers, as farmers and brothers

and so dear reader don't look for an ending

this tale of a village breaking and bending

there is never an end to the battles and wars

as long as the mind gets stuck on the scores

of winners and losers and what is worth saving.

Feeding Big Man (a story for adults)

Once there was a village near the river
like other villages, but in this village stood a man
taller than the others, jolly and bright. He built huts,
ploughed fields, caught fish, forged tools.

There was nothing he couldn't do. He grew
faster, stronger, with each passing day 

while others so impressed with his speed
saw their own skills pale in comparison. 

So in awe of his strength they left him to his jobs
while they struck a committee, elected a chairman
wrote up a roster to feed, wash and clothe him.
Villagers laboured to keep him strong and beefy.

Big man got bigger, got stuck behind his door.
Couldn't leave his house, couldn't do his chores
so the villagers had to do them as well as care
for him in the style and manner to which

he was accustomed, his large appetite, rich tastes

too big for his humble home, he demanded more

– a castle or a mansion, while the villagers bore

the cost with their labour, health, and savings

they were tired, worn down, enslaved by his needs 

but what could they do? What could they say?

Trapped! Until a child crept with courage to the castle
late at night to plead and show the man how the village

had become so poor, so weary, her last feint hope 
for reason and compassion and he wept, overcome with guilt 
he thanked the child, promised to care for all, the way
he had been cared for. She ran home to tell her folks

who were relieved, happy, and praised the child
until the mayor and town planner heard the story
charged the girl with treason, banned her
from the village for going above her station.

Just who did she think she was to enter
the sacred castle of the big man? The good
villagers argued with their neighbours.
Was the child right or wrong? 

Alone with a broken heart she wandered hills
and valleys, starved and cold she died
in a distant valley by a different river
while villagers wrote laws and manners

so that no child would embarrass her elders
by showing more courage and gumption
than they. Never again. The lesson well learned
life got back to normal, a solemn duty bound

tradition, a weary acceptance, the sober 
second thought, everyone in their place.
A trap they felt but never dared talk about.
The way things are.