They were all odd dancers.
Up on their toes,
jittering ballerinas,
twisting in an old wind.
Shifts turned to ragged sails
from long wrecked ships
still trying to take their home.
Spent nights wrapping
their bone fingers tight
into abandoned symbols.
Gathered at last on the hearth,
faces pressed against soot
and ash,
begging
for the strings not to pull
them up again.
Up onto their toes
to dance like strange, dying flames,
guttering the last of their wicks.
At some point in the empty hours of a night,
the motorway tarmac softens into a sea,
allowing broken ships to slip upwards
their ghost ragged rigging thick and slack with mist
yet sailing steadily beneath these walkways,
beneath these sleeping midnight travellers,
watching through the steam of their coffees
not so much as blinking while spectres leap
from mast to mast,
all colours bleached down to canvas
and a single bone white skulls screaming
at the heart of every flag.
I’ve not posted a response to the Day Three prompt as I’m still working on my deck of words. I decided to use Caroline Taggart’s book ‘500 Beautiful Words You Should Know’ as inspiration for my deck so I’ve only got around 20-odd words picked out at the moment. I still wrote a poem yesterday as I took part in the Weekend Writing Prompt, so I’m still on track for 30 poems in 30 days.
Today’s NaPoWriMo prompt was to write a poem inspired by one of the images from the Space Liminal Bot twitter account. After a bit of scrolling I came across the image above and it sparked the idea for today’s poem.
At the start of this year I was planning on which poetry events I wanted to go to in order to publicise my new collection ‘It’s All In The Blood‘. I managed a few local ones, and had a slot booked to perform at a Ludlow poetry night, right at the beginning of March. Then 2020 hit its stride in the UK.
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I tried swearing at the garden pond,
to see if I could goad a water witch
into dredging herself up at at ’em
with enough pissed off vengeance
to take at least one body down.
I wasn’t decided on who I wanted,
squealing in her webbed, wet grip.
Half-thought if she came I’d go,
grab her right back with both hands,
test to see if she tasted stagnant,
or like spring water breaking free
after centuries underground.
Tanka – Deception
The vines have curled up
till she’s dressed within their arms.
Astonishing green,
to hide all the stress fractures
now spider-webbing beneath.
Kyoka – Toil Of A Water Witch
Ginny Greenteeth waits,
washes out last week’s litter
from her pond weed hair.
Snatches a plastic bottle
like she would do a child.
Ginny Greenteeth is from English folklore, and depending on your region her name can change from Ginny, to Jenny, or a number of other nom-de-plumes. It’s also the name used to refer to pond weed, or algae covering a pond’s surface and obscuring the water from view. She apparently lurks below the cover of the pond weed waiting for passersby to wander too close, so she can drag them to their watery depths. There are perhaps some waterways that wouldn’t be particular pleasant to skulk in these days.
Gogyohka – After The Storm
We eye the horizon like a child,
question our certainty that the crying is done.
Slowly, we return ourselves to the garden,
we peg the washing out while watching clouds,
remind ourselves not to trust a blue sky.
I’m uncertain if I did these forms justice, but I’ve had a go at all three. My Tanka, and Kyoka follow the 5,7,5,7,7 syllable count mostly because this was what I was most used to. I know it’s not technically correct, but it gives me a framework to fit into. If you have a favourite out of the three let me know in the comments below.
Carol J Forrester 
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