Folktober Challenge Day 4

Today the images were of witches and merrows. You can read all the contributing poems on Paul Brookes’ site here.

This is my poem.


Sea calls in wave-dance
and swaying gardens of kelp
where anemones flower.

We wear foam in our hair,
and our hands entwine hard
and fast as anchor ropes.

Bodies like bullets fit our space
we cleave to our own.

Our hands weave stories in deep water,
words spoken in fish-whispers,
legs fused to forge paths
faster than your thoughts.

Those born of the sea
will die seafolk,
and nothing,
not even your darkest desires
can change a single
silver-glittering scale.


The Merrow

For the dverse prompt.


Long days the sun and rain, the nights

upon the strand, the silver sand,

and still she sits where cows come down

to eat lush water meadow grass.


And still she sits while tides flow in

and ebb again into the green

and rolling fields of kelp and shoals

of mackerel with mirror scales.


Until she finds her magic cap

the cap he stole to keep her by

him for a wife he doesn’t love,

she’ll sit and watch the waves roll in.


She’ll sit where little hornless cows

graze quiet on the meadow grass,

and when she finds her cap she’ll dive,

a merrow dance beneath the waves


and leave behind the faithless man

who caught a dream and held her when

she would be free, the ocean swim,

the lush green pastures of the sea.