I wrote this serpent’s tail poem last night because a prompt (Daily Inkling) was niggling me. This morning I read Kerfe’s poem prompted by her Saturday consultation with the Oracle, and I can see more threads in the weave than one.
There used to be sky above my head,
red at sunset, or broad with bright
flights of swallows, darting to fill the blue.
Stew I see now, soup where clouds float,
bloated grey scum. How did it go
so far, the light, the blue colour hid,
slid into night, or sucked into the dark places
spaces behind the moon? No dragons with fiery breath,
death in their gaze sail lazily,
crazily by, nor sheep, sleep-bearing and soft.
Aloft, all is washed away,
day, sun, hope of rain;
pain falls pitter-patter, a steel pulse throbbing—
bobbing on the distant ocean, your ship
slips into silence. You left to find yourself, you said
spread your nets—still lost, you cry,
I wish you