A Celtic Soak

Bathtime is for make-believe.
My knees, the Cliffs of Moher
jutting above a kyanite sea.

I shave seaweed from my skin,
its tangled tendrils hold
secrets not meant for men.

Above, the Hag’s head nods,
she does agree,
man’s a creature of pure trickery.

A mermaid without a cloak
lounges on my landslip thighs,
dips her tail in the aquatic yoke.

We’ve learned to bide our time,
wedding and bedding, but ne’er forgetting
one day we’ll find

our stolen magic stoles.
Slip into them, and then the wider sea
to swim free amongst the selkies.

© khartless 2022, All Rights Reserved


Artist: Dee Mulrooney

Visual Verse: An Anthology of Art and Words
One image, one hour, 50-500 words.
The picture is the starting point, the text is up to you.

VOL. 09 CHAPTER 03

13 Comments

  1. Love this response to the Visual Verse prompt. Your images are wonderfully done.
    (I tried a bit of prose, but it went a bit weird – 60 minutes is quite a challenge sometimes!)

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Not sure how I can send an attachment on WordPress. So I’m copying it in here. As I said, it’s a bit off piste!

    At Last.

    ‘It’s only a story. A flipping daft made-up thing Ma used to tell us. It’s not true, for crying out loud!’
    But I could see fright in my sister’s eyes and she was holding the door handle so tight her fingers were white.
    ‘Let me by,’ I shouted as I wrenched her out of my way. ‘Or, come with me and see if I’m mad.’
    The sun was slipping low as I ran from the house towards the sea. As I reached the cliff edge the movement of ground was barely visible. But I could feel it. The slow heave and thrust of the land as the cliffs moved their rocky feet and shuffled further into the ocean. Ropes of deep red sunlight pulled the limestone beasts further in, crimson ripples tugging from the horizon, coaxing them. An eyelash of new moon hung faint in the east, watching as eventually the cliffs shuddered to a halt. Loose stones tumbled down into the dusky water as a shoal of laughing nereids emerged from the foamy pink splashes. They swam and swirled, throwing the fading ribbons of sunset from wave to wave. I watched, entranced by their grace and beauty.
    And from the writhe and glint of skin and scale, I heard a voice I had always known, call out to me:
    ‘It’s time, my love. ‘
    I let myself fall down, past the crumbling edge, into the spinning water far below. And as the waves covered my body, I felt the strength of many hands support me – at last.

    Like

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