The mermaid
Posted: Thu Mar 18, 2004 8:06 pm
This poem is dedicated to Federico Garcia Lorca
A beautiful girl on the rocks of the sea's mesh
the moon pearling off her white, naked, virgin flesh
guitar like, it strummed a gentle unearthly song
it was difficult here to imagine right from wrong
Above the cliffs like balustrades of God's justice and hope
the white horse appeared and spread it's gothic wings
a silhouette and a canopy against the dreamy speckled stars, that did sing
and it plunged into the foamy sea of blood red colours, under the slope
Deep below the acid sea and a dark blood depth of despair
into the caverns and the rocks, hidden deep under there
a mona lisa smile, a mirror, a knowledge and an enigmatic stare
as the mermaid brushed her tattered and salty unkempt hair
And she dreamt of the olive trees and the scent of the oranges and the feel of soft silk
the deep wells and the drowned and sexually confused youths of hope
who lost their ideals of love and normality and could not cope
brought tight into her ample white bosoms of motherly, smothering, hot milk
And she dreamt of the troubled and strifed vineyards and orangegroves of civil war Spain
in 36, down a desolate and leafy lovers lane
to an isolated vineyard of lost buried souls, under the ground in the rain
and the moon was gorged and very, very vain
a sharp rifle crack and a poet's face etched with blinding pain
his life blood and hopes, pouring into the furrowed sores of a split Spain from his veins
the poeple's poet, who gave hope and inspiration for the peasant masses
buried, forgotten and entwined in death's decomposing ashes
no more hope or poetic beauty for the divided Spanish people
just the anchoring of the stoic, unbending, religious, catholic church steeple
And the mermaid's lower green body scales, shimmered and shone in the primeval moonlight night
She cried for justice, she cried for man's plight
then the winged, white, pale horse with no visible rider
managed to clamber onto the rock next beside her
and suddenly a Leviathan of the deep surged upwards from the troughs of the waves
kissed the moonlight and counted the number of the forgotten graves
if knowledge is to remain dormant in the blood of the deep caves
then justice is vanquished and hope will never be saved
and the mermaid left the winged horse on it's perilous wave battered rock
and threw it a piece of her cut, shorn, tattered mermaid's lock
and jumped into the wild and mysterious sea, forever to be free
and ended up captured in a canvas by the painter, Salvador Dali.
Georges
copyright 2004. George Wright
A beautiful girl on the rocks of the sea's mesh
the moon pearling off her white, naked, virgin flesh
guitar like, it strummed a gentle unearthly song
it was difficult here to imagine right from wrong
Above the cliffs like balustrades of God's justice and hope
the white horse appeared and spread it's gothic wings
a silhouette and a canopy against the dreamy speckled stars, that did sing
and it plunged into the foamy sea of blood red colours, under the slope
Deep below the acid sea and a dark blood depth of despair
into the caverns and the rocks, hidden deep under there
a mona lisa smile, a mirror, a knowledge and an enigmatic stare
as the mermaid brushed her tattered and salty unkempt hair
And she dreamt of the olive trees and the scent of the oranges and the feel of soft silk
the deep wells and the drowned and sexually confused youths of hope
who lost their ideals of love and normality and could not cope
brought tight into her ample white bosoms of motherly, smothering, hot milk
And she dreamt of the troubled and strifed vineyards and orangegroves of civil war Spain
in 36, down a desolate and leafy lovers lane
to an isolated vineyard of lost buried souls, under the ground in the rain
and the moon was gorged and very, very vain
a sharp rifle crack and a poet's face etched with blinding pain
his life blood and hopes, pouring into the furrowed sores of a split Spain from his veins
the poeple's poet, who gave hope and inspiration for the peasant masses
buried, forgotten and entwined in death's decomposing ashes
no more hope or poetic beauty for the divided Spanish people
just the anchoring of the stoic, unbending, religious, catholic church steeple
And the mermaid's lower green body scales, shimmered and shone in the primeval moonlight night
She cried for justice, she cried for man's plight
then the winged, white, pale horse with no visible rider
managed to clamber onto the rock next beside her
and suddenly a Leviathan of the deep surged upwards from the troughs of the waves
kissed the moonlight and counted the number of the forgotten graves
if knowledge is to remain dormant in the blood of the deep caves
then justice is vanquished and hope will never be saved
and the mermaid left the winged horse on it's perilous wave battered rock
and threw it a piece of her cut, shorn, tattered mermaid's lock
and jumped into the wild and mysterious sea, forever to be free
and ended up captured in a canvas by the painter, Salvador Dali.
Georges
copyright 2004. George Wright
By all means scrutinise the veses for pruning but I think this one needs very little editing at all. Here you are telling a story and not trying overly hard to make rhymes fit where they may seem contrived. I really like this one George.