their limbs are
jagged.
like nothing more
than the snapped branches of an oak
after a passing storm, they are thin,
brittle, skin like a damp cling of paper over bone
and joints sharp as swords.
there is nothing of this world
in the hair like moss, like ivy,
like the draping curtains of algae
concealing a river’s fall; nothing of this world
in those bodies clad with leaf-mould,
in those eyes bright like berries
that would kill you just to touch.
they move like ice.
it is a glacial creak; each step taken
is inevitable, is ordained,
it falls with the weight of a sparrow
and the devastating precision
of a landslide. to accept their touch
is to greet the next world with features cast
in fear; to flee, or attempt it –
that is to awaken
the Hunt.
and through valley & glen,
over hill and swift river, ‘til the soles of your feet
trail ruby ribbons for the hounds,
you may flee - but know this:
they are the children of Artemis,
who know not how to cease
until your life-blood enriches the earth.
Author notes
Title from William Butler Yeats' 'Stolen Child'. Subject being the wild fairies; no disneyfied tinkerbell will be found here.
A contest entry
- the static rounds: audition. show me what you've got. by decode.
1070 points, ended June 21, 44 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Please tell me what you think
Comments
1 - 6 of 6
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yes
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yes.
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yes
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yes
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I thought this was stellar.
I loved the second stanza in particular - the imagery rocked.
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D'oh ~ so I needn't have tied myself in knots writing a completely new poem in the half-hour-odd left before elimination? Fail, mace. fail.
(I'm really bad at telling what you guys like... but I'm certain this would have lost me 4-6 'line-break' marks from Laura, at least, so maybe 's for the best)
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