• Café Life is the Colony's main hangout, watering hole and meeting point.

    This is a place where you'll meet and make writing friends, and indulge in stratospherically-elevated wit or barometrically low humour.

    Some Colonists pop in religiously every day before or after work. Others we see here less regularly, but all are equally welcome. Two important grounds rules…

    • Don't give offence
    • Don't take offence

    We now allow political discussion, but strongly suggest it takes place in the Steam Room, which is a private sub-forum within Café Life. It’s only accessible to Full Members.

    You can dismiss this notice by clicking the "x" box

Poetry The Druid who lives in the sea

The World Between the Words
Invest in You. Get Full Membership now.
I’ve met the Druid who lives in the sea, one winter’s night when out late on a walk

Stumbled over gnarled roots, tripping over rocks

Beneath me waves they crashed against the wall of worn out shore

Exhausted from the constant lash, sloughing on for more.

The slap of waves I could not see, but spray upon my feet

Warned me that if I should fall, my maker I would meet

But still I pressed on, tear soaked cheeks, remembering a lover

Who discarded she who loved him so for warmth come from another

And there it was, at cliff’s high peak, a rock beneath me slid

Waves strained up to catch my fall, my soul the depths did bid.

“Come join us,” tides whispered, foam curling in delight.

“Our sisters are the moon and stars, bathe always in their light.”

And, in truth, I considered, when I beheld how bright she glowed

Could I find a final warmth beneath the waves so cold?

Fingers throbbing, aching, screaming, gripping stone too round

I did not find her, I was dying, it was me she found.

Her hair the vines that hug the trees, the webs that hold the earth.

Her breath the first breeze over the plains, her lips flush with mirth.

Her eyes I shall not forget, not happy or sad or knowing

But everything and anything and nothing, always growing.

When she pulled me from the wall and set me firm at last,

She did not strain or show her fear or hoist me slow or fast.

She could have been plucking fruit, examining flesh for color,

Or bending over a flower and watering it til it blooms fuller.

And then one wave reached over the edge, enfolded her inside

She rode it to the ocean floor, where I know she resides

Once a month, when moon is full, I come here, hoping to meet

The druid who saved me out of my tears and stood me on my feet.

And the lover, the one I would die for, he now means nothing to me.

But I dream and I long and I pine away for the Druid who lives in the sea.
 

Latest Articles By Litopians

  • Advertising and Social Media
    There has been much discussion in writing circles about how much a writer has to self-promote these ...
  • Future Abstract: Fights at Night
    SATIRE ALERT: The following abstract is entirely fictional and does not represent actual events or s ...
  • Great Novel Openings Quiz
    As writers, we all know how important it is to grip the reader from the very start. Intriguing, surp ...
  • In The Summertime
    In the early seventies, I had a semi-Afro hairstyle and a shaggy beard. . I thought I looked like th ...
  • Working with a Literary Agent
    The Querying In a previous post I mentioned that I was back in the query trenches. To recap, my earl ...
  • Danger! Danger!
    What is perhaps the most feared creature of the Borneo rainforest, I hear you ask? Who is the King o ...
  • The World Has Missed You
         May 2021… COVID lockdown restrictions had eased, so Mrs Treaclechops and I headed to the I ...
Back
Top