Tag Archives: mermaids

Eyes Deep And Dark

After the show, we could take pictures, by standing outside the tank.
The mermaid would swim to the glass, smile, and you’d stand in front
of that same glass, and smile, or give a thumbs up,or pull a silly face.

Harsh light and tropical fishes swimming about with nowhere to go to.
The mermaid, with rust colored hair starting to fade, fair skin looking chalky,
and a tail not as vibrant as it once had been, would smile for you, sweetly.

I watched from the shadows in the back while the others crowded forth.
I thought I was not a gawker, and mark, or an awful person, yet I was here.
I watch the mermaid play her part in this dance, in this cruel play, not crack.

Almost to the end, as others had gone, I walked to the tank, heart racing.
She noticed me, smiled, a little light coming to her face, though unsure.
She swam close to the glass, looked me in the eye, curious and anxious.

A breathe away from the glass, I looked into her eyes, eyes deep and dark,
that knew kingdoms older than man, and wonders lost when Earth was young.
Eyes that had sorrows deeper than the ocean she’d been stolen away from.

I put my hand on the glass, cold and sterile, chilled and hard, something between.
Her face was unsure, but still curious, still wanting to be seen, to be seen as whole.
She placed her own hand on the glass opposite of mine, and we watched each other.

I smiled, a pittance, a penny thrown to a beggar, knowing I loved this creature,
but that I was here where she was kept, and was part of the curse that trapped her.
But I wanted to see her, up close, in the light, and I wanted her to see me too.

She looked into my eyes too, saw into me, saw all that was there, broken, lost.
She didn’t smile, but she didn’t take her hand away, and there we were, watchers,
strangers in an imbalnce of desire. She was taken. I was there too look upon her.

Finally, I looked away, cast my eyes down, and turned from her and the bright tank.
Through the dakrened theatre I walked, shame in desire fufilled, a derire, in the end,
I could not sate or deny, but gave into, and came her to get what it was I wanted.

At the door, I looked back. She was still floating there, her hand still on the glass,
watching me with a distant, sad look, a look that shamed me, made my face flush
and my heart race. My eyes stung and I left her there, not looking back at all as I ran.

 

Mermaids Every Summer

The aquarium, soft and shining blue as the captive fish swim and turn away,

from us all.

Little children with happy mothers watch in awe at the bright fish, watch them

with encompassing grace.

In an hour, mermaids, women in silicone tails so bright in hue, will come and

perform for us.

Wave and smile and blow heart shapes in bubbles from blown kisses, as happy

songs play.

I come for mermaids every summer, in love with others half way between loss

and home.

I sit in the back of the gallery in front of the tank where they will perform for us,

stake my place.

I listen to sad and longing songs on my earbuds, waiting, the blue soothing, gentle,

as believing children

make a better claim on summer, holding onto the hands of their happy mothers,

who remain earthly.

A little while to go, and the mermaids will come to perform, and a childhood I

discarded will come close.

Sad and longing songs on my earbuds, the blue the only soft light left anywhere,

and summer is here.

 

All The Boys Are Gone

A young and pretty French girl, in her blue and white swimsuit,

walks upon the beach, her light brown hair a little shaggy,

that shortly ago was a playful pixie cut.

The holiday season is over, but it’s still warm, still bright,

and she imagines she will see mermaids again, out in the waves,

know that all the ignorant eyes are gone.

That all the boys are gone.

Still cigarette butts in the sand, and a soda can half-buried,

people not caring. A million years ago no people existed, to take

and to sully, and to claim as their own.

The mermaids were here though, as they always have been, outside of time,

and a girl’s broken heart, like hers. A mermaid, with dark hair, sparkling tales,

waves to her from the breakers.

She waves, all the boys are gone.

The mermaids are eternal and outside of time, like the hulking black bunkers,

from a war that never ended, just down the coast. Skulls of a demon that burrows

in brains and flesh, always hungry, always finding willing hosts.

She walks into the water, lukewarm and swallowing, and swims out to the mermaid,

her sister and friend, who knew here, when she was free and innocent, and the terror

was in shadows and not in the light.

The mermaid has come for her, all the boys are gone.

Slash of the Moon

Daisie sat on the edge of the river, cold beer in her hand,

just brought up from the cold water where it was sat to cool.

Her friend was asleep in the tent, but she was wakeful, restless,

and sat in the darkness beneath starlight and slash of moonlight.

She felt almost weightless, as if she was straining to break free

from the earth, from gravity and the world, back up to those stars,

from which she’d been seeded, either by supernovas or malevolent beings,

to nothingness of light, the dream that was without wakefulness.

Out in the water, she heard splashing and an animal cry, hissing, angry.

Her eyes had adjusted to the dim luminescence from the stars above,

and in the white shadows, she saw a mermaid, with black, black hair

and glints on aquamarine skin, and eyes that shined, fish in it’s mouth.

The mermaid, bared it’s teeth around it’s  kill, angry at being seen.

Daisie’s breath caught, cold fists clutching her lungs, her heart racing.

Eye shine in the bone pale moonlight, they gazed one at the other.

Then the mermaid, with a flick of her tail and a big splash, went under.

Daisie sat there in the starlight, the cold and gripping fists slowly letting go,

and looked out dumbly were the wild and hungry eyes of the mermaid had

gazed out upon her, one of the last wild things, and comforting in it’s harshness.

Even here, only an hour away from Gatlinburg, untamed beasts still lived.

Daisie sipped from her beer, and thought of her friend, sleeping, without a care.

The alcohol, and the cold, the weightless untethering, the flicker of the mad world,

all unmoored her from her flesh, her spirit walking in the stars, on the true moon,

that was Artemis’s skull after the waking of her last daughter’s eyes, so long ago.

Florida Rust

Rust colored hair whipping against a rust colored sky.
The beach is just ahead. We’re almost there. Amost free.

Cold grey water, the color of steel, endless out before us.
Songs unheard for so long stir in our ears, our broken hearts.

 The spell is fading as we walk into the water, legs to tails.
Dive into the water, swim back home, back to those we love.
 Let the ones who took us never find us. Let us be free forevermore.
Our mother’s kingdom is right before us, but it will never be the same.

Beguiling and Sweet

Waterfall;
maybe a mermaid will come,
beguiling and sweet,
from that better world
I used to touch, in innocence and dream.
Hair black with a golden comb,
a song of soft delight on her lips,
eyes that show of something more,
something we knew when were young.
To see her break through silver waters,
her golden tale coiled beneath her,
to hear bittersweet song,
to know there are such things.
The summer sun is warm,
the sky a circle of blue in this grotto,
and there is a gentleness in the breeze.
Maybe a mermaid will come.

Mermaid Queen

Mermaid Queen
Momma, momma,
 come back to me.
 Daddy tells me
 that you are a
 mermaid queen,
 living beneath the
 blue, blue, waves.
 Daddy says
 in the ocean you’ll
 live through all eternity.
 But momma, can’t return
 ever for an afternoon
 to be by my side?
 Momma, hold me in
 the breakers tenderly,
 rock me as the water
 rushes over my head.
 Momma, momma,
 come back to me
 or carry me back
 to the deep kingdom
 you preside over,
 with sitting beside
 your golden throne.
 Momma, momma
 come back from the sea.
 Daddy says

you’re a mermaid queen,

but you’re my momma too,

 come be with me.

I Remember

“I Remember”
 The man was old and wizened, stiff of joint and knobly of limb. His this body was overwhelmed by his black suit and black rain coat. Tufts or wire white hair sprung out from beneath his knitted black tagagon. He walked with a simple, laquered walking stick over the uneven rocks and pebbles of the New England shoreline.
The day itself was grey as wet stone and cold and bitter as the darkness of the grave. The sun was dim and distorted behind the grey clouds that covered this barren island. I drew my own coat tighter to me, and bowed my head against the salty breeze that blew off the choppy, dark sea and stung my blushing cheeks.
The old man, whose name was Abraham, stoppeed once we were within sight of the statue. His breath was ragged and he was tired, but there was a smile, warm and pleased on his thin, colorless lips, and a bright gleam in his eye.
“What was it, your friend had said…….uh…..”
“Jacob.”
“Jacob! What was it your friend had said, back in town, about the mermaid statue.”
“‘He didn’t get what all the fuzz was about.”‘
“Fuzz?”
“He didn’t understand why it’s such a big deal. It’s so small and out of the way. He doesn’t think it’s worth it to come all this way.”
“Yes.” Abraham said, sighing and looking away at the endless cold waters, sad for a reason I couldn’t understand. It didn’t seem like he was angry at what my friend had said, or that he thought he was a punk; he was just disappointed by it, hurt.
Abraham caught his breath and we started walking again. The mermaid statue on the big, craggy boulder that lay out about 10 feet from the show, was a dim and dark metal, worn by the constant sea salt and wind. I was struck by how beautiful I found it. She was sitting, with her tail drawn under her, with long hair that framed a waifish face. She looked out into the endless and empty sea.
We sat down on a somewhat smooth rock. I wasn’t sure why Abraham had brought me out here, but I wasn’t bored, or antsy to get back to town. I feeling something, some….energy…..or…..I’m not sure, something that drew me here, to this old man, to this statue, to this island. I didn’t know why I was here, but I felt whatever the reason was, it was something momentous.
“I was a boy here, in this place. I’ve lived here all my life. The only time I’ve been more than a hundred miles away was back in ’44, when I was shipped to the Phillipines, during the war. I feel connected to this place, to these people. I’ve always been content with my lot her. I had a good childhood, was able to support and raise a family, and have seen my children and grandchildren go on and make their own way in a way that makes me very proud.
“Yet, we all, I think, have things that haunt us, even if they were beautiful. Especially, if they were beautiful.”
I was looking at the old man, trying to read his face, what he was feeling. He wasn’t looking at me at all, and his eyes were distant in some far away place, as looked out across the waters. There was some strange sentimental spell on him, of memory and joy and sorrow.
“When I was 16, I came here once on my own. It was warm and bright, at the edge of summer, before chill and change comes down. I came here just to be alone for awhile. I had 8 brothers and sisters back in our small, one story house, and sometimes quiet was something you needed.
“So I came here in our little boat my father sometimes used for fishing, and I came here. Why here, particularlly, I couldn’t say. I wasn’t really thinking of where I was going, just to be somewhere no one esle was at. But I could have easily have followed a trail in the wood or gone to the meadow in the stream a little ways behind our house. But, I came here.
“I tied up the boat on the little dock that was here, and got out, and stood here on this shore, looking into the blue, spotless sky and all the calm, shimmering waters. I sat down and just took it all in, just let the beauty of it and the light and the warmth of the day wash over me. It was like a spell, an enchantment.
“And then, somehow, I felt her eyes upon me, out in the waters. She was there in the shallows just off of the shore. Her hair dark and inky as the depths, her eyes as blue as the waters in which she swam, her skin bright and aquamarine.”
“I stripped out of my clothes, down to my drawers, and walked into the waters towards her. I felt such heat and desire blooming inside my heart, like a flush spring rose. She smiled and swam towards me. I reached out to her and she took my hands in hers. It was the first time I’d ever touched a girl in such away, with intesnsity, with tenderness.
“I fell to my knees, there in the water and looked into those blue eyes. I saw such wonders there.
“She pulled me close, and wrapped her tail around me, like she was taking poessesion of me, like I was already hers. Then she splashed back into the sea, taking me by the hand. We went down into the waters, into such a kingdom as men rarely ever know. A kingdom with ebony spires and strange treasures and secrets never told.
“And we sat there, at the bottom of the sea, in a seaweed forest, in the spikes and dancing sunlight, dreamlike under the water and the waves. She held my hands in hers, and she looked deep into my eyes, and I saw such things, such miracles, as she pressed her lips to mine and we kissed.
“As the sun faded and the moon came out, she brought me back to shore, and I stood in the golden light of day fading as I watched her dive beneath the waters, and disappear.”
The old man paused then, obviously overwhelmed with his memories, and wiped a tear from his eye. His breath was harsh, almost a bark. And, in that moment, I was enraptured by his tale, having no doubt of it, having no dounbt of him.
“After I was discharged from the Army in ’46, along with making my trade as a worker in a machine shop, I also became somewhat famous locally as a sculptor. I was always trying to capture something ineffable in crude matter, and to hear what I was told then, maybe I did.”
Abraham turns then, to the statue of the mermaid, the weight of years and of bittersweet memory on his thin shoulders.
“I made that statue for her, Jacob. I made it for her. Of course I never told anyone, just said stuff about a dream and sharing beauty and a testament to the sea. But i made if for her. I made it for her.”
“Why?” I ask.
“To show her I remember. I remember.”