Laura Cracknell, poetry

by SF

A pickle of passion 

It’s my problem, not yours.
I’d hate to be the cause
of a dispute, or a row.

«What a cow!»
I can hear you cry,
but why
me?

I’m thinking,
sinking
in my own thoughts-again;

of men,
of the unobtainable,
inconceivable.

Unbelievable,

the audacity!
My own dignity
is at stake.

My imagination
keeps me awake
with reveries
of him
and me-
which will ever be.

Unless…

No, wait that’s just
Wrong. On
oh
So
Many
Levels.

But I’d revel,
In your company,
In your arms

Like she does
Like she can
and will do.

So, it’s my problem,
not yours.
Take your smiling eyes of blue,

unaware that you,
are the cause of my wandering mind.
I’m sure I’ll find, someone like you

But not you…ever.

*
Siren 

She graces the waves,
The currents, the cliff-edge
And the gorge.

The sun gleams down
on her glistening skin
and her fin.

Her hair, flaxen, and flaccid
Rolls down
Her torso,

Sweeps and swathes
As she bathes and
Basks in the embracing sun.

No feet, but fin
to glide her in
to the water before her.

Her song, a toxic yet saintly serenade:
from the heart
mesmerizes all within range:

Beyond her, the horizon,
The blood-stained skies
And gulls fleeing,

screeching warning cries.
On her rocks,
Reeling in the unsuspecting
Sailors .

Her voice is a weapon,
A sultry sweet haven
For them to be entranced in
It’s a risk they take without thinking

Transfixed, they see her, without blinking
singing baiting, preening and waiting
unaware of the web which she is spinning.

The men and their boats, crashing into the rocks,
Steered by their cocks and can’t believe the cataclysm ahead.

Why couldn’t they steer away instead?
Instead to their death, from one stone to another,

They’ll die together as the crew whose curiosity grew, the closer they gained to the siren on the rock of grey-blue.

For whomever dares sail on the river of the Rhein , they too should be warned of their fate in due time,

Should they hear a honey voice
calling them nigh,
Be cautious,

be careful
it may be the Siren of the Rhein;
the lovely Lorelei.

***

©Laura Cracknell
Photo© Stratos Fountoulis «Druivenfestival Hoeilaart, 2012»

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