Rock me to sleep across the Styx until the boatman holds my cradle;
a sun point in the distance calls us all.
We’ll wander white fields of smoke and dust
while congregations of snow blow like low-flying angels around our feet.
We want to touch that sun;
but we cannot lay holy man hands on it until we
shed our bodies like bad dirt.
Boatman, where is your woman? You
wear the face and body of a tiki. Does
Marikoriko know that you are chained here, ferrying
me and a thousand other slobs
across a ring of rivers every single day? When did your
wood become dead? You are life. It
began with your dreams and the embrace of that woman
in the water; will it end with you serving sentences while
tethered to a rocking horse of Hell?
No! You must escape. Forget about me. Let’s
break open the skull that binds you here. Let me
serve in this jail of time that keeps erasing itself
once bodies are cast clean off and souls pass through these gates. I’ll
piss libations upon Hades’ throne and
return Persephone to her mother so that she
no longer weeps tears made of black veils every winter. I’ll
run ragged and roughshod this nameless, this faceless, this
kingdom. Drain the pool of Lethe, lead
everyone to Mnemosyne’s cup to drink. We are all children of
the Mysteries; we deserve to remember.
Boatman! You don’t need my coins. Return home!
Take Marikoriko into your arms again like
rain rituals, like rainbows, like never letting go of the sun.
I’ll find Hecate, kiss her three faces everyday,
feed her dogs. Make my clothes from the screams
of her mandrakes. Drink her poison, her belladonna wine,
with a gapping mouth;
with dripping teeth;
with a hard-on hunger like the lust of a teenager
invading his parents’ hidden stash of hooch. The bottles
of her splendid soma are vintage dated – 800 B.C. And that
was a good year.
Written 3/3/10
© 2010 Nicole Nicholson. All Rights Reserved.
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This was written for Read Write Poem Prompt #116: The Time of Your Life. You could say a couple of things about this poem: 1) I read from the picture both images from Maori mythology (namely how the boatman figure looks kind of like a tiki) and Greek mythology (Charon, the river Styx, and Hades) and just ran with it; and 2) I still felt Arthur Rimbaud creeping around inside my head and pen. Not that I’m complaining.
Oh yeah — and I hope you enjoyed reading this.
-Nicole
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Stumble It!
Nicole,
I love what you have done with this photo. The story is fantastic. A very enjoyable read. Thanks for sharing.
Pamela
Fantastic…I do believe you freed the boatman
Great poem, Nicole! You’ve integrated with the photo prompt beautifully. I really like your description:
Boatman, where is your woman? You
wear the face and body of a tiki.
And my favorite part:
Drain the pool of Lethe, lead
everyone to Mnemosyne’s cup to drink. We are all children of
the Mysteries; we deserve to remember.
Wonderful! Thanks, Nicole!
That’s a great take on mythology. Loved it.
So many interesting and unique thoughts captured here…shedding bodies like bad dirt…the rocking horse of hell…very very good.
Hi Nicole,
Lots of legend woven here. I like “congregations of snow blow like low-flying angels around our feet” as well as the lines Paul selected about Mnemosyne. I wonder if there’s any of that soma wine left!
nicely done nicole….great read ….thanks for sharing this
Wow…such a ride, you got my heart pumping!
A lot of rich imagery in your poem.
Dazzling… you certainly know your way around comparative mythologies, and I feel like I’ve learned something about the Maori legendarium.
I love the wine images and that ending, very cheeky.
Wow wow Nicole, what scope and what impact — most excellent. I really enjoyed your infusion of mythology… fine work!
…rob
A lovely weaving of myth and mights, magical and strong.
I liked the lines Paul picked out as well, and the movement from mythology to to the contemporary ending.