So I decided at the last minute to kind of take part in NaPoWriMo - as if I don't already have enough to do right now... So, whatever I write will be ultra-shaky as I'm only giving myself ten minutes to write at a time. It's a good discipline and I might come up with a couple of decent poems at the end.
Yesterday's poem was written yesterday - but it's one I won't share, partly because it's going to a magazine in a couple of months (Is that cheating? Hope that's not cheating... In case it is, I'll do another one for Day 1 if I have time).
Today's prompt, from the site, was to look at a non-greco/Roman myth. I've always been interested in the link between African-Caribbean folklores and that was the starting point. It's funny how a lot of tales have mysterious women who lure people to their deaths. I grew up hearing talk of the Jamaican River Mumma, and was intrigued by La Ciguapa in the Dominican Republic. The first definitely has its origins in African folklore, but the second has very disputed origins. What I started hasn't been refined - and the ending isn't great - but it's 2 mins to 12 and I have to work tomorrow!
Yesterday's poem was written yesterday - but it's one I won't share, partly because it's going to a magazine in a couple of months (Is that cheating? Hope that's not cheating... In case it is, I'll do another one for Day 1 if I have time).
Today's prompt, from the site, was to look at a non-greco/Roman myth. I've always been interested in the link between African-Caribbean folklores and that was the starting point. It's funny how a lot of tales have mysterious women who lure people to their deaths. I grew up hearing talk of the Jamaican River Mumma, and was intrigued by La Ciguapa in the Dominican Republic. The first definitely has its origins in African folklore, but the second has very disputed origins. What I started hasn't been refined - and the ending isn't great - but it's 2 mins to 12 and I have to work tomorrow!
...
Yeah, I think I seen you in another tale;
maybe your hair was more picky there
or your feet were fins or ran backward
through woods; that’s right, the hunter
trick – stare long enough into your eyes
and death gone come knocking my door.
Yeah, I done seen you before in another
life;
maybe you was a stillborn mother or an un-
buried navel string, tying up the synthetic
weave that history provides. Your disguise:
a saint, a holy mother, a recipe, a cobweb,
a drop of blood over the Atlantic ocean.
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