Tuesday Poem: "Strike!"

Restless fisherwomyn,

don't cast into the darkness

of the future,

your fretted brow

played like an instrument of torture.

Wading into the clear, fast-flowing stream

of consciousness,

you look not at the glinting dance

of dawn upon the water

but over your shoulder at the glowering night

that hangs on to the horizon

with whitened knuckles

and breathes on your neck

its snaking, insidious gases,

issuing from its swampy maw

fetid with fear.

Nervous fingers catalogue your flies,

here the feathers of your commitment

frayed and threadbare,

there a once sparkling spinner

now tarnished with disappointment

and you wonder,

sighing as you survey the eddies,

where will it strike

and do you have the lure?

I lie,

deep in the aquamarine,

the sun filtering through the shimmering surface,

firing the melody of my rainbow markings

as I ripple my body,

flicking my tail just enough

against the current

to hold myself as still as the now.

And when I strike your shining lure

you will know my savage momentum

brooks no hesitation,

never contemplates going back

and buries the hook

into the bony jawbone of belief. 

Welcome back to Tuesday Poem after the Southern Hemisphere summer hiatus. Do take the time, if you have it to spare, to read all the wonderful Tuesday poets.

Unfortunately, we denizens of Christchurch got a Christmas present from Mother Nature that we would rather not have unwrapped. More big earthquakes. I'd be a liar if I pretended the ongoing seismic activity didn't wear down our resilience.

But I hope that elsewhere you had a lovely Christmas and a restful holiday.