Modified using two images 1 by Victoria_Regen from Pixabay & Image 2 by Peace,love,happiness from Pixabay
https://soundcloud.com/rowan-joyce/reign-of-blood-audio-reading?si=f60e056c70d944ed9f24bf20122de8ba
In keeping with this week's theme of myth, legend and fables... I thought I might get a little more historical with this poem. It's a persona poem, written from the perspective of a ghost of one of the monks slaughtered during a Viking raid on the church of St Cuthbert on the Island of by Lindisfarne in 793.
The poem does have a spooky feel to it and draws heavily on my past experience of scuba diving in the Farne islands in the UK. There are a few very specific descriptive sections that use words describing plants, or underwater fauna that you only find in the underwater coastal environment of the UK. So, to avoid confusion I have linked these words to their definitions.
I highly recommend listening to the SoundCloud reading as you read the text as it will add to the use of in-line rhymes and express the metre and rhythm of the piece in a much better way.
Reign Of Blood
My hooded eyes strain from bony cairns of hollow hermitage, loamy earth, tepid skies and shale shorn spray. They look away to the west as waves crest worn granite flowers, and wind whips from Nordic shore. I feel the thrum of my heart beat with the approach of crimson oars.
The green beneath calls A rhythmic aching murmur, mingled with the cries of Fulmar, Cormorant and lathy Tern who screech at silent fish that lurk, out of reach. Darting beneath whelk worn hulls, that shelter shades of fisher folk who followed tides from berth of bay out to grey ocean swell, tacking the whale road. They dwell among Reflected sheen of brackish fronds, ghostly sheaves of ‘Deadmens fingers’ in salience of sibilant currents.
Arms upraised they Sing and dance in the shallows of calm kelp forests and basalt towers. A sediments sigh blown on the winds of the tides.
Blood flecks sink like wilting leaves. A rain staining upturned faces as cushioned bells ring out above, shattering peace. Welts of wood scar stippled sky of dipping waves, where speckled seals fly.
Harsh rain flays the quaking Marram and the Norse men bray, and slake their thirst. Winter's driven out with warmth of blood and the moan of prayers that founder in mud. I watch it all from hollow cairns of loamy earth while beneath the surf spat spray the harvest dance continues night and day. Washed by wearied eddies, until the reign of blood fades away.
Thanks for reading/listening 🙂🌿
All pictures used are creative commons licence, credited beneath the image. If you have enjoyed this poem, you can check out my homepage @raj808 for similar content. Thank you.
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