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* I always felt like “Nessie” got a bad rap, being called a monster and a beast and all that, so I think this little piece of mythic imagery grew from that. I hope you enjoy. *

                 ~

once, ago ...

on a loch called Ness 
a young, shy, teary-eyed moon
kissed the sun goodnight ...
and blushed
turning its reddened face to the
dark expanse heaven-ward
(so as to not betray its undying love of
the day star).
cotton swab clouds tickled rouge from
its flushed cheeks
dripping like crimson moondrops onto the
lake's black-mirror surface
kashmir Ruby gems of light that gently swirled
then burst into a thousand shards ...
the moon's red reflections
dancing like flaming scarlet pixies
spinning, twirling, glittering
as the lake came to life
the inky water melting, churning
as a satiny bulk rose from the abyss
a graceful movement of
slow, curving grandeur, breaching
immense in its mass and motive
like Earth itself, come to life
but smooth and sure, and lithe as wet leather
a sleek, silky neck ...
arched, and fluid as a Cobra
but transfixed
as if spellbound by a wood flute
gliding soft and cleaving a knife wake ...
like an Egyptian bark
ferrying the moon god, Khonsu across the Nile …
countless times throughout the centuries
the same scene had played out under
the cherry moon of late June
but this would be the last ...
no more would the ancient hulk
arise for the solstice
his weary old bones, brittle and sore -
aged heart thrumming slow and
weak in his barrel breast
and his spirit, dreary and chill with
all he'd seen and experienced ...
the humans of his era -
selfish and careless creatures -
had stripped and plundered the land and
waters for their own sake
without regard for Nature or the elements
no love or worth or thought given
to the great sphere, Terra
ruin thus tasked upon all they touched -
even one-another …
he could tolerate it no longer
and his efforts to communicate their shortsightedness
always ended the same ... badly
with many of their kind trying
to kill or capture him …
he was done, as was his species now
(being the last of his kind)
and the hushed voice of oblivion
whispered him ...
only one circuit more would he make of
Loch Ness's glass facade
one last honor given to it and the burnished moon
a wink to the Milky Way
and a final breath of warm, earthly air -
still sweet at times, despite man and his spoils
then he'd slip tenderly into the
deep, oily black of its reach
letting the arms of eternity wrap his
stately, time-worn bulk
allowing the dreams of a better age
and a friendlier world
carry him to quiet, enduring slumber ...
and the fathomless,
watery tomb …

below.






~ 1st Place ~  in the "Liquid Luna Lace" Poetry Contest, Chantelle Anne Cooke, Judge & Sponsor.
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