The Kelpie sits upon his throne
Becca
Becca
Sep 17, 2012      Sep 19, 2012

Black waters, cruel heart,
The Kelpie sits upon his throne
For eternity, doomed to play his part
And wait in vain for his one true own.

His servants are the poisonous eel,
Sea serpent, corpse, and dead man's ghost
Of his victims - though no pain they feel,
In death must earn his wrath the most.

In daylight was this lord's last goodness
Spurned and cast to mocking sea;
From damsel's touch this heart of darkness
Sprang, shall remain eternally

So: Once a time of cool recklessness
Brought the Kelpie ashore as the sun descended,
In pursuit of the voice as sweet as goodness
That sang ere the song of day had ended.

The Kelpie left the waters
For love of land-born daughter
And laid upon her lips a kiss,
And wove her his enchantment: --

"Tell me, maiden, do you weep
For Love's encounter sorely missed?
Do you not know the deep seas seek
Such tears as yours - they shall be kissed

"Beyond remembrance of those sad eyes,
Without recall of downcast smile
(The sea must love you in disguise
Only to scare sweet sorrows awhile.)

"Then let my voice your heart caress.
Come, take these hands to lead you hence
Into the surf, leave all duress
That land can offer; Love's light is sent

"To guide you, though the soulless waters
Close above your grief-bowed head.
Know, I will always follow after --
I, dark prince in daylight's stead."

He drew her to the sea's dark shore -
His eyes focused of one foul will:
To take her breath on ocean's floor
And so to bid her song be still.

But the girl wouldn't go.
Behold! the mourning dawns
screams the shadows
away from the living orb!


Dark man -- melts the mask
Away: Black horse, drown
Your sorrows forever at the
Bottomless depths of loathing.


She would not listen to his charms
When sunlight's worth came hers at last;
Now night, now day, his empty arms
Clutch mildewed dregs of the past.

Cruel waters guard the frozen heart
Of the Kelpie who sits upon his throne,
A slave to Love -- his one true part,
Bestowed by a gentle earthly voice

she left him alone.

Amber Dame
Jun 27, 2012

Crowds mocked her “beauty”, and peculiar scent.

But the bewildered found gems in those coastal colored eyes,

no matter how distorted the face.

Musk aroma struck fluttering feelings,



butterfly pheromones.

Must have been hoax cologne.

A fool to think since she lacked Venus’ allure,

she would no doubt lack her games.


Lying lips, spit bees, but every kiss seemed cherries.

Falsely comforted in crooked arms.

Humming those songs, that belonged to us,

to discover they could have belonged to strangers.

Eloquent mirage, sculpted for the naive girl’s needs.


Wanted to believe novels of excuses, renowned author of love fiction.

Tattered, tired, thoughts racing for foundation,

blind heroic sense to find the treasured soul,

beauty an illusion.


won’t find devotion searching for ghosts.


Beyond the burnt, stench stained cover,

strong faith the inside was meant to illuminate.

Each ember page turned, more careless and repugnant than the last.

Reading with a Deerstalker hat, compass,

hunting for jewels…suppose.


Found dirt.


Inside wretched grammar smeared with empty torn space.

Simpleton, dreamer?

To think there was anything more…

For more poems by this author check out http://wordsfromabruisedheart.tumblr.com/
Anemone naves and kelpie skins,
Ormond
Ormond
Oct 17, 2012

She rides the chanting waves
At the seas horizon,
In fires of star sheen and moon shine,
Sweet Niamh of the golden hair, and aqua eyes,

Princess of the green sea turtles,
Of the coral sea grottos,
Anemone naves and kelpie skins,
Trailing the rainbow schools of the whirling fin,

The whole twining ocean globe of blue is swooning
Under the milky waving skies and unfathoming deeps,
Her laughter lighting the unremembered bottom of the seas.

In Irish mythology, Niamh ( "bright" or "radiant". Niav, Neve, Neave, Neeve and Nieve ) was a goddess, the daughter of the god of the sea ( Manannán mac Lir ) and one of the queens of Tír na nÓg, the land of eternal youth. She was the lover of the poet-hero Oisín.
Anemone naves and kelpie skins,
Ormond
Ormond
Jun 30, 2013      Jul 1, 2013

She rides the chanting waves
At the seas horizon,
In fires of star sheen and moon shine,
Sweet Niamh of the golden hair, and aqua eyes,

Princess of the green sea turtles,
Of the coral sea grottos,
Anemone naves and kelpie skins,
Trailing the rainbow schools of the whirling fin,

The whole twining ocean globe of blue is swooning
Under the milky waving skies and unfathoming deeps,
Her laughter lighting the unremembered bottom of the seas.

In Irish mythology, Niamh ( "bright" or "radiant". Niav, Neve, Neave, Neeve and Nieve ) was a goddess, the daughter of the god of the sea ( Manannán mac Lir ) and one of the queens of Tír na nÓg, the land of eternal youth. She was the lover of the poet-hero Oisín.
Anemone naves and kelpie skins,
Ormond
Ormond
Oct 23, 2013

She rides the chanting waves
At the seas horizon,
In fires of star sheen and moon shine,
Sweet Niamh of the golden hair, and aqua eyes,

Princess of the green sea turtles,
Of the coral sea grottos,
Anemone naves and kelpie skins,
Trailing the rainbow schools of the whirling fin,

The whole twining ocean globe of blue is swooning
Under the milky waving skies and unfathoming deeps,
Her laughter lighting the unremembered bottom of the seas.

In Irish mythology, Niamh ( "bright" or "radiant". Niav, Neve, Neave, Neeve and Nieve ) was a goddess, the daughter of the god of the sea ( Manannán mac Lir ) and one of the queens of Tír na nÓg, the land of eternal youth. She was the lover of the poet-hero Oisín.
Anemone naves and kelpie skins,
Ormond
Ormond
Mar 30, 2013

She rides the chanting waves
At the seas horizon,
In fires of star sheen and moon shine,
Sweet Niamh of the golden hair, and aqua eyes,

Princess of the green sea turtles,
Of the coral sea grottos,
Anemone naves and kelpie skins,
Trailing the rainbow schools of the whirling fin,

The whole twining ocean globe of blue is swooning
Under the milky waving skies and unfathoming deeps,
Her laughter lighting the unremembered bottom of the seas.

In Irish mythology, Niamh ( "bright" or "radiant". Niav, Neve, Neave, Neeve and Nieve ) was a goddess, the daughter of the god of the sea ( Manannán mac Lir ) and one of the queens of Tír na nÓg, the land of eternal youth. She was the lover of the poet-hero Oisín.
A manticore? A kelpie?

Peevishness is an indigo plant
How could it not be peevish?
It's supposed to be green
How is it absorbing sunlight?
Where is the chlorophyll?
How is this happening?
This isn't what is supposed to happen
What the heck will its flowers look like?
Will THEY be green?
What creature would eat or pollinate
An INDIGO PLANT?
A manticore? A kelpie?
...
Calm down, indigo plant
You have a purpose for being this way
Let it be

**Kelpie (Celtic)**
Claire Rubbelke
Claire Rubbelke
Aug 23, 2013      Aug 24, 2013

Puca (Celtic)
A faerie it shall be,
shifting forms constantly,
a black horse, glowing eyes,
yellow as the moon,
ride his back and o'er you go,
tumbling down the cliff.

Kitsune (Japanese)
Smart and strong,
clever and wise,
nine tails in all,
nine tails divine,
Tricky pests, is what they seem,
they're know to lurk inside your dreams.

Leshy (Slavic)
Lords of the forest, standing tall,
pale as a bone, dark green eyes,
tricksters they seem, mischievous and wild,
bewar their cry, it is wild,
protecting their animals, living and dead,
their home is where the tree roots tread.

Huldra (Scandinavian)
Neither good nor bad,
a flirty lass,
she walks the forest hidden.
Bearing a tail of a cow,
she hides it behind her back,
Somehow she stays above the ground,
while all the rest are lost.

Mare (Scandinavian)
Lurking in the shadows,
the crevices of your mind,
she sits atop you as you dream
and haunts your very soul,
creating dreams, she learns your fears,
your weaknesses and your lies,
she twists them all together
for a terrible surprise.

Nokken (Scandinavian)
Nky, he's sometimes called,
moving beneath the surface,
the water is still, barely a ripple,
Playing the violin, fiddling through the night,
trapping unprotected travellers.
Throw a piece of metal in and say the ancient rhyme:
“Nyk! Nyk!
Naal i vatn.
Jomfru Maria kastet styaal i vatn!
Du sæk, æk flyt!”

Kelpie (Celtic)
Mystical water horse,
pretending to be trapped,
drawing in the children,
luring them with their beauty,
changing into lovely women,
drawing in passing men,
drowning, drowning,
underneath where hope is lost.

Encantado (Brazilian)
Dolphin or snake, living beneath the surface,
morphing into a woman,
singing, luring, drawing you near,
taking you into the night.
Controlling minds and storms alike,
do not near the river's edge,
for surely you will be taken, too.

I know there are many, many more creatures, and there are more to come.
I'm sorry if my information is not all correct.
"The Fetch and Kelpie went to school

"OH, when I was a little Ghost,
A merry time had we!
Each seated on his favourite post,
We chumped and chawed the buttered toast
They gave us for our tea."

"That story is in print!" I cried.
"Don't say it's not, because
It's known as well as Bradshaw's Guide!"
(The Ghost uneasily replied
He hardly thought it was).

"It's not in Nursery Rhymes? And yet
I almost think it is -
'Three little Ghosteses' were set
'On posteses,' you know, and ate
Their 'buttered toasteses.'

"I have the book; so if you doubt it - "
I turned to search the shelf.
"Don't stir!" he cried. "We'll do without it:
I now remember all about it;
I wrote the thing myself.

"It came out in a 'Monthly,' or
At least my agent said it did:
Some literary swell, who saw
It, thought it seemed adapted for
The Magazine he edited.

"My father was a Brownie, Sir;
My mother was a Fairy.
The notion had occurred to her,
The children would be happier,
If they were taught to vary.

"The notion soon became a craze;
And, when it once began, she
Brought us all out in different ways -
One was a Pixy, two were Fays,
Another was a Banshee;

"The Fetch and Kelpie went to school
And gave a lot of trouble;
Next came a Poltergeist and Ghoul,
And then two Trolls (which broke the rule),
A Goblin, and a Double -

"(If that's a snuff-box on the shelf,"
He added with a yawn,
"I'll take a pinch) - next came an Elf,
And then a Phantom (that's myself),
And last, a Leprechaun.

"One day, some Spectres chanced to call,
Dressed in the usual white:
I stood and watched them in the hall,
And couldn't make them out at all,
They seemed so strange a sight.

"I wondered what on earth they were,
That looked all head and sack;
But Mother told me not to stare,
And then she twitched me by the hair,
And punched me in the back.

"Since then I've often wished that I
Had been a Spectre born.
But what's the use?" (He heaved a sigh.)
"THEY are the ghost-nobility,
And look on US with scorn.

"My phantom-life was soon begun:
When I was barely six,
I went out with an older one -
And just at first I thought it fun,
And learned a lot of tricks.

"I've haunted dungeons, castles, towers -
Wherever I was sent:
I've often sat and howled for hours,
Drenched to the skin with driving showers,
Upon a battlement.

"It's quite old-fashioned now to groan
When you begin to speak:
This is the newest thing in tone - "
And here (it chilled me to the bone)
He gave an AWFUL squeak.

"Perhaps," he added, "to YOUR ear
That sounds an easy thing?
Try it yourself, my little dear!
It took ME something like a year,
With constant practising.

"And when you've learned to squeak, my man,
And caught the double sob,
You're pretty much where you began:
Just try and gibber if you can!
That's something LIKE a job!

"I'VE tried it, and can only say
I'm sure you couldn't do it, e-
ven if you practised night and day,
Unless you have a turn that way,
And natural ingenuity.

"Shakspeare I think it is who treats
Of Ghosts, in days of old,
Who 'gibbered in the Roman streets,'
Dressed, if you recollect, in sheets -
They must have found it cold.

"I've often spent ten pounds on stuff,
In dressing as a Double;
But, though it answers as a puff,
It never has effect enough
To make it worth the trouble.

"Long bills soon quenched the little thirst
I had for being funny.
The setting-up is always worst:
Such heaps of things you want at first,
One must be made of money!

"For instance, take a Haunted Tower,
With skull, cross-bones, and sheet;
Blue lights to burn (say) two an hour,
Condensing lens of extra power,
And set of chains complete:

"What with the things you have to hire -
The fitting on the robe -
And testing all the coloured fire -
The outfit of itself would tire
The patience of a Job!

"And then they're so fastidious,
The Haunted-House Committee:
I've often known them make a fuss
Because a Ghost was French, or Russ,
Or even from the City!

"Some dialects are objected to -
For one, the IRISH brogue is:
And then, for all you have to do,
One pound a week they offer you,
And find yourself in Bogies!

 
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