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At thirteen years old,
I learn that
not all mermaids are like Ariel--
some mermaids are sirens,
femme fatales of the seven sea
who lure sailors to their drownings
with sweet, nectared voices.

Still, I wish to don the life of a siren,  
whose danger appears
dizzyingly seductive to me.
I have become fascinated
with the dark and the peculiar,
you know,
and, as a result, I too
have undergone a dark, peculiar
evolution--
and, as literature has dictated,
such a character as myself
is to be scrutinized
under an omniscient perspective:

She wears thick, purple eyeliner
and dresses only in
heavy blacks and deep blues,
an abrupt transition
from her previous adoration for
pastels and ruffled sleeves.
But it is not only her countenance
that is indicative of this disturbed youth--
there are the books she reads,
tales of death, gore, and
other macabre eccentricities.
Her favourite titles
are those by Edgar Allan Poe.

How suiting then,
that she should be an
Anabel Lee in the making--
"her highborn kinsmen came
  And bore her away...
To shut her up in a sepulchre
  In this kingdom by the sea.-- "
she just doesn't realize it  yet--
that she is a drowning girl impending,
that she was never to be the siren, after all,
but the poor fool
who succumbed to the siren's
dreadful tides.
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Down by an endless ocean, sitting on jagged rocks
Creatures entice with emotion, they sing but never talk
A lamenting in devotion, while Demeter cries and mocks


I cry out, “From my arms, away from me!
“Hell has stolen my Persephone!”

That’s not true, dear, I’m not yours to keep
So, please, you don’t need to weep
Some myths claim that rather than seducing sailors with their voices, the sirens sang to mourn the kidnapping of Persephone, their beloved friend, and call out for her return.
Lee Bridge Sep 8
How powerful is your voice
When I listen to you
Everything else goes silent
absorbed by every word,
I listen as my ship sinks in sea
I listen
while I run out of breath
Trying not to write too dramatic but right now I feel good about this one.
miki Sep 3
your voice is a curse
that i can never get rid of.
it entices me,
pulls me in
until there is no more rope to be held
and you have to throw me back out again
just to reel me in once more
so you can speak to me
with your voice made of poison.

i can never tell who’s worse.
me.
or you.
Gary Brocks Aug 26
He wrote of the light of the world,
a testament, a lamp to illuminate
the place from which he came —

    I saw his lighthouse coalesce
    out of the cloaking mist, its blade
    shearing the sheath of darkness.

    I inhaled the dusk bloom scent
    - Four O’Clock Flower, Poinsettia, Frangipani -
    beguiled by a road, undeterred
    by calls in the night, the rain, the unknown way.

    I sang with one thousand night-drunk tree frogs
    proclaiming an equatorial cycle to the stars,
    choristers intoning a chant of existence.

    I rode balanced between
    the cycling engine's torque and the
    reflective cast of my foreign skin.

    I felt the grip of ignominy constrict the stir
    of my drink, amongst hands toasting
    the crush of entitlement’s bearing.

    I walked where people dwell, and stop
    to greet and tell news of the market
    or of their nets, bearing the sea’s returns.

    I tasted the song in his speech,
    a seasoned stew, unshackling the tongue,
    to ring like the steel in a drum —

a tapestry unfurled: a world
paced by sirens of wind and wave,
embroidered on the earthbound side
of heaven's abiding blanket.

Copyright © 2017 Gary Brocks
180730F
So what now love?
What is there left to do?
We’ve established that you love me and that I love you but look at us?
I believe that we both can see that there is no foreseeable we.
So what can we do?
Darling I may love you with every fiber every ounce of life in me but what is this for? All this effort scooping up my outpouring with a cup containing too many holes. My endless charade trying to salvage this lifeless hand that was never mine to hold.
Watch it all fall out.
Watch it all fall.

I feel like we’re on either side of a brick wall and all I have to dig to the other side are my nails. I’ll grind them down in my own futility, bleeding and blistered for an inkling of you.
I know I’m stuck. I know there’s no way.
So why do I try? I don’t want to lose either of you, but fuck it’s going to happen.

You say to me.
You jokingly say that you need a girlfriend.
What a jab in the stomach.
You sunk that knife right into my chest and made me hold it as I wept.
Obviously you didn’t mean to but damn...

Of course I can’t get mad.
My platform to stand on is sinking sand and it’s swallowing me whole.
I have no right be upset.
I’m lucky I still have you.
But I know soon.
Soon my love I’ll be stumbling after you falling on the concrete, knees scraping as I try to reach for your hand.
But please.
Don’t turn back for me.
God damn it what a bitch I’ve gotten myself into.

One day my darling.
One day.
You may say you love me baby but one day.
One day she will arrive. Like an angel on high becoming and fair. She will sing her siren’s song and entangle you in her yellow colored hair. She will sing a song just for you in a way I never could. Her smile will entice and entrance you and she will lead you away from me.

And I will remain.

I will sit, legs crossed and eyes blind with tears reaching for you with outstretched palm.
I will watch you recede to your watery grave with her because there I no way I could be selfish enough to pull you away and make you stay.
All I can do is beg the man with the numbers and spinning hands for a little bit longer with you. But he looks through me with apathetic eyes. Numb to my plight. He’s seen this all before darling and ,quite frankly, he is over it.
She draws attention with spellbinding dance,
No man has ever looked and looked away.
So much mistaken beauty for romance,
Those men who see with just their eyes, her prey.

Her body is the uniform she wears,
Nubile and innocent in father’s eyes.
Enchanting beauty fueled by endless stares,
Of men who see with blindness idolize.

She’s only all the beauty, nothing more,
And nothing else she ever wants to be.
The promise of a Siren on the shore,
Exposed to every seaman on the sea.

She’ll never lack for men she can control…
Just not men who see Beauty with their soul.
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Uta Jul 2
She sings very softly,

making the whole ocean fall asleep,

and all the fishes start to dance,

humans above follow her voice,

and in seconds, fall in love,

but later when they discover what she is capable of,

when you enter the underwater world,

you are only, but a simple prey,

to her and others below.
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