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Tooting my own horn...
Posting the 29th made me remember writing this. It was spawned by the word "bootless" and the fact that it does not, in fact, mean "without footwear." And by that one shoe on the side of the road.
That Which Runs The Night Roads
By morning’s light, where high roads cross
beneath the signpost standard,
a relic of fear and wonder lies
again, lost, strayed, abandoned.
The reluctant eye of each passerby
is drawn, they see and shudder,
then each as quickly looks away
lest that fate befall the observer.
What sort of creature can this be
that preys on hapless travelers?
What stealth, what swift and silent guile,
what strength, to seize such plunder
and take a man with no outcry,
no blot or stain as evidence,
leave only the mute, sad, single shoe
to prove the traveler’s existence?
Where bides the beast by light of day
never glimpsed, nor heard, nor scented?
What otherworld hides it from men’s eyes
while it waits for dark, unrepented?
Into what realm is the wayfarer snatched
unawares, in what dark abroad,
with naught but the clothes he stands in
bootless and half-shod?
That Which Runs The Night Roads
By morning’s light, where high roads cross
beneath the signpost standard,
a relic of fear and wonder lies
again, lost, strayed, abandoned.
The reluctant eye of each passerby
is drawn, they see and shudder,
then each as quickly looks away
lest that fate befall the observer.
What sort of creature can this be
that preys on hapless travelers?
What stealth, what swift and silent guile,
what strength, to seize such plunder
and take a man with no outcry,
no blot or stain as evidence,
leave only the mute, sad, single shoe
to prove the traveler’s existence?
Where bides the beast by light of day
never glimpsed, nor heard, nor scented?
What otherworld hides it from men’s eyes
while it waits for dark, unrepented?
Into what realm is the wayfarer snatched
unawares, in what dark abroad,
with naught but the clothes he stands in
bootless and half-shod?
no subject
This is lovely. Yay you, with the poetry writing. I haven't written poetry in...I don't even know how long. Seven years? I vaguely remember starting one when I was pregnant with Ben, and he'll be eight in February.
This --
"what strength, to seize such plunder
and take a man with no outcry,
no blot or stain as evidence,
leave only the mute, sad, single shoe
to prove the traveler’s existence?"
made me shiver. In the good way.
no subject
Oh good! This was my own little fairy tale. My mentor and teacher had a horror of rhyme and meter, and frankly it does comes too facilely. But I just had a romp with this. I'd looked up "bootless" myself not long before, and I happened to see another single shoe in the road. I've always wondered, why one shoe? One. What happened to the other shoe? What happened to the guy? Why is it always one shoe?
Which made me fantasize about somebody being snatched into an alternate universe with only one shoe. And the phrase, "bootless and half-shod" came, and the rest was easy, from there. I had a little romp with the alliteration, especially the s'es. And playing with slant and internal rhymes and wrapping lines, even from one stanza to another. It was a great exercise in poem construction. Much fun.
Also, this is my "party-piece," when asked to recite something of mine. It gets an audience hooked, they buy into the rhyme and then the story. It has its uses.