The Siren’s taloned toes grasp a driftwood limb
wedged among jagged rocks that loomed
like headstones tossed in the shallow hell
of Purgatory Point. Through his scope
Josiah witnesses her crimson hair tumble
a dazzling mask around her nakedness.
Dissipating clouds waft flecks through tangled
tendrils as she preens fresh salt from her wings.
Josiah casts angels to the wind as his heart
hurtles toward sparkling droplets of the Pacific
that nest on the Siren’s clear plumed skin.
Everything his world holds sacred wanes
as she feathers songs on her whalebone harp.
It’s flossy sinew strings strum mesmerizing
melodies that urge Josiah to turn his ship’s wheel
into the fading light of his last breathing day.
Reaching the Siren’s illusion, splintering
explodes, wood flies and Josiah draws his sword
to slice through sinew. Savoring the crew
of Josiah’s Good Fortune, thousands of piranhas
eat flesh to bone. The Siren keens a haunting dirge,
while she restrings her whalebone harp.
Brenda Warren 2011
Visit one of my other blogs, The Sunday Whirl for more poems with this week’s wordle words. Construct a piece yourself, and post a link to it there so our community can celebrate your results.