The clamouring of rooks among the trees
reminds me of the sirens on the shore,
whose raucous songs were blatant augury,

of omens too pernicious to ignore.
The scream of sirens on the motorway
remind me of the sirens on the shore:

a devastating ending to the day.
Those birds will seek the car-crash carrion.
The scream of sirens on the motorway –

a call as bright and clear as clarion –
inviting us to seek our own demise.
Those birds will seek the car-crash carrion:

like Erysichthon, nothing satisfies
the calling void. Obsession quantified,
inviting us to seek our own demise.

The war inside my head is amplified;
the clamouring of rooks among the trees.
The calling void, obsession quantified,
whose raucous songs are blatant augury.

Of course, we knew that they existed –
in picture books and fairy tales –
but when we finally
dredged one up from the depths
we were more than a little surprised.
 
She was nothing like we imagined:
 
no flowing golden hair
and sun-kissed skin.
No silvery voice
or wide submissive eyes.
No pert little breasts modestly
shielded from sight behind a seashell bra.
 
No, she was nothing like we imagined:
 
All iridescent scales crusted with
barnacles; matted seaweed-frond hair
and a voice like a hurricane.
Gills and teeth and spines;
 
more monster than maiden.
 
She was fascinating – but she would never
make the cover of a magazine.
 
Still, we lapped up every TV interview,
documentary and podcast, every forward-thinking
think-piece, and long-form feminist essay.
And, when one Saturday morning
TV presenter broached the question
of her appearance,
we held our breath…
 
She said:
My body carries me
across oceans and through storms.
My body can withstand the pressure of
five thousand fathoms of seawater
and swim for six miles without rest.
 
My body has borne me children
and survived the sharks and
sea monsters of this world.
 
My body is my instrument;
my body is my weapon.
My body is exactly what I need it to be.
 
It may not be perfect
but I am not afraid of it,
because my body is beautiful.”
 
Soon, models were walking the runways
wearing artificial gills, and young men
and women were saving up to have scales
surgically implanted under their skin.
 
Green hair dye sold out in shops
and swimming pool salesman
struggled to meet the demand.
 
People prayed for gills and teeth and spines.
 
The mermaid – realising that humanity
had almost entirely missed the point –
returned to the sea.

​The bright colours
of a seaside variety
dotted on beach huts
stretch out behind me.
The smattering of rain
strives to deter
their charm and attraction.
 
Today,
thoughts cry.
The sand dilutes.
With stress,
fragments and words
from my pen fray.
The pavement weeps,
and it distracts my eyes.
Shoulders knot.
The sun collides.
The sea falls short.
 
Tomorrow,
attentiveness will win.
A visit here will champion.
Clothes will lead.
Colours share.
Stages glow.
The wind will rejoice.
The song will saunter.
Loneliness will dwindle.