#whatthewindbrings

[whatthewindbrings]

[whatthewindbrings]

All Covered in Chalk

The players wear a hat, and a long purple gown, and are chased through the streets, to the heart of the town, There to be judged by how many a hand, Has been laid on their gowns before they reach the strand. In the story it's based on, Esme never got caught, So the winner’s decided by how few hand prints she’s got. Every year, it’s the fate of those less agile girls, To be patterned with chalk from their feet to their curls. Then one fateful year, a girl with hair like red fire, Heckled the chasers, and ignited their ire. She ran along rooftops, and down narrow braes, She knew all of the short cuts, and secretive ways, But, catch her they did, and before they let go, Her cloak was all white as the pure driven snow. With chin tilted high, she strode onto the stage, But although she had lost, her face showed no rage. There stood her friend, who'd been slowest for years, She was laughing, and smiling, and wiping at tears. The red-head strode past her, to the end of the line. “I guess that I lost," She said, "And that's fine."

[whatthewindbrings]

They Cast Her in Copper   They cast her in copper, And hid her away, With plans to unveil her, On her victory day. The day came around, And the plans were all laid. The stalls were set out, And the banners were made. And one little girl, Holding a large fair day biscuit, Glanced around for her bullies, And decided to risk it. She ducked, and she weaved, Through the thickening crowd. The people seemed too big, And their voices too loud There stood the great statue, With a ship on her shoulders, Her teeth gritted with effort, And her muscles like boulders. Just like the real thing, She'll keep the sailors alive. Protect them, and lift them, And make sure that they thrive. The girl looked up at first, then, For the first time in a while, She looked down at her tummy, And broke out in a smile.

[whatthewindbrings]

A Monster A hero will save you from monsters, or trolls With crooked old teeth, or a boil on their nose. There's nothing to fear from pirates or crooks, Or villainous black hats, with their sinister looks. One above all, carries honour and fame, With his sword and his smile, he has won great acclaim. No jail can contain him, nor prison may bar, The slayer of dragons, this freckle-faced star. The scent of the chase fills his finely shaped nose, While he’s keen on the heels of his uglier foes. He tracks them, and hunts them, and runs them to ground, Until their accomplices give them up, and their lairs are all found. Until one fateful day, a young woman cried, "Shame!" "You've got murder, and thievery, and worse to your name!" The man, took aback, said, "Who are you to object, For whom I have risked my life to protect." "No one asked you to!" The young lady said with great heat. The handsome man flushed, and he got to his feet. "I've a mind to punish you, you ingracious brat!" He advanced on the woman, and pulled off his hat. The young woman clenched her fist, "I'm sure that you can. I am half of your height, and you a grown man." "But as long as you live, and as far as you'll go, You'll remember your deeds, and your head will hang low. This curse I lay on you will travel with you, inside, In the loneliest places, and in the dark it will bide. In your final prison, it will be an unbreakable bar. It is the knowledge that truly, a monster you are." His grin, at once fixed, just slid from his face, And the woman ran away to her family's place, And all of the stars above the man turned, As the man sat alone, with the truth he had learned.

[whatthewindbrings]

With goods from up river, all lashed to their lumber,  The frog people work, while the city folk slumber. As the oarsfolk keep rocks and the sandbanks at bay, The trademasters tally the trade for the day. The sails are brought out, when the wind starts to blow, The progress is steady, stately, and slow, If the wind isn’t friendly, or the currents aren’t right.  The oarsfolk will paddle from dusk until night.

[whatthewindbrings]

Ripples

With a swish of her pen, She puts ships out to sea, She can organise anything, For a nominal fee. Her name carries weight, Like a taught trebuchet, Can cause kingdoms to crumble, From miles away.

In her head, fly the figures, Of a thousand accounts. She stores them all up there, In prodigious amounts. Oh, the power one wields, Who can make numbers their friend. Sending out ripples long after, She has put down her pen.

[whatthewindbrings]

The Historian’s Apprentice

By the light of the candles, And the smell of the must, I wear out my elbows, Shifting cobwebs and dust. And fetching the ink,  For the Grey Hat to scribe, But for me to be near her, Is enough of a bribe. She babbles and mutters, As she wields her straw broom, As the long candles flicker, Her words fill up the room. She drawls about medicine, And mutters in verse, And her opinions on maths, Come out clear and terse.

When she lectures on love, A tear shines in her eye, But, I'll never have the courage, To ask her just why. When her broom is hung up, And the ink put away, And the last of the chores, Are checked off for the day. She looks at me then, Through rheumy grey eyes, As the last of the sunlight Reflected there dies. And I take her gnarled hand, And I lead her back home, Where she sleeps like a bookmark, In a bed-sized old tome.

[whatthewindbrings]