Poetry

The Lorelei

The mythical siren with her ‘immoral eye’

The Lorelei | Smithsonian American Art Museum

The lilies gave the game away She’s so sad, and I know not why, She lives in a fairy tale from olden times She thinks in rhymes, is trapped by time, Obsessed, like a bird in her nest, I can’t get her out of my mind, not yet.

The air is cool here and the moon is up And the river flows calmly, Like it does in books and fairy tales and in stories of speaking whales. Nothing much sparkles round her these days: Empty beer cans, dumped rubbish, dead bodies, The lot.

In the morning light she sees the sheen of oil on water, Smells the putrefaction on what used to be called her daughter. Where now the most beautiful virgin is seated Wonderfully attired, worshipped and rescued by knights, She was returned safely to the secure unit.

Her golden jewellery flashes in the twinkling air. She combs her golden hair with a golden comb. She is now locked up. Naked and alone. She sings a song with a sad refrain: Ain’t never coming here again.

In the morning she is seized with a wild, wide woe Throws everything everywhere, just wont let go. She's hanging over a rocky reef As she silently brushes her pearly white teeth A warder looks on. Time devours the princess and the antidote It's a razor blade that does for her delicate throat.

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