Last Commented Fantasy/Science Fiction Poems (812)

Then it was the turn of the representative of West. Her song was about wisdom. She sang foolishness away and that Mara would always make the right choices. That wisdom would always place her feet on the right path.

The fifth midwife was getting ready to get up to sing her blessing when the Meeting Hall door flew open and a mighty gust of wind blew in followed by Gresunda. “You would break tradition and not invite me,” she screamed. “For this I will curse the child and you will rue the day you decided not to invite me.”

Pandemonium reigned. Never before in recorded history and even before that had anything like this happened. Mara’s mother gave a high pitched scream and fainted straight to the floor. Everyone was so shocked that no-one was there to catch her. The crowd set up such a wail that the walls started to vibrate.

The blood had drained from Mara’s father’s face leaving him with a ghostly appearance. He looked across the Meeting Hall desperately seeking someone that would be able to help with this terrible dilemma but everywhere he looked he was only met with shocked stares.

Gresunda, who represented down, hobbled over to the cradle. There was no compassion in her eyes as she stared down at Mara. There was only hate and malice in her stare.

The gathered crowd was jubilant. No longer would she be known as Mara the Bitter but as Mara Goddess of the sea. The crowd praised the Old Wise One and the Gods that had provided the answer, for the answer was only just in time. Tomorrow was the christening and had the answer not been found she would forever have been Mara the Bitter.

The morning of the big day had finally arrived and even the weather seemed to favour baby Mara. The ocean winds had blown the clouds up into the hills and the sun spread it’s warmth across the land as if to bless this special day. Streamers were hung all over the Meeting Hall, the tables spread ready for the festivities.

Lanterns hung from the walls and ceiling. Even though it was broad daylight the Meeting Hall was still a gloomy place without lighting. Food was brought and lined up along the walls ready to be served once the official christening was over. Barrels of drink were rolled in for the folks of Hamburg were a thirsty lot.

Why one person alone could drink pint after pint of the bitter amber liquid they called Bier. This liquid had been known that if it was consumed in too great a quantity could rob a person of reason and even send them into a deep, deep slumber out of which they would awake like a bear, sore head and growling.

One by one the guests arrived and as they entered they dropped their official invitation into a small barrel. At the end of t he night one of those invitations would be picked at random and that person would get a prize. This usually was something for the house. It could be anything from furniture to a new window or even a new door.

Finally they were all there, except no-one had seen Gresunda. Where was she? The time to start had already past twenty strokes past the hour. It was decided that they would start, it was not possible to wait any longer.

The midwives arrived, not bustling as in years past but almost dragging themselves there as if against their will. Last of all was Gresunda, she was the oldest, and like the compass point she represented, down, she certainly was. Short, fat and yet wizened, usually people of her ample stature were smooth of skin. Low to the ground she shuffled barely managing to put one foot in front of the other. It was whispered around the village that she was not long for this earth and already eyes were cast about for a replacement.

Inside the house there was no hive of activity, things were put where they were needed only because it was necessary. There was no anticipation, no joy, that the last twenty two years had leached out. They just went about their duties perfunctory, like unthinking machines. Like all the other times the moment arrived, they delivered and went to wrap the child. First one stopped, then another and another till all gathered around. What was this? Or should one have said what was the lack of something. They conferred, no they didn’t think that they had made a mistake. It was a GIRL. They ran outside to shout the news. A girl, a girl, a GIRL.

The crowd that had gathered around the house was stunned. Did they hear right, a girl? Slowly they became alive and the whispers grew to shouts. Shouts turned into song and suddenly there was dancing in the street. “What name? What name?”, chanted the crowd.

Slowly the father moved to the front of the crowd, still stunned so his first words were low. “My friends, as you know we were going to call our girl Joy, for all the joy she was going to bring us, but now ….”, heavy sighs “we have decided to call her Mara, which as you know in the old language means bitter because this has been a bitter victory. I thank you all,” and with that he moved back into the house.

Baby Mara was such a beautiful baby that the people in the village came up with any and all sundry excuses to visit her and to play with her. Her smile lit up even the darkest corners of the room and the oldest and grumpiest people of the village still came away with a smile curling around the corners of their mouth and a twinkle in their eyes.

The time for the christening was almost upon them and it was left to the father to send out the invitations. This was only a formality as custom declared for everyone in the village would be there. For this occasion the Meeting Hall would be used. The Shaman would preside and officially name the child so from that day forward the child would irrevocably be known by that name and no other.

In Hamburg the custom was that children were to be christened on their first birthday. Over the course of the year there grew discontentment about the name of this glorious child. She was such a bringer of pleasure, joyful, bright, cheerful and never, ever bitter or even unhappy.

One by one the villagers sought council with the Old Wise One. It was said that she had lived longer than time itself and knew everything. She could speak with the Gods and even visit them on the higher planes. Her house was filled with old manuscripts, papyrus and even stone tablets of various sizes with strange designs on them. She was so tall and thin that she had to stoop when moving around her house.

“No the name cannot be changed, it is the fathers right to pick and no-one may change it, however” here she stopped to run a bony hand down the right side of her face deeply in thought, “there may be a way. I need to consult the wisdom of the Gods.” With that she dismissed them with a wave of her hand as if dismissing an annoying fly.

Night after night she poured over her manuscripts, papyrus and moved the rocks back and forwards. It was in the early hours of the fourth night that she found what she was looking for. There nestled in the very top in the extreme left corner was what she had been searching for. Happy now that she had found the solution she was seeking for she turned to her narrow, lumpy bed and instantly fell asleep. The house reverberated with the sound of her snoring.

The next morning the word had spread. There must be an answer or else why would she have slept. All of the village knew by the sound of her snoring. Actually to say she snored would be an understatement for the sound she produced was more like the sound of breaking rocks tumbling down a cliff face with the clashing of waves against the shoreline followed by a cyclonic wind. If you can imagine those sounds combined you come close to the effect she had on the villagers.

Around her house they gathered awaiting her appearance. Finally she eased herself out the door and stood in the bright sunlight. This was one of the rare days when the sun peaked through the dismally dark clouds. A hush fell over the assembly and faces showed eager anticipation.

She raised a bony hand, fingers pointing to the sky. “I have spoken with the Gods. They have blessed my search and provided the answer. Her name is and as custom dictates Mara however I have discovered in the language of the Gods Mara means of the sea and even in older language than the Gods it also means greater. She shall be known as Mara, Goddess of the sea. I have spoken.” And with that she turned and returned to her house.

No light pierces these murky depths
Where my bones are laid to rest
Lived by violence, Captained me ship
'twas sunk by the bloody British
Laid a trap to end me days
Came at us cannons blazing
Boarded us, 'twas too many
Even for pirates fierce as us
Killed us all and sank me ship
And here I rest forever

The six midwives bustled around, getting things ready, as midwives do. Boiling water, towels and all sorts of paraphernalia that I couldn’t even guess at. And just as suddenly the time was here. Out popped a baby, of course it was a baby but something not right. The midwives looked, one after another then slowly shook their heads. The mother looked and the blood drained from her face leaving her ghostly white. No mistake, there was something extra there. Something that no one had expected.

Quickly they called the father to inform him of the tragedy. The shook was too much for him and he slumped against the wall. How could this be, what had gone so terribly wrong. How could they have ended up with a boy. Dashed were their dreams and hopes. The thought that they could try again had not yet entered his mind.

The years rolled on. The cows kept tracking up and down the hills, the pigs snuffling through the mud and the roosters still flaunting their dashingly good looks. Every year at about the same time the villagers gathered around the house, the midwives bustled in and all waited in eager anticipation, and every year the same outcome. Out staggers the father grief stricken, out come the midwives wailing and howling, letting every one know that once again there has been no success. And yes, the villagers with shoulders slumped once again slowly trudged back to their homes. Twenty two years had passed and twenty two boys later they still had not found the happiness they were so desperately seeking.

So it is no wonder that on the twenty third year nothing had changed. Different cows as the others had long been eaten, different pigs as they too had gone the way of bacon and ham. The roosters were different, the girls they kept an eye on were new many times over as roast chicken was a favourite in Hamburg. I suppose what was different was that now twenty two boys lived in a two room broken down house.

There was not much to keep them occupied. Their mother and father were much too busy to play with them so they had to invent their own games. One of the games they liked to play was called sock it to me ball. First they made a solid round object and they decided to call it a ball. At first they used to throw it to each other, then one of them kicked it. Next every one was trying to kick it. This game went on for a while and somehow it became soccer ball, strange name and a completely different story.

Once again the villagers gathered around the home, but there was no excited hum of conversation. There they stood, shoulders slumped, eyes downcast, each lost in their own company, brooding over the last twenty two years. Nobody expected anything to be different this year, they were there because it was expected, it was tradition. Nobody would break with tradition, to do so would make you an outcast.

This story begins a long, long time ago,
almost at the beginning of time. Think of times when dinosaurs roamed the earth then go back even further. Actually it was so long ago that very few people even remember it. Lost in the annals of time almost.

It happened in a little village called Hamburg in a place far, far away, Germany. To call it a village is being very generous as it consisted of crooked ramshackle houses scattered higgledy piggledy everywhere. In between the houses the pigs foraged for food digging their snouts into the ground churning up the mud even more. Then they would, mud and all, go traipsing through the houses.

The ground was deeply rutted from where the cows made their way down from the hills in the morning into the houses to be milked, and afterwards slowly wound their way back into the hills. Most houses had a rooster on the roof to herald in the new day and to keep an wary eye open for any danger to their girls. After all, what is a rooster without his girls to admire and fuss over him. Who would be there to see and take pleasure in his proud strutting.

It was the time of the year when the fog constantly rolled down from the hills to blanket the countryside like a wet clammy blanket and when the day progressed the rains would come washing the fog away and leaving everything soaked and dripping.

It was in this town that there lived a couple who, all in all you could say were happy. However there was something lacking in their life and try as they might they couldn’t think of what it might be. The more they couldn’t work out what it was, the less happy they became. One day as they watched their neighbour playing with his daughter it suddenly hit them. A daughter, they wanted a daughter. That was what was missing from their life.

No time was wasted in trying to get their daughter. Sure enough all their efforts paid off. They watched as her stomach slowly grew, taut and round. Felt the many kicks and talked to her and even had a name picked out, ready for the blessed event.

Nine months passed, slowly in some ways yet quickly too. She was so ready to deliver this beautiful baby girl. At last the day came when the urge came upon her. Quickly she sent her husband out to call the midwives.

Six there came, swift and sure ready to deliver. Now you might ask, why six, surely one or even two would have been sufficient. You have to remember that these were folks deeply submerged in superstition. Six represented the six points on a compass. I can hear you say that there are more than six points. Again I remind you that in those days there only existed six points. North, South, East, West, Up and Down. How else would you know whether to go up or down unless you had a compass point.

Now I come to a section that I rather would not. I find it hard to tell you this and I really don't know where to start so I will start somewhere. It is hard for me to tell you that you are wrong as far as the history of grape growing and wine producing in SA goes. I know that you are a teacher but you obviously have been mislead because I can't believe you would deliberately perpetrate a lie.

Wine production originally started in SA and spread to the rest of the world. How do I know this. You only need to closely examine history.

The First Fleet sailed into Botany Bay and established a colony there. We will not dispute the truth of that but when the colonists headed inland and along the coast to explore they came across a fully established civilisation. There was multi storied buildings, paved roads and even horseless carriages. The explorers found that these people were growing what they called vines from which a rather potent drink was made. Now these explorers quickly realised that money could be made selling these secrets across the sea.

Needless to say they hired the first sailing ship to take them back to England. The English people were not really that interested but across the channel the French, the Germans and the Italians quickly jumped on the bandwagon and started to produce these potent drinks. Now of course everybody wants to take credit with this great discovery but as you can see it was really in SA that it started and then spread across the rest of the civilised world.

Elves filled cups with dew from meadows
Pan plays flute, enchanted music
Satyrs dancing 'neath the stars
And fairies come in finery dressed
Table set for feasting ready
On during night the festives gather
All the guests have now arrived
Such hilarity never been seen

Trolls and ogres hide in darkness
Wish that they could also come
Up stands elf Queen, tall and regal
Quiet hush falls upon the meadow
Come, she speaks softly yet loudly
Come and join our gathering
Let this night be of no division
For we are one beneath the stars

Ogres and trolls with such joy came
Joined in all the celebrations
Peace reigned on the lea that night
And peace did reign for evermore

Twisted trees to sky they reach
Where brooks gently wander
Werewolves hunt by dead of night
And vampires live up yonder

It's not a place where I would go
These woods are much too scary
Let me find a sunny place
And I'll happily dance with a fairy

Fairies sweet and kind they be
They dance across the meadow
Laugh and sing their fairy songs
And sleep under yonder willow

So come with me friends one and all
On this travel we'll share the burden
To see on this road what we can find
And together discover Eden