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What Inspires You?
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What makes you write?

Listening to a cd on the way home tonight I realized that two of the songs had inspired me to write a piece of poetry that was published in a small press magazine called the Poetic Knight.  Thinking about what to listen to tomorrow, I remembered a group called October Project.  Two of their songs inspired poems.  So here is "Ariel" by October Project and the accompanying work,  "Liakko". 





Night wind kicks through

Teu's long and curling tresses

Singing for the sea gods

In the voice of the conch

Rolling cloud banks across the moon.

Her voice hitches and falters

She dares to need the storm

Though the father of the sea kind

Might yet find her out.

She teases the weather with guile

Then chokes as the thrashing waters

Roll back from the black stone

Wreathed in moonlit white foam

A birthing ring made into a trap

One of the false liakko

That snared her on such a night.

Where they caught her thrashing

In the receding tide waters

Forcing the rough iron ring

On to her slim finger

Marrying her to the land

To the harsh fisherman

Who lifted her up to feet

That had not existed seconds before.

In the moments of her struggles

Her newly born daughter swims off

Leaving her more alone

Than she has ever been.

Her hair whips round

Striking her bare shoulders

Gathering in twisted strands

About her tender throat

Bringing her back to herself.

Her voice deepens with her song

As she reaches far down

Into the depths of the sea

Calling for the powers

Of the very tide itself

Finding that mighty swell

Of waters drug about

By the errant moon above.

On her kinship she calls

Making her unavoidable demand

As the waters begin to well

Upwards from the depths

Killing the waves in their

White swirling foaming graves

Overwhelming them, consuming them

Sucking away the beach's sand

Unseating the cold black rocks  

Of the liakkos themselves.

Never again shall this shore

Welcome the folk of the sea

In their desperate pangs

And contractions of birth.

Only rock remains shining

Slickly wet and scoured clean

As Teu continues to retreat.

Never will her own daughter

Come to these perilous shores.

She turns her back now

On the place of her birth
The mother provider, ocean

Once her home now lost forever

Down the plunging steep and sheer

Newly revealed cliff sides.

Teu slowly returns to her rustic hut

To comfort her other daughter

On the two feet she is now

Cursed forever to wear

In the hopes Liat's small arms

Will fill the void inside her.

<J. Young 2004>