The Loathly Damsel



Astride a fea-bitten mule she sits
the black-shawled queen
aloof, independent
bundled warm always arriving
staring into the distance at the world curving
the night-hag is passing among the wildwood trees
by village and marsh in all weathers at any time -
it's lifelong this conversation with the seasons.

Locals respect her the slow-moving one
grant her free-way unhindered
the loathly damsel's power
is speech of the babbling kind
dowsing the depth of her outlaw soul
she trawls mysterious oceans
feeling intangible words into being
conjuring from an invisible space.

She carries a lodestone in a leather pouch
with a pinch of hyssop, a blade of grass
and the ash from burned frankincense
tells all who'll listen to never look
at the moon through glass
some sneer, call her 'mad ma'
fearful of the insight she carries
from a very long line - beginning time
she calls simply the 'old tongue'.

She swears blood-oaths to an obedient sky
jabs her Fools' Finger in the air
at men of aristocracy
who consult her - the oracle
who speaks to them in metaphor
in double-tongued innuendo
from a slack and toothless mouth
never clear of spittle, dismissive
of the foul stench wafting
from the unwashed folds
of her oily bundled body.

A covenless outsider
scouring the black-heath wastes
combing back-ways willow-leaf lanes'
lone sihouette with her familiar crow
sleight-of-hand , shifting form
she forewarns the frail and drifting
slipshod strays arriving lost
at roads that fork and cross.

She was conceived
as the rapacious moon grew hungry in Taurus
when Moon screwed that smart aleck Mercury -
laid him flat on his flippant back.

And she, born so strange
such an ill-conceived aftermath
arriving unrehearsed for her part
in the dark comedy she still plays
the loathly lady of fish-wifely odour
vulgar lip, bulging eye
hair like melted candle grease
her performance improvised
fame of a kind on a worldly stage
where power is played in omens and visions
the shape of things, of dreams and future schemes
of tainted burning flesh choking fearful hamlets
smothering the witching wisdom
it's ancient faerie gift
the insight she carries from a very long line
beginning time - she calls simply
the 'old tongue'.



Pamela Sidney 1999