|
Smok Wawelski
|
Jun 24, 2009 4:18 am
3358 Views
|
The dragon flamed just as I took out my pen. I wasn't holding a camera like the others, wasn't ready to immortalise the brief gout of fire from the metal beast in pixels and paint. So instead, I wrote.
The dragon Smok Wawelski claws the air, riveted to a rock between Wawel Hill and the River Wisla, mouth agape, eyes fixed on the sky. You can't see its expression, can't see if it is sorrowful, angry, defiant or doomed. It's a small dragon, if the myths are anything to go by. Larger than a horse, but half the size of an elephant. Maybe it was the last of its kind, a diminished dwindling race, the twilight of the species. Fearsome enough to scare children, but no match for a well-armoured knight.
Its throat gives off a low whirring whistle just before the flame belches forth. Any warrior worth his sword would be able to skewer the beast while it refuelled. Little wonder they've vanished, killed off like so many others. The unicorn, the dodo, the mammoth; all either too beautiful, too trusting or too edible to live. Did people eat dragon flesh, or was its meat too bitter, soaked with the natural kerosene it needed to ignite its breath? Maybe they ate its heart for valour, or its liver warded off some long-forgotten ague.
It wouldn't have liked this age anyway. Locked away on some reserve, pursued by poachers and tourists, robbed of the one thing that gave its life meaning; to strike terror into the human heart, bring death and destruction from the skies, annihilation from above. Perhaps that's why it looks up. It's longing for the day when that lazy vee arcing its way against the clouds turns out not to be a bird, but, with a flick of an uncurling tail, turns and descends upon the land, laying waste to farm and field, and freeway and factory and five star hotel. Then the dragon of Wawel will rip free from the rock to which it's bolted and take up its rightful place once again, in our collective nightmares.
|
|
|
28
Comments
|
|
|
diamond
|
Jun 16, 2009 8:51 am
3261 Views
|
A bicycle bell trills,
the crowd parts and
closes in behind.
Teddy bear tucked firmly
into the triangle of her arm,
a small girl turns to watch
the cyclist go past.
She frowns for a moment,
as if trying to recall
a familiar face, then
shrugs and drifts off
after her family -
a boisterous outlaw band
oblivious to the ball
of tight concentration
borne along in their wake.
|
|
|
30
Comments
|
|
|
random generation
|
May 31, 2009 10:46 am
3425 Views
|
style malfunctions endlessly
poison progresses with the pulse
substrates rupture symmetry
pilotless we wander lost
|
|
|
17
Comments
|
|
|
don't fight it
|
May 23, 2009 11:56 am
4049 Views
|
the approaching summer storm
smothers dissent
resistance is unnecessary
|
|
|
52
Comments
|
|
|
|
|
thin ice
|
Feb 10, 2009 12:00 pm
3342 Views
|
some skate over the surface of life
cutting ahead with a razor slick heel flick
bundled tight against the wind-bite winning
ticket tucked right up their privileged behinds
others fall through the ice
plunged
into a lung chilling dark filling
up with panicked scratching bloody
claws at the underside of christ please
let me breathe my last sleep driftng
down
so quiet so
quiet
so
|
|
|
74
Comments
|
|
