One Poem by Terry Sherwood

 

The Last Whirlpool Wrangler

 

Some people thought whirlpools

were invoked by witches.

        shoosh-shoosh

        shoosh-shoosh

 

To calm them, I swept my woven

hazel rod cross over the snarling water.

        shoosh-shoosh

        shoosh-shoosh

 

When that didn't work, I’d plunge the cross

into the supposed witch’s cauldron and chant.

        shoosh-shoosh

        shoosh-shoosh

 

When that failed, I’d seek a blameless witch

and lay the cross on her shoulders and brow.

        shoosh-shoosh

        shoosh-shoosh

 

By this time the whirlpool had eased

and I’d claim victory.

        shoosh-shoosh

        shoosh-shoosh

 

Then as the world warmed,

whirlpools swirled faster and longer

        shoosh-shoosh

        shoosh-shoosh

 

No one believed in me anymore.

My cross stayed in its case.

        shoosh-shoosh

        shoosh-shoosh

 

I tossed the cross into a maelstrom

and let go of the lies.

 

 

.

 

Terry Sherwood, a former artist, lives in Northamptonshire, England. Poems published in Acumen, Allegro, Amethyst Review, Blithe Spirit, Dream Catcher, Ekphrastic Review, Orbis, Pennine Platform, Seventh Quarry and The Cannon’s Mouth amongst others. Upcoming in Obsessed With Pipework.