Floating Jenny

 

It was a rumor buried long ago
it’s edges worn down and diluted from dreadful tale to childish taunt
“be good or floating jenny will take you…”
the rivers path carved long ago winds down in darkest mountain stone
pooling freshly in hidden meres
for those with sight you’ll find her there
if you dare to look
watch her float
see her shimmer like a firefly
with flounced skirts swirling gently
like seaweed
and her face as pale as her hair…

 

 ©jayetomas2013
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About chimerapoet

I write. I write a lot. A. LOT. There are times I am half blind with a sentence ricocheting off the walls of my stupid, cant be shut off to save my life, brain. I am miserable until I get it down on paper. Punch it up a bit. Usually cross out half of it. And then breathe. Relax. Only to do it all again..... But I just thought that was me. How I am. Not a writer....noooo...not me. Writers are.....writing people. People Who Write. REALLY write. Write things that matter. All grown up very important things. Not.....me. I am just a scribbler of sorts. And I was/am content with that....if it's true, well then....a scribbler am I. Until the thought wormed its way in to my brain (the furtive sneaky bitch) that maybe...just maybe...that is writing. My style. My strange way. But....still writing. So here I am at the dance. Not sure I know any of the moves and the music is entirely mine. But.....only one way to find out. Would you care to join me?
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