https://soundcloud.com/rowan-joyce/reign-of-blood-audio-reading?si=f60e056c70d944ed9f24bf20122de8ba
In keeping with my theme of myth, legend and fables... I thought I might get a little more historical with this poem. It's another persona poem, written from the perspective of a ghost of one of the monks slaughtered during a Viking raid on the church of St Cuthbert on the Island of by Lindisfarne in 793.
The poem does have a spooky feel to it and draws heavily on my past experience of scuba diving in the Farne islands in the UK. There are a few very specific descriptive sections that use words describing plants, or underwater fauna that you only find in the underwater coastal environment of the UK. So, to avoid confusion I have linked these words to their definitions.
I highly recommend listening to the SoundCloud reading as you read the text as it will add to the use of in-line rhymes and express the metre and rhythm of the piece in a much better way.
Reign Of Blood
My hooded eyes strain from bony cairns
of hollow hermitage, loamy
earth, tepid skies and shale shorn spray.
They look away to the west as
waves crest worn granite flowers,
and wind whips from Nordic shore.
I feel the thrum of my heart beat
with the approach of crimson oars.
A rhythmic aching murmur,
mingled with the cries
of Fulmar, Cormorant and lathy Tern
who screech at silent fish
that lurk, out of reach.
Darting beneath whelk worn hulls,
that shelter shades of fisher folk
who followed tides from berth of bay
out to grey ocean swell, tacking
the whale road. They dwell among
Reflected sheen of brackish fronds,
ghostly sheaves of ‘Deadmens fingers’
in salience of sibilant currents.
in the shallows of calm kelp forests
and basalt towers. A sediments sigh
blown on the winds of the tides.
A rain staining upturned faces
as cushioned bells ring out above,
shattering peace. Welts of wood scar
stippled sky of dipping waves,
where speckled seals fly.
and the Norse men bray, and slake their thirst.
Winter's driven out with warmth
of blood and the moan of prayers
that founder in mud. I watch it all
from hollow cairns of loamy earth
while beneath the surf spat spray
the harvest dance continues night and day.
Washed by wearied eddies,
until the reign of blood fades away.
Thanks for reading/listening 🙂🌿
I would like to give a big shout-out to 
All pictures used are creative commons licence, credited beneath the image. If you have enjoyed this poem, you can check out my homepage @raj808 for similar content. Thank you.
Find us on twitter by clicking the banner above.