Inked

Bows and arrows rise

in blue-painted memory,

whisper secrets in a language

that no longer exists.

I am compelled to tattoo

Pictish letters on my skin,

preserve the modern heir

of a distant arsenal.

Midnight ink voices

another century,

another continent;

marks my rite of passage.

It tells the story of us:

connections and parallels

in endless equinox―

a barcode to identify me as yours.

tk/March 2014




R.A.D. Stainforth considers a tattoo... 

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Tombolo

The scent of peat rises

to the rafters, settles in my hair.

Lift a strand from my neck,

fasten it with a Pictish brooch,

golden as the penannular moon.

Stoke the fire with evening,

surround me like a shawl.

Lull to bliss by the tune

of burning dreams;

we sing so quietly at the end.

Mainland and island tie,

become an endless wonderwall,

grow pregnant with India;

the brain-child of all points east,

the touching tongues of our roots.

tk/September 2013 

Thanks to R.A.D. Stainforth, for bringing my words to life.  

Join Magpie Tales creative writing group.