The Serpents Tail
(by Norman Brooks 30th November 2005)
A quiet ripple
As paddle blade cuts a glassy surface
All is tranquil, placid, peaceful
While passing cows chew the cud to a lazy rhythm
But lo, a quiet murmur begins to underpin
The soporiphic atmosphere
Which rapidly amplifies to a rumble and a roar
As a fragile craft draws inexorably nearer to a mad, serpentine torrent
That lies in wait for all who approach
Whether they be readied or be in glorious oblivion of their fate
Fast, the magnetic flow begins to pull
The hull towards a gorges gate
Steerage now a dreadful struggle
Against the stupendous forces of an aqueous foe
Ever onward, downward, plummets
Fragile courage and trembling knee
Fraying every nerve and sinew
In desperate contest to re-gain
Control amongst the tumult of a white water hell
Sudden drops, jagged rocks
Twists and turns on every side
Under currents, boiling boulders
Stopper waves of savage suction
And the cavernous gape of an open mouth
Beneath overhanging, over-powering cliff
Inducing an over-compensating panic
‘Til shattered balance leads to Cold shocking, plunge numbing
Wide eyed immersion into icy pool
As lungs fight stoppered mouth
And limbs fight shaft and blade to re-coordinate
Into lifesaving Eskimo roll – or not!
And then, just as suddenly as it began
The roller coaster ride is over
As, at the base of the Serpents Tail
The comforting arms of a wide sweeping eddy
Embrace and breathe life into exhaustion
And hug exhilaration into submissive calm
Cosseting the trembling, the cold, the saturated
The swimmer and whooping survivor alike