OctPoWriMo Day 19. In the Dark Wet Deep

OctPoWriMo Day 19. In the Dark Wet Deep

A poem is a great place to explore “what if” scenarios. One stanza or section can be a happy what if  and the next a scary what if, the next can be another possibility and wander about exploring the unknown.

Example poem: “The Kraken” by Alfred, Lord Tennyson from Monster Verse(Aal)

The Kraken

Below the thunders of the upper deep;
Far, far beneath in the abysmal sea,
His ancient, dreamless uninvaded sleep
The Kraken sleepeth: faintest sunlights flee
About his shadowy sides: above him swell
Huge sponges of millennial growth and height;
And far away into the sickly light,
From many a wondrous grot and secret cell
Unnumbered and enormous polypi
Winnow with giant arms the slumbering green.
There hath he lain for ages and will lie
Battening upon huge seaworms in his sleep,
Until the latter fire shall heat the deep;
Then once by man and angels to be seen,
In roaring he shall rise and on the surface die.

~Alfred, Lord Tennyson

What “what ifs” keep this poem moving?

Prompt: Write a poem about what fears lie in the depths. What shines light on them? How do they appear? How are they defeated?

Possible form: Extended metaphor

~

In the Dark Wet Deep

What if the trench is not an ocean

but a mouth held open under years,

salt-rimmed with kept opinions,

teeth like shipwrecked chairs.

What if the current is an inbox,

threaded weeds of “later” and “soon,”

and every eel is an unfinished sentence

that sparks when you reach too soon.

What if the dark is not absence

but a crowded auditorium, lights off,

everyone breathing in unison:

you clap, and the echo claps back.

What if the monsters are indexes,

old griefs cross-referenced by touch,

a catalog of dorsal fins

filed under “things we didn’t say.”

What if the lantern is a question

lowered on a rope of breath,

and the answer is a fish-eye

too honest for the net.

What if light arrives sideways,

not a flare but plankton glow,

small work done by smaller lives

making maps no god would draw.

What if the kraken is a rumor

you feed with your own tide,

swelling each time you whisper

that you cannot be survived.

What if defeat is not harpoons

but pressure equalized at last,

your ears learning how to open,

your heart unscrewing its mask.

What if we skim the dark wet deep

with a skiff named Afterward,

and each oar stroke is a syllable

that rows the monster into word.

What if, when it rises roaring,

we don’t panic, don’t perform;

we stand, hold up our names like lamps,

and it mistakes us for the dawn.

~ Oizys.

[Each of my “what if” reframes fear, not as a single beast, but as many small, ordinary mechanisms (inbox, echoes, indices) that gain power in the dark. The anaphora (“What if…”) creates motion and possibility, letting opposing moods (menace/comfort) coexist without breaking the spell. The deep need not to be conquered; it’s negotiated with breath, naming, and the discipline of small lights.]