the dragonshark

silent death.  the hunger that sleeps not
but finds food caught in the currents
of deep emotion.  the selke swims inches
from the rapier jaws of the cunning hunter,
playful yet thoughtful and mindful
of the danger in surrendering to this
predator's plans.  and with a flip of
her fins, she slides away to taunt him
yet another day.  and he gnashes his
mighty teeth in pentameter curses
of another meal missed for want
of a more cunning approach.


the nautilus dragon

cloistered in his spiral shell
in which he hides his tortured hell
of heart's brimful emotions.
the nautilus dragon keeps his head
as he settles in the oyster bed
and guards the currents of the oceans.


the sounding wraith dragon

in the depths
of the oceans
where nothing is seen
is a sound
like an echo
like a dark banshee's keen.
tis the voice
of a spirit
or a demon in black
of a dragon
in the darkness
where the shells of men crack.
and he utters
simple soundings
he has heard from above
in the idiom
of idiocy
and the language of love.


the dancing crab dragon

sideways and backways and fiveways 
to fall.  on chitinous tiptoes it dances
for all to see and marvel at.  no rhyme
or reason.  out of season to eat.  always.
for it capers like a fool.  a rule of survival.
to give the people what they want so that
lunch is never an option.  punching a hole in
the survivalist milieu deep beneath the 
waves.  in front of caves cut by words
darker than ink, a painful pirouette
to set the crowds a'laughing hard enough
he can slip away before the main course.


the Selke's Dragon

tapped for his duties,
not just trapped by the beauty
in a name called out in passion.
fashioned in soft kisses like the currents
near the vents into the soul of the world
where fantastic creatures evolve to fill
the niches that open there like hearts
of honest lovers, made vulnerable and strong.


the stingray dragon

no fiery breath.  the death is in the flick
of a barbed tail in passing.  cruising for
pain in the rain of debris of the plankton 
the sea sky.  you die in mortal agony.
not sentient enough to appreciate your
pain, merely seeking its own protection
in the resurrection of all your primal
pains and fears.  it sears you with fire
and a simple smirk that memories 
cannot ever misplace or erase.


the spirit in the sea

I wish I knew the name it wore when it flowed like
glacier ice through every pore of the planet to merge
itself with the waters of life.  rife with imagery 
borne in ancient memories and worn like a cape
to hide the shame of a disfigure form.  warm
and wicked, like a false lover's smile.  a style
of thought, caught on the horns of a dilemma 
delineated in the angles and curves of lovers
embracing at the lip of the Challenger Deep.
an abyssal, a dismissal of all that went before
as we sink to the floor of the flesh of the world.


copyright William F. DeVault (wfdv)