Poetry Forum

(Act 1) Demise of five assassasins.

Bamboo sways on a windless day:
She dives left, hardwired reflexes carrying her away from the hidden killer's daggers,
dust swirls as she rolls and comes up into a fighting stance, her hard edged hands blur
as they weave intricate patterns in the air. Bone snaps, skin flaps, and spinning 360 degrees
her elbow strike ends, the first killer's life. She feints, blocks a two finger strike to her eyes,
flies backward as a kick connects, then flexes, breathes deeply, and rises to another level of awareness,
chi flows, blows break on her defences, she lances a sword hand to the second assassin's throat,
crushing his indrawn breath. Death is all she leaves behind,

two down three to find.


Rice steams, she leans forward to take the bowl,
glances up as the door opens,
their eyes meet..........time stretches.

His sword sIngs through the air, she slides beneath the blade,
grips a forearm, kicks out at a knee and as it buckles she pulls him forward,
flips, twists in mid-air and lands perfectly. She is a warrior,
forged like the throwing knife that now sprouts from his eye,
she stabbed him on the fly. A mortal blow.

Three down two to go.

The last two come at night, lantern light guiding them in, silent on padded feet,
and she asleep will die without a sound. Knives rise and fall...rise and fall.
A rustle from above, they look up, see her balanced on a crossbeam in the rafters,
and laughter, yes laughter, falls from her lips; she jumps, angel of death with blue black hair,
slashing with debonair flair a head from its body.

Close quarter cut and thrust, eyes and blades catch the light. She takes her time, pares him down,
lops fingers from a hand, snaps a wrist, no mercy asked for or given. Driven through he sighs
and pinned to the boarded wall like a butterfly..dies. She pulls, slides the blade into the sheath on her back,
and after bowing low to the last of the five, blows out the lantern and vanishes, into the night.

We're not big on prose here, David, as hapless posters of prose here have probably realised already. I can't say this does much for me, to be honest. Might well work, with some rigorous (not to say ruthless) editing, as a prose poem?

Cheers

David

Hello David,

Odd one this, a case of neither fish nor fowl perhaps? Too prosaic for poetry and too much rhyme and line breaks for prose. Did it start life as a poem that wouldn't behave itself?

I'm no expert, but I see we have her as a Japanese ninja then we have the Chinese concept of Chi. Not necessarily a problem but perhaps use the Japanese form Ki instead or lose the ninja reference.

I notice you have the steam rising from green tea. Having it rising from boiling rice could be a nice touch (if I remember rightly, steam rising from cooking rice is the etymological source of the word Chi).

Nash.

Thank you David.....D

Nash, some interesting things you gave me there, thank you....D

Have been messing about with this exercise in rhyme, sonics and storytelling.

So is this a prose poem? It definitely reads as one.

An old thing. Let's leave it undisturbed.