Day 12: Tall tale for a grassy swale
An unlikely tale of a prompt at NaPoWriMo
A Whale of a Tale
There’s a story widely known from the banks of Ballyrowan
To the gritty slicker-city on the shale
Tis a darkling tale of daring from a fisher born of Bering
I’ll share the rumour for a schooner full of ale
At the back of yonder cliffs where the white foam gently lifts
And the shrill breeze whips the wild seas to a gale
There’s a deeply curious hollow where the sunshine doesn’t follow
And it’s shaped just like the tail of a whale
Now Berengar of Bering was a man not known for erring
Who’d cast his nets wherever sweat made sail
Once he’d got his bearing on the bonnie shoals of herring
To fill the hatch with catch he’d never fail
Until a red-sky’d morning that should have been forewarning
When the fairing gave to blaring fog and hail
For whipping up a maelstrom came a fiend that surely hails from
hellish steeps, full fathoms deep of briny veil
The herring vessel foundered, Bering cast adrift and floundered
Barely reached the rocky beach with desperate flail
And he hadn’t been there long when the cry of wild whale song
Caused his wounded heart to start and spirits quail
Still he heaved his shoulders broad like an ancient demigod
This fearless seaman faced the demon of a whale
As he grappled for his soul, felt the cavernous blowhole
Erupt to sky, cast both on high with one exhale
Like a weather-beaten bateau, he revived upon the plateau
Shocked to find himself dry-docked upon the whale
As the creature stirred awake, he felt his foothold quake
Nowhere to hide, was forced to slide right down the tail
Aghast to be so high and dry, the whale unleashed a mournful cry
The creature’s mass on waves of grass was doomed to fail
As the hide turned pale and ashen, Berengar seized by compassion
And with the strength of ten seafaring men he gripped the tail
Like mighty Thor once swung his hammer, despite the whalesong clamour
He took the weight and slung it straight into the toiling gale
And when he looked around, deep impressed within the ground
Outlined the whale’s gigantic tail in grassy swale.
Now the essence of this story is neither love nor glory
Nor the sweets of feats that cause a maid to pale
Focus but upon this ember when wise words you would remember
When needs must, you’ll trust a cautionary tail!
© C. Joyce-Jameson 2024
