Tuesday Poem - 'Windrider'

Years ago, when I first started writing young adult stories, I realised I had an idea I wanted to turn into a novel, but no notion of how to begin to write a novel. I was a poet. I didn't quite get plot. I didn't really understand how to structure a novel. But I could write poetry sequences - I'd been writing poetry sequences for nearly a decade. It was a short step from a poetry sequence to a verse novel. So, my first two novels were verse novels for young adults which was, I admit, a pretty niche market. I was lucky enough to have an editor who believed in this form, had published work by another young adult verse novelist, Steve Herrick, and accepted my work with alacrity. Since then, I've written prose novels for young adults, middle readers and younger readers and my awareness of a novelist's techniques has naturally improved.

Ages ago I decided I wanted to write a fantasy novel. The first attempt didn't really work. Or, didn't work to my satisfaction. I ended up giving one of my central characters to another book - Mimi and the Blue Slave. But recently, I decided I still wanted to write a fantasy novel. So, I've gone back to the way I like to learn new things. I've decided to attempt a fantasy verse novel. A very niche market!

Here is the world premiere of the first poem from that attempt, posted today as a Tuesday Poem. Comments invited!

Windrider

He was standing on the boat

fighting the big fish, playing it

even as it dragged him into deeper water

Everything shrank to the fish

churning the water

its wake foam and blood

and the salt stinging his blisters

blood pooling in his palms.

Even when the fish surrendered

rolled over in to the net

it fixed him with a relentless eye

as though it would pursue him

through nightmare waters.

When he looked up again

the sky and the horizon clouds churned

in grey foam and the wind hammered in

from the wastes. He stood again

legs still shaking

and threw a windstone into the sea.

He was the windtamer, windrider.

But when he was pulled to shore

the King's men were there.

They were waiting for him and no other.

Tears pooled under his eyelids

and spilled onto his cheeks and he woke

to the taste of salt. Cursed the clear spirits

that hammered his head and kicked

the bottle away from the bed.

Windrider stuck under this mountain

no winds down here save for the foul ones

that tunnelled up the mine shafts

sulphurous as demonbreath.

Prisonholder, holed up in his own prison -

and the stone walls of his own stubborn head.

A new prisoner and Keeper to greet and house.

Ableth, windrider, cursed again

the day already hammered

and home only the lingering salt in his mouth.

Catherine Bateson, June 2012.

Hop on over to the Tuesday Poem blog for other tuesday poems.