Dragon Lake

Bao Peng sat back and lit his pipe,

The hob was cold, the ash quite dead,

He drew a tiny firelight

That lit the scar high on his head.

While Zhang was hushed, he gathered round

Each brother, cousin; neighbours too,

‘Bao Peng will not begin his tale

Until your silence begs him to!’

 

‘In years gone by,’ Bao Peng began,

‘When revolution ruled this land,

Our village lived at peace back then,

We helped each other, as we can!

We grew rice in the paddy fields

Kept pigs and horses, sheep and game,

And lived, though poor, contentedly

Until the Helmsman’s Red Guards came.’

 

‘We drew our water from the lake

And shared in everything we grew,

The Buddhists had a temple there

A thousand years, for all we knew.

They held our manuscripts and deeds,

Cared for our souls, and history,

These holy men did no-one harm

But lived an ageless mystery!

 

The Red Guards came, in gangs and droves,

Just schoolkids really, like some mob,

With filthy mouths they screamed at us,

Then beat our women, killed our dogs.

They made us swear to love their Mao,

To hate the ‘Olds’ - old buildings, books,

We didn’t stand a chance -’ Peng stopped…

And felt the scar from Red Guard hooks!

 

‘They killed my wife, Mei Fang,’ he said,

‘They stoned her up on Bullock Hill,’

The tears streamed freely down his cheeks

And we could see, he loved her still!

‘And then they went down to the lake

To burn the temple, burn the books,

The monks were slaughtered, beaten down

With clubs and knives, with swords and hooks!’

 

‘The flames came through the Temple roof,

The pages of the books were charred,

We stood well back, as well we knew

What they’d not know - the Beijing Guard!

A form stirred deep within the lake,

The waters moved, and out there slid

The monstrous shape of fang and claw,

The greatest ‘Old’ that ever lived!’

 

‘The screams were heard for hours that night,

The ghastly shrieks of those devoured,

The ones who raised their clubs to me,

Dragged in the water, overpowered!

The Red Guards never came our way

Again, we held a village wake…

They should have asked, before they burned

Just why we called it - Dragon Lake!

 

David Lewis Paget

Reviews

[Mark]

You know me, Dave: always have to find the poetic devices, the undergirding. Seems as though the root message is to beware of the cold slithery thing that lays temporarily placated beneath our placid surfaces. For our natures may, unbeknownst to ourselves, be just as malevolent and destructive as were the soldiers of the Red Guard. The seeking of a new present may well result in the irretrievable loss of much of value, which we had consigned to others for safekeeping.

[Arielle Ann]

this was yet another magnificent piece Mr. Lewis...Well the words dragon was used in a different context here which was both unique and interesting...I love your classical style...it seem you have visited a lot of the globe in person or through reading..hats off!

[Coyote Poetry]

Thank you for the amazing story. You brought me in with the feel of real story and history. Kept my attention to the very good ending. Some places are protected and the story was outstanding.
Coyote

[patricia]

Brilliant, loved the ending...serves em right!

You took me on an adventure again, I was caught up in it all.

Loved it. Thanks.

[Reaper]

great work

[J Todd Underhill]

Splendid tale! loved the piece and so well done. Reminded me of a Silverstein poem but on steriods! Truly a poetic masterpiece, and I becoming aware that all you write are those :)

[Lena M. P.]

You give honor and tribute to ancients who have walked this earth and to their beliefs. It is because you are open to some many different cultures that you are able to write with such wisdom and realness. You captured the pride, the intelligence and fortitude of a race of people that have stood against the tides of time. Although it is a fable, it rings with truth. awesome story.

[Tate Morgan]

Homer would have been one to promote this type of storytelling as it like the Oddesy and the Iliad. All seem to be rooted in reality, tinged with folklore and a smidgen of godly intervention. Bravo as always your mind rails the tales and weaves the story into legend.

[roarke]

Doesn't matter what you write about, it always has an exotic feel to it. Everything comes alive in your rhymes. If only that were to have happened, what a difference that would have made, something to ponder on.

This is oral tradition at it's finest and why "OLD" history lasted for so long before the printed word. Lessons taught around a home fire by and elder, a story or rhyme easily remembered, was passed down from generation to generation and retold with the same passion.

We need lots more of this kind of storytelling, far more powerful than the digital literature of today's generations.