082321

Wheelchair of Cthulhu

In each person a spinal cord resides
And in strange eons even Death may ride

010220d

we called them shoggoths, naturally

giant slugs, oozing through

the ruins of this civilization

how could we know

some dead god lay sleeping

in the foundations of it all

111319

His Caviar Mama


Innsmouth boys, roughnecks, staring dockside youth,
trash-talking at Gilpin’s Bait Shop,
with its mounted beauties on the walls,
its rustic sushi-syle buffet;
Field & Stream is kid stuff now,
midnight catch-and-release out by the reef
in Dad’s “borrowed“ boat,
sneaking into Piscine’s for the adults-only show
where half-breeds take it all off for you.
Wilfred’s got a rattle-trap Ford and a
paid-up membership in the Dunwich Aquarium,
state-of-the-art tanks and big big fish;
he can bring a friend and they all want it,
stand there for hours, hands deep in their pockets,
watching the sleek back-and-forth, back-and-forth,
of scaled and iridescent perfection.
“See that one?“ he smirks, pointing to a gravid sturgeon
gliding through the Rivers of Asia tank,
five feet of mouthwatering piscine motherhood,
“That one?!“ his friend gasps, half belief, all envy.
“and the hammerhead in the big tank.“
“You’re lying!“ his friend hisses, “they’re animals!“
“Plenty of guys want a ride down here,“ Wilfred warns,
and the kid backs off; he doesn’t want to miss the Big Show,
but he’s thinking, that hammerhead broad would tear you up!



If you like this poem, check out my recent collection, Metastable Systems. This and many other recent SF, fantasy, & horror poems are found therein.

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/760901

111119

Backwater


Off the trails
blazed by Dreamers
who slept in ancient days,
weedy paths meander toward
long-forgotten cities
buried in lexicons of thought,
afloat in dream mirages,
reveries of near-forgotten years,
unvisited, scarce real,
translucent, unmoored.

Sometimes we've heard,
round embrous fires, glowing
neath the stars who peer
at camps of dreamers in the waste,
or lonely on a dream-dark sea,
the doubtful names of cities
dreamt of once upon a night.

Hypersiphia, where youths may yet disport
and gorge on dreamfruit:
creamcherries, pureed, clotted,
and spread on cakes--
they prolong Dream,
mayhap forever;
maryapples, bearing the faces of women
of the waking world;
it's said that eating these apples
brings nightmares to those
whose countenances they bear;
hoogfruit, repellent of aspect
and of odor,
rarely safe to eat;
the chefs of Weltumn knew the trick,
tis said,
but they've all died, save one;
and she'll not cook again.

But move on, move on I say,
press aside the weeds of
time, seek out the wreck
of yesteryear and go.

Farther down the track,
scarcely a track at all,
merely a thinness in the weeds,
other citadels once stood,
rude stones, tumbled, blurred, and cracked,
faint earthworks furred with forest,
are all that remains,
unless furtive hunters trace
their ancestry to cooks, blacksmiths, and lords
of undreamed nights.

Beyond, this track is done,
and broken heights agnarl
with twisted trees of types unknown,
or unwholesome spawn
of oak, hickory, or elm, parentage
hinted by their raddled leaves
glare hungrily at dusk;
noisome fogs mask much;
something calls out like a frighted child,
another croaks words one fears to know,
even the weeds grow wrong.

No shy hunters walk these woods
but something furtive blinks
sulfur in the gloom;
its leavings: gnawed bones of doubtful aspect,
crabbed footprints, and other sign, whisper
“Stay not here!“ to those who
pass into the trackless lands.

Dreamers, only, venture here;
those who linger do not wake.




If you like this poem, check out my recent collection, Metastable Systems. This and many other recent SF, fantasy, & horror poems are found therein.

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/760901

111019d

By Hali's Shore




The surface of the lake reflects her still,
The balcony is ruinous and slick,
The King bestirs himself and trails his hand,
Just where his daughter-consort took her life,
She stares up from the aromatic deep,
Betimes she serenades him voicelessly,
She's dead a year and now they come to wed,
Out on the restive lake he throws her ring.
Reflected in the livid light of Moon
They waltz, while on the shattered balcony,
He consummates their love on look-alikes,
Who gratefully receive the royal seed;
Before their terms he strangles them as gifts
To she who lingers in the rattling reeds.



If you like this poem, check out my recent collection, Metastable Systems. This, and many other SF, fantasy, & horror poems are found therein.
 
https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/760901

081119c

the B&W snap doesn't show,
behind stiff dresses, faces, and suits,
the squirming horrors
that rule openly now

020519b

who lives in that strange
high house in the mist
what cries we hear!

111718c

Gumbo-Sathla
gibbering mass of soup
deep within the Earth

012118e

H. O. Lovecraft pens poem to the tune of "Piano Man." 4 times

http://birthmoviesdeath.com/2018/01/18/hp-lovecraft-billy-joel-piano-man

121817c

Did you know that Charles Addams, who invented the Addams family, did a version of Mother Goose? I sure didn't, but I have ordered a copy. I will review it here. I wonder if it is anything like Chaosium's "Call of Cthulhu for beginning readers," which is a truly awesome book. if you know of any others of this ilk, please comment.