POEM: Fond of Monsters

I’m fond of monsters, modern & ancient,
but only monsters who know their nature.
It’s not the wild eyes, but those that’r vacant
that signal the most dire kind of danger.

I tracked one once across a snowy heath,
and when the winds did shift, it caught my scent.
It could’ve wheeled about, baring claws and teeth,
but it had a sniff and moved on – content.

Did I dare stalk the beast any further?
Was I being led into an ambush?
Did it seek concealment for my murder?
And then the break — a gasping air inrush

A sudden realization, I’d been duped,
and was pursuing myself in a loop.

POEM: A Monster in Scale and Disposition

Lumbering lunatic slogs

through the moonlit woods.

If it comes upon a farmhouse,

it’ll eat

a chicken or

a goat or

a girl or

a boy.

They’ll find only buttons and belt buckles,

and maybe loose feathers.


It’s a monster in scale and disposition.



[National Poetry Month: Poem #7]