Saturday, October 22, 2011

Monsters

How
I
So
Miss
The pounding
Of my heart
Over fears metaphysical
Misshapen
Monsters
Whose invisible claws
Crusted with
Dried invisible blood
Draw my blanket
Slowly under
My bed
What purpose
Should beast
Have
To sniff the scent
Of my flesh
Before
Drawing me slowly in
As my blanket
Before me
So
It
May
Begin
To
Feed


Ken Goree


I so miss, as I believe I have said before, the innocent and childish fears of my youth; what a wonderful way to exercise the imagination.  I try so very hard to once again frighten myself over carefree, harmless monsters, such as they were.  I rarely find real monsters in my life, but the new monsters that plague the news give me no pleasure, satisfaction or sense of adventure.  I’d welcome back the phantoms, werewolves and “The Blob,” all of whom used to live under my bed.  I made extra popcorn tonight, just in case they grant me one more wonderful visit.


2 comments:

  1. This is a very interesting poem (and commentary). Do the lessons we learn in slaying the monsters of our childhood offer any clues for imaginitively engaging with the grim crises of our adult world? Thank you, Ken!

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  2. Lisa,

    How do I say this? ... I wish!

    I have no real monsters under my bed, slithering past my door, nor reaching for me from the shadows with poisonous talons. However, I see do them circling around those I love (family friends and students), and I wish that I could be the power that dispelled their real demons.

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