He Calls

Over at dVerse, Brian Miller is our host for ‘Poetics‘ this week and asks us to write about monsters …

Maybe the monster’s ‘scary or hides under the bed until all the lights are out.
‘Maybe it’s human. Maybe it’s not. All I know is that at the end of this … there is a monster,’ says Brian, ‘Is it hairy with big teeth? What does it eat?’

The temperature rises,
crows caw, ground thaws, the moon is full.
The Lenten moon of winter.

Hark!
A bark.
He calls.

Teeth. Filthy, dripping teeth.
Werewolves change form beneath
the Full Crow Moon of winter.

Eyebrows meet at the bridge of his nose,
he grows bristles under his tongue.
No tail, swinging stride, a gaze to paralyse.

He strips off his clothes, his man clothes,
piles them by the roadside,
pees around them in a circle, satisfied,

he turns, howls, bounds to the woods.
Tears the flesh from recently interred cadavers,
drinks the blood of wounded soldiers.

He’s a corpse returned from
the grave
to fornicate.

She’s out all night. Doors and locks
spring open at her approach.
Wolf-women acquire

a dreadful desire for human flesh,
devour their own children
and those of others.

Strength, speed, stealth … shy, sly killers,
cochineal eyes,
bloodied teeth.

Watch out! Silver tipped canes create bubbling burns,
that make them yearn
for the silver bullet to the brain.

It’s merely a myth, simply a shape shift,
a bite, a scratch,
from one transformed …

Hark!
A bark.
He calls.

Hide your babies,
Lycaon serves human flesh
To Zeus.

Polly Robinson © 2013

Français : Le roi lycaon changé en loup par Zeus, Gravure du XVIe siècle (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Remember When …

Twiggy in 1967, at the height of her modelling career, showing the look that made her famous.

Phew!  The last one.  As aprille says ‘Congrats to us all: we DID it.  Who’d have thought’.

Today’s prompt asks us to write a poem incorporating at least three “I remember” statements. As napowrimo says ‘This invocation of memory seems a fitting way to end our month together’.

I have loved making notes from my memories, thinking about my growing up days and what times were like then.

This poem could go on for pages and pages and then some, and, since I first wrote this, I’ve added a much loved album track to the post.   True to form or my style, I’ve tried not to go overboard in length but know I must write some more, there will definitely be a return to this topic.  I have enjoyed it so much and have plenty more notes for the next in the series.

Remember When …

You’re not supposed to remember the sixties,
If you do then you did it all wrong!
But for the sake of a verse, I did some research,
And here’s the resulting poem.

I remember a time when technology
Was a term unknown to a lot,
When computers were sci-fi items,
And we were shocked by Room at the Top.

I remember sharing our telephone
With the woman who lived next door,
A ‘party line’, they called it,
You don’t hear of them any more.

There were McCall and Butterick patterns,
Oh yes, we sewed a fine seam,
21st birthdays were ‘coming of age’,
Girls had perms, aged sixteen.

I remember bouffant hairstyles,
The ones that gave way to Sassoon,
And I can remember vividly, the very
First steps on the moon.

I recall feminist writing
From Woolf to de Beauvoir to Greer,
Men puzzling what was happening …
Women had children to rear.

Buy British and I’m Backing Britain,
Bailey, The Shrimp, Terence Stamp,
Carnaby Street, boutiques were new,
And Cassius Clay was the champ.

The swinging sixties, the new generation,
Mary Quant and Habitat,
Laura Ashley, Twiggy, Liberty prints,
We wore tights and baker-boy hats.

Maxi coats, mini-skirts,
Bright kilts with pins,
Skinny rib sweaters
Fashionably thin,

Pointy-toed Winkle Pickers,
Hot Pants, bells, boots,
Crimplene, white knickers and
Loudly checked suits.

We slept in rollers,
Painted smoky black eyes,
Drove souped up minis,
Showed much of our thighs!

Peace and love and flower power,
On TV: Hancock’s Half Hour,
Python, Parkinson, Frost and Dee,
With Pete and Dud, Beyond the Fringe was for me!

Hendrix, Joplin, Beatles and Stones,
Donovan, Dylan, protest songs,
‘The White Album’, Beach Boys, The Who,
Procol Harem and Small Faces too.

I remember, I remember, I remember,
All of the above,
And best of all, yes best of all,
Was the wonderful summer of love.

Polly Robinson © 2012