Cthulhu - a H.P. Lovecraft inspired poem by Adam Common, poet

My goal is to share a Cthulhu mythos themed poem each and every Monday until the end of March. After that, my focus will switch to another literary great. Look out for that announcement. Here is an edit of a previous reader favourite. Enjoy

"That is not dead which can eternal lie
And with strange aeons, even death may die."
H.P. Lovecraft

I awaken tossed in bracing foam,
Whose subtle fingers turn my stomach's walls.
I cling to what remains of distant home,
Her cradling bed. Her soft and silent halls.

I'm cast on driftwood, sure to meet an end
Soaked and drowning, lone upon this sea,
With sleep no haven, nightmares of descent
Down to some bleak island, ever drawing me.

Mercurial, the sun brings lasting pain,
A lasting thirst, and at last a distant gleam,
And with it distant hope I might be saved,
Or that some land had formed from all my dreams.

Long hours pass. I bob, I drift, I float.
That shore's salvation ever closing now,
The hand of madness loosed from 'round my throat,
I feel God's hands themselves direct my prow.

Though not a faithful man I must consent,
No other explanation crossed my thought,
For how the becalmed sea so smoothly sent
My sail-less vessel swiftly to its port.

I found the land, and found myself more lost.
Her beach a marsh, a slick and muddy mire,
Scattered with rocks and turgid, bulbous moss,
With a taste of pardon, but more of ash and fire. 

Once filled, I walked, and found a dryer course
On which I might just find some better fare,
But all for naught, I found just a barren gorge,
And a sightless cave, more likely something's lair.

Fatigued, I slept beneath the careless sky,
And those unfamiliar stars regarded me,
But did not seem to care I clung to life,
Inconsequential as I seemed to be.

I woke at dawn in darkness, on my feet,
Deep in the black of a vast and hollow earth,
And as my eyes adjusted I could see,
The kind of terror only madness births.

The grisly vision of a mountain spilled
From an ocean void that did not care for man,
Whose foul appearance tore at mortal will,
And mocked the lie of all I think I am.

A writhing face of feelers, slick and foul,
It's body bulbous, tentacled and grand.
It saw me and my heart and pulled me down,
And made it so I could make to stand.

His name, her name, its name, and I awoke,
My bed, my room, my prison in this life.
I smell it still. The briny, awful choke
Of blackened water, masking hidden strife.

This world is done. It scarred my waking days,
And he sits, not live, not dead, but in between,
For those shores to rise, and the stars to light the way
To an end for which he sleeps, and waits and dreams. 




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Was a short walk. 

Dangerous, of course,

In the way that kids left to their own devices tend to make everything that little bit more dangerous,

And the kids that lived down by me

Only had their own devices. 

Rocks. 

Clubs. 

Whatever sharp or heavy bit they could find. 

And you know what?

All boys. 

Like some 70s film about British delinquency

The girls stood by watching, hair pasted flat to their scalps, tied so tight their hairlines receded,

Wanting to know which of the grunting, thick-skulled geeks would play king today. 

As we passed, the boys would pelt us with pebbles. 

One time they hit my mate’s girlfriend

And I lost my shit, chased them down, 

Caught a collar as they fled and pulled him back.

His head hit the floor with a sickening-

Blanched. I picked up the fallen boy’s club as they asked,

Begged to know why, and I failed to answer,

Forgetting the dozens of rock welts on my skin,

The bleeding girl twenty meters away standing with her boyfriend and my other quiet friends. 

The kid’s dad had a shotgun. 

I backed away slowly. 

The boy woke up and started crying. 

I Have Become a Wordless Thing

I make to press that
Little button
That wakes you.
I see (little else) my reflection
In your midnight face.

Aah. There you are,
Your light ripened for the basking.
My will completely
Cooked by you,
I become a
Wordless
Thing.

I don't see beyond
You,
Or hear except what is
Yours
To say.
I am rapt;
Ignorant.
Completely
Carried away.

Facets

1. All at once it comes

Rushing like a hapless wave

To break on my shore.

2. She plays quietly;

A petal, a smallish thing,

Ever emerging.

3. You made that for me.

You're such a smart, bastarding

Marketing machine.

4. I wish I was you,

Sculpted, in tight red and blue,

But you aren't real.

(because you're Spider-Man.)

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We Would

Down in the water, in the river, down by the lake, the stones are slick.

We would play there as children, having avoided those nettlesome geese.

We would look down to the small reservoir to watch the tadpoles dart.

We would. We would. We.

Cars would come. Where the water was low, a road crossed through.

We would scamper barefoot to the side. We would wave

as the ocean parted, wondering if the car was too low,

would the water get inside?

Would it gum up the works?

Ruin the carpets?

We would hope that things would go wrong, because of course

we would. That's who

we were. We were. We.

Yes, we would tramp the riverbed, peering downwards,

seeking out fishies, but our footfalls would loosen the muck,

turning the water opaque with our boorish disruptions.

"That'll teach you" the river would say 

in that cocky way that rivers do and

we would reply by stomping, and splashing,

tearing up pebbles and rocks to hurl every which way,

not understanding that the water would only settle

and the fish would only return once we monkeys had gone away.

But, following the habit of our lifetimes,

all of yours, some of mine,

We would rage. We would. We. 

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