I can just imagine this being sung breathlessly in a high-pitched voice over slightly discordant music.
Trying to think of a poem that I find creepy. I'm sure there's rhyming stuff but what comes first to mind, and closest to hand, is Susan Musgrave's A Man To Marry, A Man To Bury. A lot of the poems in it are like the former—just absolutely horrifying—but there's something deeply unsettling in the second.
I did it to attract women
he said; there was no question of an appeal. He had dressed them up carefully and tried to conceal the blood. After his initial disgust over their badly decomposing bodies he took turns telling them stories at night.
He had tried to make them eat but their smell was sickening. They wouldn't co-operate, they made him feel trapped. Their constant quarrelling drove him to distraction. This was how he came finally with their crushed heads to the police station - calling God as his witness - a good family man.
The Judas Goat
It was a bad sign I was born under, half animal, half a cruel joke of nature. The antlered ghosts of my ancestors were vanishing; I envied them their shifty universe.
Fate made me plain and bitter, my shape more symbol than pathfinder or builder. I wandered from the herd to escape humiliation - found more misery there than mystery.
Where I grazed along the wayside nothing would grow; when I lay down in the garbage I gave no thought to the flowers. Skirting the world's edge I thrived on spoils, glutted my maw, grew reconciled to hunger.
Returning to the flock restored my dignity. The fat ewes gathered to greet me; I spoke to them in their own language. Where I led them to drink there was a warm trough and plenty to eat. There was a dry place to lie down; my ease did not betray cowardice.
Lord of everything pleasurable and defenseless, I woke to their calling resurrected and holy. There was no need for treachery in their measure of life; too simple by origin they followed me to the slaughterhouse.
My power was inimitable and blinding, When they smelled their own blood they were no longer afraid. They stumbled and fell as if my will had supported them. I watched them weakening, unashamed.
Even their whimpering made me feel ruthless, the greatness of conquest far greater than self-sacrifice. But when they lifted their gentle heads to remind me all would be forgiven, I turned and looked away.
There on the solitary block I sprawled rootless and agonizing. Lord God of lolling tongues, deliverer of carnage.
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branchandroot
no subject
Date: 2023-09-24 09:53 pm (UTC)Trying to think of a poem that I find creepy. I'm sure there's rhyming stuff but what comes first to mind, and closest to hand, is Susan Musgrave's A Man To Marry, A Man To Bury. A lot of the poems in it are like the former—just absolutely horrifying—but there's something deeply unsettling in the second.
I did it to attract women
he said; there was no question
of an appeal. He had dressed them up
carefully and tried to conceal the blood.
After his initial disgust over their
badly decomposing bodies he took turns
telling them stories at night.
He had tried to make them eat but their
smell was sickening. They wouldn't co-operate,
they made him feel trapped. Their constant
quarrelling drove him to distraction. This was how
he came finally with their crushed heads to the
police station - calling God as his witness -
a good family man.
The Judas Goat
It was a bad sign I was born under,
half animal, half a cruel joke of nature.
The antlered ghosts of my ancestors were
vanishing; I envied them their shifty universe.
Fate made me plain and bitter,
my shape more symbol than pathfinder or
builder. I wandered from the herd to
escape humiliation - found more misery there
than mystery.
Where I grazed along the wayside
nothing would grow; when I lay down in the
garbage I gave no thought to the flowers.
Skirting the world's edge I thrived on spoils,
glutted my maw, grew reconciled to hunger.
Returning to the flock restored my
dignity. The fat ewes gathered to greet me;
I spoke to them in their own language.
Where I led them to drink there was a warm trough and
plenty to eat. There was a dry place to
lie down; my ease did not betray cowardice.
Lord of everything pleasurable and defenseless,
I woke to their calling resurrected and holy.
There was no need for treachery in their
measure of life; too simple by origin they
followed me to the slaughterhouse.
My power was inimitable and blinding,
When they smelled their own blood they were
no longer afraid. They stumbled and fell
as if my will had supported them. I watched them
weakening, unashamed.
Even their whimpering made me feel ruthless,
the greatness of conquest far greater than
self-sacrifice. But when they lifted their
gentle heads to remind me all would be forgiven,
I turned and looked away.
There on the solitary block I sprawled
rootless and agonizing. Lord God of lolling tongues,
deliverer of carnage.
I prayed I had not become human.