"Night Sounds"
by
Wally Lee Parker
(all rights to this verse retained by the author)
(sketch copyright maintained by Robert Brandt – used by permission)
I began work on this piece of verse in 1983 or ’84. It has appeared and reappeared in one form or another ever since — essentially refusing to die. Hopefully this is close enough to being the last of it that I’ll not have to molest the poor thing anymore. On the other hand, a little more tweaking might not hurt.
This is also a good opportunity to display the artwork of Robert Brandt — former L.P.N. (Licensed Practical Nurse), and still very much a Bachelor of Fine Arts. I’ve lost contact with Robert since I retired from the hospital. Robert’s retired now too, and now that he has extra time I’m hoping he’s aggressively pursuing his unique talent. I check the gallery announcements frequently, hoping to see his name mention as an exhibitor. He did in all thirteen drawings to illustrate various projects on mine. I consider those images among my most cherished possessions. Seeing the illustration he created to accompany this bit of verse, I hope you agree with me regarding his artistic and imaginative ability.
In any event, below find this year’s resurrection of “Night Sounds”.
One wonders past this midnight hour
What delusions might be seen
Nibbling upon my window glass
Before the east turns green
Thumping against my chimney pipe
Creaking upon my roof
Hopping across my garden path
Upright — on cloven hoof
One wonders why these night-sounds rise
To sulk within the walls
To flow through night-light shadows
To animate the dolls
To scoot behind closed closet doors
To bump beneath the beds
To plop out of the kitchen sink
And feed upon my dread
Darkly do the night winds blow
Swirling through leafless limbs
A bitter chill sucked from the clouds
Congealed in tuneless hymns
Chill winds that rein the mares of night
As they crash about their games
And drive the little children mad
By screeching out their names
One wonders why this shiver comes
Coursing from head to toe
When sensing her within the mist
A wrath in Hell's trousseau
A wrath that wears foreboding’s shroud
With comets for a veil
A wrath that sings as hinges swing
And taunts the dogs to wail
One wonders why the cold fog rolls
Up from the garden well
What hand turns the bucket-crank
Or claws within the pail
What flashes on the garden walk
Or crunches on the road
Do drunken demons dance about
Feasting on worms and toads
The hours creep till morning comes
To gnaw against the chill
To ladle out the liquid light
That drips across the hills
To seep up from the eastern sky
To cause the stars to pale
To chase this flock of hungry ghouls
Back down the garden well
One wonders why the night sounds flee
Up with the kindling smoke
Bleeding into the earth and sky
Power to haunt revoked
Creaking away in thinning black
Pacing the rot of night
To give full measure of vile torment
Before the morning’s light
One wonders why this madness comes
At one A.M. or so
To rattle about my empty heart
To scrape against my soul
To burn within my weary brain
To open tired eyes
To compel this pen in trembling hand
To scribble out these lines
One wonders why the night sounds rise
What be their true intent
Why bruise my tattered sanity
Twisting without relent
One wonders why they make me write
Maybe I’ll ask my shrink
Or maybe crush me one tonight
Their blood is poet’s ink
Links to other poems by Wally Lee Parker
No comments:
Post a Comment