Select Poems
Bob McAfee
Returned but not the Same (A bad trip), Unrecognizable (Death calls), The Morning After (A night in the forest), The Vampire Bride (Enough said).
Returned but not the Same
In the hour between there and back again,
The mirror groans,
Bemoans a shifted shape,
The fairest of them all, the knuckled bones
Sliding upon a slender dawn, a pale arm amuletted,
Rumpled brown,
Hurries on a slow wind winding down
Before a bumbling sense of yawn.
She cares enough to send the very beast,
Garroted and beguiled,
A cardboard child of birth
On barren earth. She always lied.
Probe the wrenching gut, anesthetize the pride of loins.
In the main rescind the welcome home,
Out the candled brief,
Bereft of time.
The rabbit died, symptomatic of a fecund life.
The throttled joy
With which the tiny boy
Evaporates, another tasteless ploy.
Newt and toad and bloodstained eyes,
The cauldron churning electric.
Invoke the gods with cattle prods,
Eclectic curses burning.
In the hour between love and not love,
The mirror frosts its lenses,
Senses a sea change, a neaping tide,
A final cleansing.
In the minutes between there and back again,
The mirror cracks.
Johnny’s back, black and burned;
Returned but not the same.
Unrecognizable
Why are you hiding beneath the staircase?
Are you a thief come to rob me
or just a joker out to give me a little scare?
I see you better now but wish I didn’t.
You’re taller than I thought but your clothes
give you away, black as sin, outdated –
No. No. I mean they are becoming to you,
in an old-world way, like Bosch or Brueghel.
I think I expected more of a Johnny Cash look.
Pardon me but I don’t think I’m ready to go.
Come on into my living room
and let’s talk this over like two adults.
Thank you. Now sit back in the La-Z-Boy
and rest your weary bones.
Can I give you some advice?
Good! You know, you look like Hell, empty sockets
and bony hands, enough to scare the dead.
If I were your PR guy I think
I would recommend a complete makeover with
blonde hair and flesh face, a full-figured female
look. Ditch the cape and the hooded cowl.
People would line up to follow you,
to join the “Black Angel” brigade;
your current image is appalling.
I feel you are ignoring me completely.
Why don’t you put your scythe back in the violin
case. Let me pour you a bloody mary.
Oh! Is that your hearse parked outside my door?
Look! The cop is ticketing you for an expired tag.
Why don’t you take care of things while
I slip out the back door wearing a false moustache,
a painted face, very big shoes
and my clown suit so as to be totally
Unrecognizable.
The Morning After
Do you know what happened late last night
when the moon went home to bed
when the stars were all in hiding
and the clouds in terror sped?
Did you see the lightning flashing
when the north wind raised his head
and howled his vengeance at the earth?
Did you hear what Satan said
as the trees bowed down before him
in both obedience and dread,
“Woe to he who walks the land
this night, the dawn will find him dead.”
Fate was now unfolding
his tapestry of fear and thread,
a patchwork maze that signifies
what misadventure lies ahead.
As the rug is opened,
the prophetic dust begins to spread,
falls upon the shoulders
of the innocents, so newly wed
who are caught out in the forest
where demonic eyes so dark and red
now spy the poor unfortunates –
Satan contemplates his daily bread.
But his laugh betrays his presence
and the lovers hear his heavy tread
behind them on the moonless path.
The branches rip their clothes to shreds
as they race on through the darkness
till they see a light ahead
and they know they’ve reached a haven.
Could it be they’ve safely fled?
Now you ask me how I know this tale
where has this story led:
I just got tired of chasing them
and found you, my Dear, instead.
The Vampire Bride
Lips of cherry berry wine, hair of gold is spun
Kiss the stars and ride the moon
And back before the sun
I leave at dawn to earn my bread
She sleeps the sleep of the living dead
The windows shuttered from the light
Freedom only comes by night
Remember what the preacher said
Prisoner of the marriage bed
Bound to keep me comforted
When I hunger keep me fed
I so large and she so slight
But she knows how to make things right
A tiny hand to hold in mine, our two lives now are one
Kiss the stars and ride the moon
And back before the sun
When I return her sleep has fled
Her frown is now a smile instead
She has an endless appetite
And in the dusk her grip is tight
This lovely maiden I have wed
She tosses back her curly head
Wraps me in her covering spread
Prisoner of the marriage bed
We laugh and love in pure delight
For she knows how to make things right
I dream the stars all in a line, the full moon has begun
Kiss the stars and ride the moon
And back before the sun
The hours of night have quickly sped
And I awake awash in red
The sheets are crimson over white
She's sleeping, my exhausted sprite
No evidence that she has bled
Or from which wound the blood was shed
So far from home the moon-star led
And so returned her to my bed
Exhausted from her frenzied flight
And she may never make things right
Lips of cherry berry wine, hair of gold is spun
Kiss the stars and ride the moon
And back before the sun
Bob
McAfee
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Bob McAfee is a retired software consultant who lives with his wife near Boston. He has written eight books of poetry, mostly on Love, Aging, and the Natural World. For the last several years he has hosted a Wednesday night Zoom poetry workshop. Since 2019, he has had more than 60 poems selected by over twenty different publications. His website, www.bobmcafee.com, contains links to all his published poetry.