Day Nineteen on APRIL 19, 2024
Happy Friday, everyone!
Our featured participant for the day is Gloria D. Gonsalves, who brings us not one, but two, poems in
response to Day 18’s “other selves” prompt:
Today’s resource is the website of “selfish” poet Trish Hopkinson, where you’ll find calls for submissions,
blog posts, and oodles of tips and other resources on submitting poetry for publication.
Finally, here’s our prompt – optional, as always! This one comes to us from Moist Poetry Journal, which
posted this prompt by K-Ming Chang a while back:
What are you haunted by, or
what haunts you?
Write a poem responding to
this question. Then change
the word haunt to hunt.
Happy (and potentially spooky) writing!
***
My friends, tread lightly…
Whether you were begging for alms in the form of pity by
faking humility, temperance disguised as selflessness, and
neediness for the well-being of your male offspring: your head
bent low, scary, and smelling of rust, or drenched in grandeur
by arriving well-groomed, tall, and well-postured that even your
practiced little finger looked like any other distinguished
tea-drinking finger-in-attendance member’s in the group… how
should I put this? I smelled you and saw this coming. All those years
the reality haunted me; wish I’d left much earlier.
now that he’s wasting in indolence,
now that you’re out of reach, but I’m here,
now that you still care and I still don’t,
I demand you stop hunting me: Get out of my dreams! You raised
a crooked brute–egocentric and cynical, self-centered and
impulsive; praised his ruthlessness, nourished his impetus to
humiliate, taught it no empathy. You’d have served him your fingers
–called it chicken fingers and disguised the dubious gamey
taste in ketchup… and the thing is, he never would’ve noticed your
fingers missing. You never meant to, but you defied God and
created a monster—in your own image.
You’re not in this world now, but he still is.
You can no longer hurt me, but he can.
You, hunting me in dreams is pathetic:
Begging me to aid your monster, help to reform him, “For old
times sake,” you say… Ha! I’d sooner forget the old times than
waste a moment with such an atrophy you called my brother.
Stop hunting me:
get out of my dreams
get out of my dreams
get out of my dreams!
© selma
…Thanks for being here with me as I try to work on these first drafts this month.
In my life, horror exists, but it’s not a place I explore or go to willingly; neither am
I blind to it. With all this in mind, I offer you my haunt > hunt creative poem.
Thanks for reading.
I know I’ll never be a horror (or humor) writer.
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Parents have the possibility to do so much harm. Positions of authority bring out the worst on some people. A hard-hitting poem.
Yes they do. They could play God. And some do. I appreciate your readership and this encouraging comment. Thanks, Jane.
This poem does two things fabulously. It offers both fantasy and reality and it’s up to the reader to decide which world they resonate with. Well done, Selma.
Hello, Anonymous. Thanks for the lovely comment. Bless you.
(Who are you?)
Wow, Selma! That’s different, and scary! Especially these lines:
‘…your head
bent low, scary, and smelling of rust, or drenched in grandeur’;
’…I smelled you and saw this coming. All those years
the reality haunted me; wish I’d left much earlier’;
and the repetition of ‘get out of my dreams’.
I also agree with the comments from Jane and Anonymous above.
Thanks so much Kim. I appreciate you reading and commenting. Xo 🙇🏽♀️
Very moving poem my friend
Glad you think so, dear Sadje. Happy weekend.
Same to you too 😍
Hauntingly good!
Your
Your words make me smile. Thanks, friend. Xoxo
Wow! A profound topic well written, Selma. Kudos. 🙂
Too many of those monsters both hunting and haunting. Full of intense emotion. (K)
Dreams like that stick with you all day! Great poem.