What Time Is It?

What Time Is It?

Sadly, I have
to admit: it is already
way past Halloween.

–Tom Riley

Midnight Chat

Midnight Chat

You had a midnight chat with desperation.
Will Odin’s ravens ever be the same?
Though master, sir, of ratiocination,
you had a midnight chat with desperation.
Lenore was lost. There was no consolation.
You played a dark and self-destructive game.
You had a midnight chat with desperation.
Will Odin’s ravens ever be the same?

–Tom Riley

Cat’s Cry

Cat’s Cry

Black cats come back to life and cry out–
which is worse than a mere mortal shout.
But what actually made
your psychotic hopes fade?
Your reaction — which left little doubt.

–Tom Riley

Speaking from the Heart

Speaking from the Heart

Underfoot, undead heart told a tale
you could hear. Did you strive to regale
the police with your lies?
That, my lad, wasn’t wise.
Words unchecked pretty much always fail.

–Tom Riley

Lovecraft and Stevie and Vastness and Horror

Lovecraft and Stevie and Vastness and Horror

Mr. King understood you in his brain
but in his heart remained a little boy.
So such as he are fated to remain.
Mr. King understood: you, in his brain,
inspired more thrills than most books can contain.
But every monster was to him a toy.
Mr. King understood you in his brain–
but in his heart remained a little boy.

–Tom Riley

What Lovecraft Loved

What Lovecraft Loved

You loved the 18th century, it’s clear.
There are far more unnerving inclinations.
I think of how so many in your sphere,
those who essayed Cthulhu imitations,
preferred vague horrors free of time and place
and found in vague hells vaguer paradises–
then claimed they’d looked existence in the face.
Amongst the vilest literary vices,
such attitudes, I dare assert, are low.
I much prefer your urges antiquarian,
nostalgia for an age you couldn’t know,
free from all purposes utilitarian.
Your tastes, dear sir, I say are your affair.
When he arrives, Cthulhu will not care.

–Tom Riley

Providence Blue

Providence Blue

Dear HPL,

Embarrassed, I relate
that one amongst my co-religionists
has heaped upon you such a load of hate
that I, as Catholic, am clenching fists.
What gut and heart suggest, the will resists.
I won’t avenge your libeled reputation
in such a fashion, won’t be making lists
of fierce medieval tortures. Resignation
is also, though, a choice that bears negation:
I won’t sit still for such a load of lies.
When morons undermine your sub-creation,
I’ll direct refutation to the wise.
Though mud is what this loser chose to sling,
he never understood a single thing.

–Tom Riley

Icicle Melts

The Icicle Melts

Dr. Jekyll became Mr. Hyde.
When the bastard got out, what a ride
the poor gentleman faced!
What he showed was erased.
He became what was always inside.

–Tom Riley

From the Mirror

From the Mirror

Is something dreadful leering from the mirror?
I wave at what I know just isn’t me.
I smile with steady heart at every leerer.
Is something dreadful leering from the mirror?
I clutch my reason hard: ain’t nothing dearer!
Unhorrified, the Stoics would agree.
Is something dreadful leering from the mirror?
I wave at what I know just isn’t me.

–Tom Riley

Staring into the Dark

Staring into the Dark

I am beginning
to envy the dead their
capacity for sleep.

–Tom Riley