Sunday, September 5, 2010

We were three (Poem)

We were three.
To start with, we were a gang of
Three. There was John, and Tom,
And of course,

We were walking along by the river
When John said to me, I have a sore knee,
So go ahead,
Without me.

So Tom and I, we left John behind and
Ran along the river, soon giddy in our games
We hardly heard the

When we found John – or what was
Left of him, at least,
I was sick. I felt ashamed, but I
Was bereft.

As I was sick, Tom took charge. I’ll go
For help, he said. He had only just
Left when I heard him
Scream as well.

Already dismembered when I got there,
No sign of the culprit, but I knew
That whoever had killed John and Tom
Would come after me too.

I slept with one eye open, carried weapons
When I could. Stopped even believing
In good. I hoped to stay safe
That way.

I am old now, and John and Tom
Are long gone. But I have never forgotten
The blood by the river that day. So I know,
Whoever it was, will come for me too. 

A little poem for you to enjoy this Sunday afternoon, especially if you're planning any riverside walks, hehe!  (Once again, post is scheduled so I may not get a chance to reply to comments until Monday, but please leave some anyway, I really appreciate them!)


David Barber said...

I'm not really a poetry type, but a couple of the Friday Flash Fiction gang have been slowly getting me into it.

I enjoyed that, Jolene, and it's the first 'horror' poem I've read. Very well written. Yes, well done.

Joleen said...

Thanks, David! Glad you enjoyed. I used to only write personal poetry, but recently I decided to have a go at some genre stuff, need all the practise I can get, but it's fun which is important!

Charlie Juliet said...

I quite like this!
I've haven't read a great deal of poetry, not even when I was in school. Some have been too flowery and others I've never gotten the gist of.

Joleen said...

Thanks, Charlie! I find a lot of the stuff in school is very old, and was often written by moany old gits (I'm mostly basing this on my experience with W.B. Yeats, admittedly) - they don't really leave a lot of room for fun poetry, they're so into the stuff that requires a teacher and a handbook to explain it to us mere mortals... *sigh*