POETRY BY TOM DUKE

Tom Duke lives in the foothills of Palomar Mountain, California, with his normal wife, two strange dogs, and a furry gray demon who thinks she’s a cat. In addition to The Horror Zine, his work has appeared in Wyldblood Press.

AFTER A LONG WALK

Under the umbra of a grand rock elm
He sat in a nook along the river’s sweep
The breeze whispered tales he’d heard a thousand times
Soothed him, as he slipped into an amber sleep.

In his dream a boy not too unlike himself
When he was young and fishing in this stream
Played a clever hook against the current’s pull
And caught a rainbow glittering in the dream.

He followed barefoot down the grassy slope
Through pearly mist, around a hidden bend
And came upon a steep and stony fall
Far from home—a place where rainbows end.

He wondered if his dream was something more
So rubbed his eyes to softly set it free
Blew it gently with his waning breath
And watched it sweep as far as he could see
As far as he could see.

DARK BLESSINGS

Sunken graves
And crawling things
Witchy trees with crows
Wriggling delights
Till the soil
Their efforts
Tickling your toes
You taste the stew
Of decay in the air
It coats your curious tongue
Breathe deep now
Of whispers dead
And secrets sweet
As song.

THE RECLUSE

Solemn and alone, he steps from the grey confines
of his tiny flat in the city
descends the stairwell with a burglar’s grace
casts his glance each way
then traces a path through the foggy night.

The moon hangs overhead like a tarnished pendant
the buildings, gaunt and tall
rise up like tombstones in the night
and a faint breeze passes through sleepy streets
like a sigh.

Pausing in the black throat of an alley
he watches the shuffle of whores wrapped in wool
as they lead drunk clients
through the maze of shadows and filtered yellow light—
they will be warm tonight.

And then he is alone again
with loneliness, his friend
and the shadows that crawl upon the walkways
and the yellow mist that wetly creeps along
gathering in folds about his feet.

INSPIRATION

She let it
Sail through her head
A butterfly
Under clouds
Blue-gray
Skipping
From node to node
Like a wandering
Dream.