With apologies to Auden and Lovecraft…

This is the Night Gaunt crossing the border,
Seizing the maid and the postman’s daughter,
Terror for the rich, terror for the poor,
Inside the shadows behind the door,
Sweeping up Dunwich, A steady climb,
Leaving a trail of loathsome slime,
Past shoggoth shank and signs of elder,
Making a noise like a shantak gelder,
Chuckling silently as it passes
Silent miles of doom swept grasses.

Ghouls turn their heads as the flock approaches,
Staring from tombs as they chew on roaches,
Tindalos hounds cannot turn their course
They slumber beyond Euclid’s force,
In the crypt they pass no human wakes,
But in strange aeons something quakes.

Night darkens, the climb is done,
Down towards Arkham they descend,
Towards the students wolfing down the tomes of lore
Towards the haunts of the lost, the flop houses,
Set in the dark town like gigantic jezebels,
All New England waits for them:
In the dark streets, beside the squamous-green river banks,
Things long for release.

Shrieks of thanks, Shrieks on the banks,
Shrieks of joy scare the girl and boy,
Respectful kills, defenestrations,
Ungodly couplings of relations,
And annunciations, Sussurations,
And timid victims desparations
And mongrels, mongrels from all the nations,
Claws insubstantial, cuts unfinanfcial,
Pictures with details you shouldn’t enlarge in,
Tomes with dire warnings scribbled in margins,
Heirlooms from uncles, cousins and aunts,
Accompanied by curses, and unearthly chants,
Threats of revenge from Highlands and Lowlands
Notes from South Seas of disease,
Written in prose of every hue,
The purple, the black, the puce, the blue,
The insane, the half sane, the moaning the droning,
Inhumanly cold and Buzzily telephoning,
Cunning, base, terse and long
The carved, the dripped, to human eyes “wrong”.

Thousands are still asleep
Dreaming of terifying monsters,
Or of summoned ones devouring the band at Cranston’s or Crawford’s
Defiled in working Kingsport, defiled in well set Arkham,
Asleep in basalt R’Lyeh,
He continues his dreams,
And shall awake soon, and longs for freedom,
And none will hear Cthulhu’s call,
Without a quickening of the heart,
For who could dare to call himself forgotten?

Previously posted on Making Light

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3 thoughts on “With apologies to Auden and Lovecraft…

  1. VERY nice. Especially since I just started rereading The Jennifer Morgue today, and just got to the bit about the stars being right…

    1. gorsh (draws line in sand with foot) t’weren’t nothin’, and I’m surprised it’s not been done before. Helped enormously by Auden’s scansion being loose already…

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