You know how you just lose your head sometimes?
Something unexpected happens, Boom.
Mind blown, and now you are not what you were.
But still, it’s freeing: that change in perspective
Allows you to do things you never dreamed.
Of course, you always take your baggage. with you.
“Mind over matter,” you will tell yourself,
“I’m not the stinking guts that trail behind!
I am the head, the brain, the eyes, the mouth.”
But in the end, your body will betray you.
Its sour stench announcing your arrival
And warning mortals, so they can escape
And then there’s nothing left for you to do
But go back home, and put yourself together,
Ready to face the unsuspecting world.

Hey, thanks for letting me crash here.
Speaking of which
That ugly dinner set you had?
No longer an issue. You’re welcome.
I’ll stay out of your way
While you sweep up the mess
Watch your feet! The porcelain’s sharp.
It’s the least I could do,
Since you’re letting me crash here!

Speaking of which,
I might need to practice my percussion solo later.
It’s a bit loud. but ever so rhythmic!
It’s very experimental:
I’m creating a sort of sound-sculpture, Utilising common household objects
And unearthly howling
Real cutting edge stuff!
I’m sure you’ll love it.
Just consider it a thank you
For letting me crash here.

Speaking of which
Isn’t it time you went to sleep?
You really should get more rest, you know!
You’ve been looking exhausted lately
Haunted, even.
So why don’t I send you some more sweet dreams?
To take your mind off, well, everything.
Well I think they’re sweet, anyway.
But just in case you leap out of bed screaming
Like last time
I’ll just sit right here, on your chest
And make sure you stay nice and snug.

I do hate to be a bother:
You’ll hardly know I’m here.
The perfect houseguest.
But better!
It’s always so sad when friends have to leave, don’t you think?
But I’m not leaving, don’t you worry.
This place is so great!
I’m sure we’ll be happy together.

Listen to #100MonstrousPoems 56: Goblin by Sez Thomasin on #SoundCloud
https://soundcloud.app.goo.gl/YwHRF

Yes, we love gold
The way it shines in candlelight
Below the earth
Where so few things are ever bright
And silver too,
Rubies and diamonds. All of these
Are beautiful.
You think you have the right to seize
And mangle them
To wear as crowns upon your heads
To decorate
Your sunburned, pudgy forms. Who said
That you could take
Our treasure, that’s no use to you?
And then accuse
Us of the things that humans do?
You hoard our gems
And gold. You lock it all away
You fight for it
You even kill, and then you say
That goblinkind
Is the epitome of greed
You steal our gold
Because you want the things we need.
You have so much
Out in the sun, where flowers bloom
But still you steal
Our only beauty, in the gloom
And when we fight
To save the things we love, we’re told
That we are cruel
And covetous, for loving gold.

According to Polish folklore, a Strzyga is a person born with two souls. They are recognised by their tendency to be born with teeth. It is believed that when a Strzyga dies, one soul stays behind to become a bloodsucking demon.

We were born ready to bite.
My mother feared to suckle us
So sharp were our teeth, so pointed, so bright
But still, we tried hard to be good
Well, a part of us did. Her. Not me

There were always two parts to us, you see.
The dutiful daughter was never enough
Not for them. Though she tried ,
They said they could see my gleam in her eyes
It wasn’t their fault, she would say:
Of course they were cruel to her. To me.
They’d never asked for child with a demon inside
I offered to lend her my hunger, my rage. But she said that she wanted their love. She refused.
So she lived her life patiently, hated, abused
And I, who’d have fought every battle for her.
Always trapped in a cage
But they knew I was there.
They had seen that first smile.
Seen that razor sharp grin.
They told her that they knew exactly what waited within.

Then the plague came,
I really believe they were glad
When we sickened. Although they pretended to all of the neighbors
To be very sad.
But the look on her (my) mother’s face
It wasn’t exactly disguised.
That’s the last thing that we ever saw,
The relief in our own mother’s eyes.

Because yes, the plague took us
At least, it took her:
The good girl. The daughter who tried
To hide her double nature. She died.
And left me, alone, suffocating:
The cage that she built to keep them safe from me
Disintegrating.

And now I am free.
I am no longer us, I am me.
And perhaps, if our parents had shown
Any love
To their double-souled daughter.
Perhaps, for her sake, I could still rise above
All the anger and sorrow and urge to attack
But they didn’t. She’s gone.
And now
I’m.
Coming.
Back.

I’m Púca. and much good that name may do you.
I dare you to define me when I can
Be anything. The master of disguise?
Not even that. I don’t pretend to be.
I am whatever thing I please to be.
I’m Púca, Pooka, Puck. They’re only words
I wear them when I like, and when I don’t
You can’t even conceive.. but go ahead
And tell yourselves you know me. Put me in
your plays and stories. Poems? Sure! I’ll be
Your roguish woodland spirit. Budget Pan?
You’re right. That’s me. Just you keep reading stories.
You won the game. You know me after all!
Else the Puck a liar call…

I read a Yorkshire legend about a boggart and a farmer. Seems to me the boggart got a raw deal.

Don’t make fairy bargains
No, don’t take fairy gold
For fairies love to cheat you
Or that’s what you’ve been told

Those sneaky little goblins
And tricky little elves
They’re all of them dishonest
And nothing like yourselves.

Now there was once a farmer
Who lived upon my land
And though I’d been there longer
I offered friendship’s hand

I said I had no problem
With humans farming there
My only stipulation:
I had to have my share

Although he wasn’t happy
The farmer soon assented
A split of fifty-fifty:
The bargain was cemented

He asked me, would I rather
Take that which grows unseen
Or that which sprouts above the land?
I chose the first. I mean

He mostly grew potatoes
And barley, he’d explained
And baked potato’s sweeter
Than any pile of grain.

But then the lying bastard
Sowed every single field
With corn and wheat and barley
So stubble was my yield.

I can’t say I was happy
I thought it was a shame
But in the end, I was impressed
Game recognises game.

So I forgave the farmer
And once more chose my crop
Instead of what’s beneath the soil
I’d take what grows on top.

I should have known, it’s foolish
To make a deal with thieves:
Next year I had a harvest
Of damned potato leaves!

So don’t make fairy bargains
And I will tell you why
If you make one with humans
The cunts’ll bleed you dry.

Just leave me the end of that pastie
You’re not going to finish all that.
If you want to find the the best coal seam
You cannot afford to get fat.
So just leave me a bit of the pastry
And maybe a bit of the meat
And I’ll be a sign of good fortune
I only want something to eat.

It’s not much to ask. Just a tribute
Acknowledging this is my space
And you are a guest, not a burglar
It’s really a way to save face
Because if you are going to come down here
And not even leave me a snack
And take all my coal to the surface
Well you’d better be watching your back.

I know where the mine is unstable.
I know where the air has turned bad,
And if I should choose, I am able
To make all your relatives sad
So just leave me a bit of your pastie
And I’ll leave the tunnels unblocked
Because all it would take to collapse them
Is the tiniest, tiniest knock.

I hate the way I look in photographs.
Nobody ever seems to get my good side.
it’s always “shambling mountain man.” “Mysterious
Ape-like creature”. Listen. I am not
Your metaphor for going back to nature.
Your long lens fantasy of wilderness.
If I choose not to mix with you it isn’t
Because I’m shy, or fear humanity.
I’ve better things to do. But I’d prefer
It if you called the paparazzi off.
You never get my best side. Go away.

There is day and there is night
In every soul. And in my own
The darkness overcomes the light

The urge to hunt, to seize, to bite
Is strong in me. I’ve always known
That there is day and there is light.

And day is beautiful, and bright
But oh, the secrets night has shown!
The darkness overcomes the light.

When I am human, I am slight
And insignificant, alone.
But there is day, and there is night.

And in the dark, I find my might
As jaguar, I claim my throne.
Though there is day, and there is night,
The darkness overcomes the light.

I’m like a dragon, but I’m not.
I’m like a bird but haven’t got
The feathers that you might expect:
I’m claws and wings and scales and neck.
And if you know your heraldry
Then, by extension, you know me.
On crests and flags you’ve seen me writhin’,
Nice to meet you, I’m a wyvern.