Attracted by the subject of Cryptozoology, the theme for the November edition of Snakeskin Poetry, I allowed myself a certain amount of latitude and wrote this rhyming poem, The Scream. Alas, it didn’t find favour with November’s guest editor.
My consolation was to see another of my poems, The End Of The Affair, published in Snakeskin’s October edition.
You can read some of this month’s excellent material here: http://www.snakeskinpoetry.co.uk
For those who may be unaware, a banshee is a female spirit in Irish folklore who heralds the death of a family member usually by wailing, shrieking, or keening.
THE SCREAM
Why do we need them, things unseen:
the ghost, the deity, the beast
unclassified, the figurine
that weeps real tears from stone, the priest
with his stigmatic, fractured wrists,
the werewolf prowling in the mists?
What human need do they fulfil?
What faith or fear do they instil?
The Irish face this century
with confident modernity
but in our countryside it seems
the clocks have stopped, time holds its breath,
and every time the Banshee screams
we rationalists await a death.
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