Basket Case

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A waste paper basket, a trash can, a bin Whatever you call it, some things won’t stay in The things that you write Long into the night May make, when discarded… one hell of a din * Don’t write by moonlight at midnight Do not trash your tale late at night For powers unseen And terribly mean May use it to give you a fright I know, for it happened to me I tell for I need you to see I binned every word And later I heard A screech of malevolent glee * I lie wide awake in my bed My discarded verse in my head I tiptoe downstairs With prickling neck hairs For something smells like it’s long dead A full moon sheds just enough light In the room where I sit down to write But somehow I know It won’t let me go This thing I created tonight It lives for it never can die I think I now understand why I wrote about strife My words gave it life And you can’t kill words, though you try The waste paper basket taunts me It’s dark in the room but I see A claw on its rim My thoughts turn to Grimm It mutters my name… and I flee

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Sara Etgen-Baker

Date: 4/25/2024 5:52:00 PM

amazing write, Terry. Like Daniel said, it's a cautionary tale about discarded words/thought. I agree...I hate killing my 'darlins'--my words and lines just to fit a form. I was given creativity then I throw it away. I need to pause and reset. Thanks for your poem this evening. Have to fave for it will speak to many poets! enjoy your evening, Sara

Terry Flood
Date: 4/28/2024 3:19:00 PM

Thank you, Sara. This tale went in so many directions that it probably took me longer to organise it back into a single, more or less coherent, direction. Not sure, yet, what to do with all the left over verses… time will tell. Thanks for the fave. Terry

Daniel Henry Rodgers

Date: 4/25/2024 8:53:00 AM

Hello Terry, I liked how your cautionary tale about discarded words taking on a chilling life of its own. It's a haunting of the power and permanence of our creations, even when we try to discard them. Your narrative grips with suspense, echoing the eerie consequences of disregarded creativity. It's a compelling reflection on the enduring presence of our words, whether we acknowledge them or not. - Blessings, Daniel

Terry Flood
Date: 4/28/2024 3:30:00 PM

Thanks, Daniel. So many unfinished or directionless poems sit on my iPad, and most of them sooner or later call me in for a rethink. Wasn’t sure about this one, even while posting it, so I’m pleased that it worked for one or two readers ;-)