Terry Flood | + Follow Poet |
Limerick | + Fav Poem | Comment | Email | Print |

Basket Case

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

Copyright © Terry Flood | Year Posted 2024

Please Login to post a comment

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 Login to Reply 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 ;-)