image from painterly.com
Poem submitted to “King of Terrors” poetry contest, Rob Carmack, sponsor, September 3, 2026
He appears at the edge of the room exactly where the wallpaper forgets what pattern it meant to keep. No fanfare. Just a soft shuffle, like someone dragging a crown made of misplaced thoughts. He isn’t frightening. He’s simply tall enough to bump his head on the ceiling and polite enough to apologize to the plaster. Every time he speaks, a small flock of paper birds flies out of his mouth and circles the lamp as if searching for a reason to be afraid. He carries a scepter that looks suspiciously like a bent spoon~ claims it holds great power. Mostly it stirs the air into odd shapes that drift toward the door and forget why they left. His shadow behaves better than he does~ standing straighter, listening harder, trying to look regal while he fumbles with his cape and mutters about how terror used to mean something. By nightfall, he sits on the floor, crown tilted, birds asleep on the windowsill, and admits he’s not much of a monarch. Fear refuses to obey him. Dreams wander off without permission. Even the spoon has lost interest. Still, he stays~ a gentle absurdity in a world that keeps insisting it needs a king for things it can’t explain.
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