Best Gargoyle Poems
I pass you several times a week
down at the Cheapside junction
your name defines the job you do
but you perform no function.
No drainage from the upper roofs
no demons are you scaring,
the passers-by stream past
with ninety-nine percent not caring.
The occasional ghost walk party pause
to check you out, inspecting
the mossy run down shell of the old building
you're protecting.
Some folk may say that you're a waste
of all the time you've been there
but I've been inside and you outshine
the architecture in there.
An outcast among gargoyles, by the doorway,
out of place
maybe because the Mason gave you such a charming face.
Spectator to the march of time, ignored
though you may be,
console yourself as you gaze down-
you have a friend in me.
water spurting
from a gargoyle spout…
I am drawn to
the gurgling of a baby
in his mother’s arms
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© 20th January 2020
[Published in Cattails Spring/April issue 2020 p. 86]
Editor’s choice:
The hinge of the poem by Paul Callus is a homophony - gargoyle and gurgle. The similar sound reveals a distinction between a hideous gargoyle and an innocent baby, but the baby if it cries - spouts water - can also look like a gargoyle. However, this is circumvented by the mother’s care so the poem begins in the ugly but ends in Madonna-like serenity and centres on the implied but absent fountain - of tears or of life and love.
Sonam Chhoki
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A yawning gargoyle shares with me the morn.
We sit, reading the Sunday newspaper
about the world's events, mostly forlorn.
He notes how clean is his kind's ledger
compared with the blood of my people's news.
He say he lives without our illusions.
At night he culls without regard for views,
sates his hunger without the delusions
that he is doing it for God, nation,
or some psychological folderol.
"Admit to your primitive origin,
face up to your blood lust, you cannibal!
Then, perhaps, we might be able to discuss
how you could live honestly, without stress.
Gothic creatures of old
gaze down from their ledges
glaring at unseen threats.
Grotesque legends of stone
garner my attention
garish symbols ward off
ghoulish evil demons.
Written on 11/30/2016
Pleiades
The Gargoyle
The Gargoyle, a spooky character that sits around castle walls
said to be in league with the Devil, a nondescript creature with
wings, tail and horns, which can be traced back in time to the
medieval period, were people were often afraid of their own shadow
these Daemon-like apparitions were often worshipped by
Devil worshippers who often made human sacrifices to appease
these Demons; over the years these cults have been slowly
eradicated by people who stood for law and order in the land
who wanted to stop this barbaric practice.
The Gargoyle eventually disappeared into folk-lore history.
There a premodern smile does emerge
From a hymn and a funeral dirge
For it e’er hails the skies
With its wise stony eyes
Knowing heaven and earth soon must merge
Gargoyles, gargoyles, in the air,
it sets my heart to fright,
flying on their leathery wings
through the Stygian night.
Gargoyles, gargoyles, I can see
when they emerge from stone,
eyes glowing blue in the darkness
as endlessly they roam.
Most will say that I’m a madman,
see ghosts where there are none,
but I have seen the gargoyles,
even got close to one.
Saw the large, plunging canines
set in a bulldog jaw,
saw spines of the short, stump tail,
by skin that looked rubbed raw.
Saw the curving, dinosaur claws
on digitigrade feet,
saw wire arms and slashing nails
hang down menacingly.
Seen pointed and oversized ears
flanking a brutal head,
and batlike wings that stretch ten feet,
to fill the soul with dread.
And when Father Smith realized
that all this I could see,
he sat me down in a church pew
and explained it to me.
That those horrid gargoyles were
not there to bring me hurt,
in fact, they had a clear purpose:
to guard this very church.
That every night they went hunting
for creatures born of Hell,
they grappled with the Devil’s spawn,
and other creatures fell.
He said only a blessed soul
can ever see them fly,
but I do not feel very blessed
when they take to the sky.
Yet despite their harsh appearance,
the priest gives them the nod,
these ugly creatures somehow are
in the service of God.
If anyone can see inside
I guess it would be Him,
and I suppose judging them so
is just one of my sins.
You may call it human failing,
or irrational fear,
these monsters may be on our side,
I still don’t want them near.
Gargoyles, gargoyles, in the night,
they’re all out hunting now,
I cannot sleep, the only one
who hears their screeches loud.
Whenever it rained
I cried till my voice was hoarse
For that one I'd know
Then I saw her roam the sky
Reminding me I could fly
The Gargoyle Yawns
The Fogwalker searches for clues in the moist darkness of early morning. The mist feels it's way through empty alleys and vacant lots.
Cautious footsteps crackle from the gravel pathway lined with broken glass and dry leaves, evidence the Autumn Equinox has smothered the last breath of summer.
Gangways between decaying brick buildings echo from dogs sounding an alarm with menacing Baskerville howls and barks.
A garden of flickering street lights blossom under the black canopy of darkness. These twilight flowers reach for a lazy moon with the dim enthusiasm of jaundice fluorescence.
The Diogenestic odyssey by the nocturnal straggler is an exercise clothed in failure. Honesty dressed in shabby clothes is disguised as a fictitious conviction. This quality that measures the value of character is a virtue that few possess and is rarely practiced.
Who does this best policy of honesty benefit? Is it the one divulging the truth or the recipient of honesty? The best part of this said truth are the lies.
Standing at the edge of night peering over the ledge into dawn the Gargoyle yawns.
Winged gargoyle appeared in my sleep with glaring teeth.
I felt intimidated, there seemed to be sinister ways beneath.
Why would the sleep faerie put such a gargoyle in my dream?
I ran from this monster, my terrified heart pumping full steam!
"FOURTH OF JULY ON A GARGOYLE"
fourth of July, alone in a
mad box down by the terrace
where single men, single
women, senior citizens,
children, lovers, boyfriends,
girlfriends, married couples
and families barbecue. can
you smell it? I’ve walked my
mad box a thousand times,
cleaning, rearranging and
then right back to the blue
sheet where I lay and stare
at a princess. my toilet is
clean but not clean like she
cleaned it. there’s a new box
of soap she bought and now it
sits in the corner of the
tub. no one will find me here
because no one is looking for
me. not the lovers standing
at the top of the Eiffel tower
kissing, not the bones of the
bat, not Bach, not Gould, not
Waits, not the flowers from
the death where I was buried,
not the cold air that fills
the aquariums. out in this
city, wearing pink under a
tree, she sits with the
founding fathers. I’m not
there, there was no invite.
surprise! there was more than
I saw. it is hers. soon, I’ll
finish here and find
something else to stare at
inside this mad box. I may
kiss her good night after we
make love, I may kiss her
good morning after we make
love but I’m not really sure.
she said she’d let me know.
I’ll drive and no one will
know where I’m going because
there is no one to tell that
would be interested. I’ll
wait for the phone to ring
and the light to change
color. I can’t answer what
doesn’t come in. I don’t have
any fireworks she wants to
stare at. today she
celebrates her independence
and the reason is hers. today
I write and the reason and
the writing is mine but-
that’s my problem.
By: Chicano Eddie
What makes this faerie special?
She is naked.
The gargoyle rolled his eyes.
They are all naked under their clothes, he said.
True enough.
She is pretty.
He scoffed.
She is kind and generous.
He kept waving his hand, encouraging her to tell him more.
An expert at not having to hold up his end of a conversation.
I now live in the country
Where I can take my pet gargoyle for a brisk walk
Among roosters, foxes, and quail.
They pretend indifference.
None staring
None pointing feathers, claws or paws.
Not one screaming or shrieking.
Not one crossing the street in a prissy, haughty way
Like the stuck-up New Yorkers do when I take him for a
Walk down Fifth Avenue.
Only one of hundreds of reasons I
Prefer living in the country….
Gremlin and Gargoyle, a couple of giant alley cats
Swing their tails hard, knocking away six measly rats
They were looking for something meaty to eat
Finally found a opossum carcass, now isn’t that sweet?
steering blatant revelries, ghouls engaged to death
chomping down streetlight openings in bitter stone
bow walled yew tree drifters, steps of many feet in
shallow parade to pew, the kneel cushion's betrayal
- how the shadowless crave… and the headless sing