The Were-Wolf's Curse

[L.G.Werribold]

The Were-Wolf’s Curse

High upon a lonely tor,
A man, in frantic haste.
To home, to hide behind the door,
His soul is being chased.

Too late, he stumbles to the ground,
The darkness closes in.
Terror shrieks a deathly sound,
Pleasured by outrageous sin.

Then the night is silent,
The bite, the blood, the sigh, a swoon.
Black clouds with a bitter rent,
Reveal a full and silvered moon.

Dazed, the man staggers home,
Bolts fast the wooden door.
In one month, he’ll be forced to roam,
To stalk the lonely moor.

And on that dreaded fateful night,
The moon, he’s drawn towards.
Throbbing strong that wicked bite,
He’ll loosen up his vocal chords.

He’ll long to scratch behind his ear,
And every bit from tail to jowl.
The itch is worse than any fear,
That’s why were-wolves so need to howl.

He’ll seek again, that lonely tor,
And an ancient gnarled oak tree.
Where he can scratch until he’s sore,
In pleasured outrageous ecstasy.

But in his mind his conscience pricks,
He’ll scrawl a warning over the tor.
In big bold letters, formed by sticks,
Arranged by his itchy, furry paw.

So let this warning, shine out bright,
From the were-wolf, rubbing against a tree.
Beware the bite, this sylvan night,
Not from him, but from his evil were-flea!

‘Sweet dreams… Awooooooo!’

[Antcliff]

Hi

Light-hearted fun. I enjoyed it. I assume that you picked the old stagey/creaky style (sylvan/fateful) to match the subject matter? A kind of poetic equivalent of hammer horror film. I imagine it being the kind of poem Vincent Prince might read in a film if he was playing a vampire poet or some such.

Welcome.
Ant
p.s. last line reminds me of one of my favourite old Walter de la Mere poems...the Owl.

[Arian]

I'm afraid this is so remote from the kind of poetry I understand or enjoy, that any comment from me would be meaningless.

Isn't werewolf usually one word, though?

Oh and...

Black clouds with a bitter rent,

struck me as a very nice line, deserving (in my - probably lone, so don't panic - view) of a more contemporary context.

Cheers
peter

[Nash]

Hello LG, welcome to the board.

Yes, good fun to read. Interesting thought about werefleas! So, if the line of the werewolf is carried by blood (as we all know) then, of course, fleas and mosquitos would naturally spread the werewolf 'virus' and there would be loads of them around. You've got me thinking that werewolves are just all made up.

I think that you handle the rhyme pretty well but the rhythm goes a bit awry. I've said it before and I'll say it again, I think these sorts of poems work far better with a constant rhythm. You've obviously gone for the classic ballad scheme, iambic tetrameter followed by iambic trimeter, but it's all a bit bumpy. Have you tried reading any Robert Service? He did that sort of thing very well.

All the best,
Nash.

[L.G.Werribold]

I appreciate your constructive comments.
Thank you.

[Tim Love]

I think I agree with most of what the others have written. Part of me thinks it's a 6-line joke bloated into 36 lines of bumpy verse, part of me thinks it might be fun. I don't see the value of the bumpiness. For the punchline (and I think it's a worthwhile punchline) to work, I think the verse needs to lull us by reminding us of familiar ballads or traditional narrative verse. The phrasing's bumpy too, (perhaps intentionally, but given the rhythm problems, maybe not). High upon a lonely tor, A man, in frantic haste. To home, to hide behind the door, His soul is being chased could become High upon a lonely tor, A man in frantic haste Runs home to hide behind the door - His soul is being chased .At the moment the technique gets in the way of the content.

[nar]

Well yes, the punchline is worth the read. Not too sure about so many 'tor' thymes. I never rewrite others work, but IMHO this might benefit from the pruning-shears. If you can unditty it and add a bit more than just the punchline, you might have something. I seem to remember David writing about "The last wolf in England" here some time ago; maybe that's worth a read.

Thanks,

- Neil