Before presenting this poem, let me thank you for reading! This week marks one year (!) since I’ve been writing this Substack — and two others. If you haven’t tried them, feel free to check them out too. One features photos, history, culture, music from my 14 years of music & walking tours in Scotland and my 24 years as music columnist for Scottish Life magazine. The other delves into topics musical, ranging from general interest explorations to specific tips on learning, teaching, playing music, based on over 40 years of performing and teaching.
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Perceptions of Horror, a poem
I knew only her smiling eyes Behind Far Side glasses Gazing with joy at her sunny nephew Among lazy buzzing flies, Our little checkerboard table On lush green grass Scent of peonies and roses Brown and white dog lolling at our feet. I was soon beset with My 10-year-old horror: It dawned on me At my last triple jump That she'd let me win. Face reddening, I then guessed This betrayal was not the first. Had all our games been Just her game? It was Suddenly turning All my happy triumphs hollow. Twenty years on, she was hammered with Her 6-year-old horror: It lurked deep, unvoiced to anyone Probably even herself Until it burst forth in uncontrollable screams At a quiet boring museum In front of a dusty corner exhibit Of a headless torso, a wire mannequin Dressed in a century-old uniform. She'd last seen it at age six Worn by the men on horses Swarming her Jewish neighborhood Swinging heavy swords at random pedestrians Suddenly turning Torsos headless, and limbs Into gushing bloody stumps