Winston Churchill called his “dark periods” The Black Dog. This poem is for all those of us who have ever wrestled (or continue to wrestle) with The Black Dog.
he was sitting there, on his haunches
at the foot of my
his short cropped black fur
was sleek and hoary in the moonlight
dared to shine on his countenance
mouth closed, shielding the deadly
he was patient
oh so patient
waiting to launch
and so I pretended to sleep
by I.M. Nosferatu
NB: Many thanks to Wayne J. Keeley who collaborated on the piece which was originally published by Scarlet Leaf Review
I.M. Nosferatu hails from Gehenna (look it up). He has an encyclopedic mind for horror, sci-fi, paranormal, and the occult. He has myriad other hobbies and interests which may not be appropriate to print here (or to divulge at all), but his mission in life (and death) at least for our purposes, is to find good (or as he puts it “sick”), spine-chilling, blood-curdling media in the horror genre and tout it to the world. He is a straight shooter and calls ‘em like he sees ‘em. He will not suffer fools, sycophants, ass-kissers, brown-nosers, and other suck-ups. Pillow Talking is thrilled to have him on board as a guest blogger despite having never met him face-to-face and dealing solely through emails (at odd hours of the night).
If you have something in particular you would like for I.M. Nosferatu to review, you may contact him (if you dare) at IMNos4A2.gmail.com.