POETRY & HORROR or Poe & Lovecraft

My name is Dr. Thomas Davison, and I love poetry. Have you ever noticed that in our western culture, we tend to identify ourselves with our careers? When meeting or introducing someone, we usually include that person’s job in the introduction. For example, “This is Tom; he is a poet, a college professor, a writer of non-fiction short stories, and a writer of horror novels.” Somehow in western society, we have become our jobs, and they define us.

Okay, but what does poetry have to do with horror? Good question; let me explain further. How many people buy books of poetry? According to the National Endowment for the Arts, in a recent public survey, 11.7 percent of the U.S. population, or roughly 28 million adults. How many people buy horror books? According to statisca.com, about 12.6 percent of all books sold in 2021 were in the horror genre. Good writing, whether it is poetry or horror, sells.

Going back to ancient Greek stories, horror and poetry have always been closely related. Reading horror poetry late at night in the quiet of darkness can get the job done. In the 1700s, horror poetry became very popular because of a group of writers called the Graveyard Poets. Authors like Thomas Parnell and Robert Blair. They were followed later by an author named Edgar Allen Poe, referred to as the father of horror. Horror poetry continues to be popular today. What are some examples of horror poetry? My favorites include this top ten list from www.interestingliterature,com :

1. Samuel Taylor Coleridge, ‘Christabel‘.

2. Edgar Allan Poe, ‘The Raven‘.

3. Robert Browning, ‘Childe Roland to the Dark Tower Came‘.

4. William Allingham, ‘The Fairies’.

5. Emily Dickinson, ‘I Felt a Funeral, in My Brain‘.

6. Thomas Hardy, ‘The Shadow on the Stone‘.

7. H. P. Lovecraft, from Fungi from Yuggoth.

8. Robert Graves, ‘A Child’s Nightmare‘.

9. Sylvia Plath, ‘The Snowman on the Moor‘.

10. Mary Karr, ‘Field of Skulls‘.

These ten poems are a great place to start if you have never tried horror poetry before. Now, I began this blog by stating that I love poetry. I love all forms of poetry and have been very fortunate to have published over seventy poems. Half a dozen of these poems would be considered horror poetry. I am simply a mediocre poet who loves the craft. I have nothing to share with you that reaches anywhere near the level of the master’s listed above. But I would like to share one of mine, as a salute to those masters, a homage.

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WARNING- this poem is about where I work teaching incarcerated students inside a state prison. It includes some graphic language and sexual and mental health issues. If this type of material offends you. STOP HERE.

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This free verse horror poem was first published under the title of Just Another Day in My House – Black Petals, Issue #91, Spring 2020.

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From the author… Like most people, I want to believe that I am a good judge of character. I have spent most of my adult life working with young men. In the U.S. Army, my son’s and grandson’s boy scout troops, inner-city college students, at-risk youths, and incarcerated felons. I also want to believe that I am a realist. There is no doubt that I am an optimist. I’m one of those who is always looking for that ‘silver lining’ in any situation. I have been accused of being a Pollyanna. That is not true. I see people for what they are, but I also see people (especially my students) for their potential for what they can become. The prison changes all men. For some, this change is for the worse. Mental health is a massive challenge within prisons. The following poem,My House, was initially published asJust Another Day in My House, which is my way of accepting that there is not always potential or a silver lining for some. For some, there is only a slow sinking into the abysmal pit of self-despair, anger, retribution, and, ultimately, madness. At the risk of being referred to as ‘Captain Obvious,’ prison has a Darkside.

My House

Out in the Yard, I walked by the Weight-Lifting Man today.

The one who is constantly pulling, pounding, and grunting.

He stretches his muscles until they become huge and distorted.

He uses them on the Inside; he uses them to intimidate people.

I asked him, did he know that no matter how big his muscles became,

He would always remain a felon and a convict like the rest of us here? 

He looked at me with such hatred; he cursed at me, he called me bad names.

I dream about a chance to hurt this Weight-Lifting Man.

I create things in my mind I would do to him.

When I am free, back in the World.

Don’t you worry about me, my brothers and sisters, it’s just another day in my House!

The Corrections Officer, you know, the one, I mean, the permanently angry one?

He caught me leaving Chow today with an extra apple in my pocket.

The food here, most of it comes in bags and boxes stamped, 

For Animal Consumption Only.

The C.O. and his Friend took me to that place, the one with no cameras watching.

They threw me to the ground, they kicked me, and beat me, Laughing the whole time. 

I dream about a chance to hurt this angry little man.

I create things in my mind I would do to him.

When I am free, back in the World.

Don’t you worry about me, my brothers and sisters, it’s just another day in my House

Today my Bunkie thought it would be truly funny, to take a crap on my bed.

Last week he ejaculated on it; the week before, he pissed. 

The place where I rest my head! 

I wanted to hurt him, but if I did, they would take me back to solitary.

So – I said nothing.

He makes me so angry, I feel like a clock that is ticking down.

Down to what? I don’t know. 

I dream about a chance to hurt my Bunkie.

I create things in my mind I would do to him.

When I am free, back in the World.

Don’t you worry about me, my brothers and sisters, it’s just another day in my House!

I could feel my soul dying a little more today.

It made me want to hurt someone, anyone. 

Not my Bunkie, or the C.O., or his Friend, or the Weight-Lifting Man from the Yard.

Someone smaller than me, someone weaker, someone who would be afraid to tell. 

But I will do nothing, about my thoughts, because Solitary makes my head hurt.

Don’t you worry about me, my brothers and sisters, it’s just another day in my House!

I survived another day; in a few months, I will be a free man.

I will complete my sentence; my Rehabilitation will be completed.

And then, I can hardly wait to share what I have learned.

What I have been taught on the Inside, with everyone out there.

In the Real World.

Don’t you worry about me, my brothers and sisters, it’s just another day in my House!

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About the author: Dr. Thomas Davison has taught college coursework inside two State Prisons in Ohio for the past five years. His observations and interactions with his incarcerated students have deeply moved him. In 2019 this motivated him to create poems and short stories about their day-to-day lives and experiences.

For further exploration: Prison Philosophy 101 by Dr. Thomas Davison https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pbe9_Z7bFio