States of Poetry - Poems
'Creature' by Chris Wallace-Crabbe
by Chris Wallace-Crabbe •
All those hominids stood around to watch,
scratching their heads and hairy armpits.
So like them it was,
well, sort of
but ever so puny, while more or less rosepink.
scratching their heads and hairy armpits.
So like them it was,
well, sort of
but ever so puny, while more or less rosepink.
Was this bod something to do with a future?
Maybe the rich grasses and coconuts
had a kind of blessing to grant him;
nightshade and garlic somehow able
to shield him from the big cats’
ravenous prowling.
Maybe the rich grasses and coconuts
had a kind of blessing to grant him;
nightshade and garlic somehow able
to shield him from the big cats’
ravenous prowling.
They wondered what it could possibly
grow into, from this pipsqueak. But something
or other was in the balmy air.
grow into, from this pipsqueak. But something
or other was in the balmy air.
They didn’t have a word for gods,
not the merest monosyllable,
but alien shaggy spines
were kind of tingling there, like electricity.
not the merest monosyllable,
but alien shaggy spines
were kind of tingling there, like electricity.
Male or female, the lumpen hominids
didn’t want to attack this new thing
of unattractive flesh.
Perhaps you could feel
it was filled with
what they would come to call a magic spell,
harsh millennia later on.
didn’t want to attack this new thing
of unattractive flesh.
Perhaps you could feel
it was filled with
what they would come to call a magic spell,
harsh millennia later on.
Chris Wallace-Crabbe
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