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    The August Vampeer: Narrative Verse
    The August Vampeer: Narrative Verse
    The August Vampeer: Narrative Verse
    Ebook122 pages1 hour

    The August Vampeer: Narrative Verse

    By Simon Pole

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    About this ebook

    Stories of vampire tyrants, stories of hidden kings, stories of kidnapped guitar heroes, stories of witch mothers, and stories of cannibal Communists: such are the stories told in dark narrative verse, and found in the pages of The August Vampeer, a compelling and richly textured collection of poetry composed by master poet Simon Pole, author of The Saga of Terminal City and Poems for Ocean.

    Bio

    His mind corrupted by childhood exposure to horror movie matinees, but equally enthralled by the atmosphere of old churches, Simon Pole writes cosmic poetry from the location of Vancouver, British Columbia. A graduate of Harvard University, Simon has continued his studies of what is hidden in the dark. Writing is also in his blood, being the great-great-grandson of early Canadian poet Susie Drury.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherSimon Pole
    Release dateMar 12, 2019
    ISBN9780463162903
    The August Vampeer: Narrative Verse
    Author

    Simon Pole

    His mind corrupted by childhood exposure to horror movie matinees, but equally enthralled by the atmosphere of old churches, Simon Pole writes cosmic poetry from the location of Kingsville, Ontario. A graduate of Harvard University, Simon has continued his studies of what is hidden in the dark. Writing is also in his blood, being the great-great-grandson of early Canadian poet Susie Drury.

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      Book preview

      The August Vampeer - Simon Pole

      The August Vampeer

      Narrative Verse

      Simon Pole

      www.simonpole.ca

      Text copyright 2019 Simon Pole

      All Rights Reserved

      No part of this document may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without prior written permission of Simon Pole.

      Cover Photo Original Public Domain

      Table of Contents

      The August Vampeer

      Heady Freeson’s Rock Sound

      Ella and Eidelvard

      Flowers of Heaven

      The Wolf of Evening

      Red Monkey

      The Nadir: A Condo Adventure

      About the Author

      The August Vampeer

      I.

      I am the august Vampeer,

      In my coffin I appear,

      At the finish of the day,

      When the sun sinks on its way,

      And its rule gives to the moon,

      Then it is that lovers swoon,

      And the windows leave unlatched,

      Hoping for a midnight match:

      What they get is me instead,

      At the corner of the bed,

      Garbed in my demonic duds,

      With a lusting for their blood.

      II.

      I’m the hunter of fell beasts,

      By my mission many ceased

      To prey upon living souls;

      Added also to the rolls

      Are those collaborators,

      With black art, instigators

      Of the entry to our realm,

      From outside, of those who helm

      This depraved conspiracy

      To subjugate you and me,

      In thrall to their evil will:

      So say I, brute-basher Bill.

      III.

      I am the accursed servant,

      In cruel crime my time is spent,

      Pursuing his foul decrees,

      And in that I am guilty,

      Obeying what Vampeer said,

      While he slumbered like the dead:

      In the day, abroad I crept,

      Found him victims that were kept

      As his slaves, from which he supped.

      His gold purse made me corrupt:

      Me, Corb Complin, once a lad

      Of high faith, now wholly bad.

      IV.

      We are the fallen sisters,

      On our skin rise the blisters

      Where we have received the kiss

      Of the Master, and its bliss,

      Which gives to us life in death,

      Though we exist without breath,

      Or reflections in the mirror,

      And the holy cross we fear.

      But on this earth we hold sway,

      When at the moon wolf-dogs bay,

      And all good men are asleep,

      Then the tithe of blood we reap

      V.

      In a town of houses small,

      On a cliff where boulders fall,

      Was an inn, an evil sort

      Where the beer was always short,

      And with vermin teemed the bed,

      While blind bats accost the head.

      But it was the only spot,

      For miles around, with a cot

      One might rent for an outing

      To the mountains, where scouting

      Had unearthed the golden seam

      That of vast wealth makes men dream.

      VI.

      At the inn, Bill Brasher slept,

      While in his dreams children wept,

      Neglected brood of the wives,

      Who to Vampeer sold their lives;

      In the alley, down the street,

      They stumbled on bloody feet,

      Always searching for the care,

      Non-existent in the lairs,

      Lightless caves that were the homes,

      Corrupted when monsters roamed,

      On these acres far away

      From where justice lights the day.

      VII.

      That very night, after dusk,

      When on the wind floated musk

      Of the newly risen dead,

      Who on living sources fed,

      There gathered in rooms below,

      Those reserved for touring shows,

      Or a play with painted face,

      Every last man in the place:

      Those who found their houses bare,

      And sought lost wives everywhere,

      But finding none, motions heard

      How this evil might be cured.

      VIII.

      Speaks the first in anxious tones,

      "We have the mine in our bones,

      Long have we toiled down the pit,

      Forsaking health and respite,

      To build this town, and provide

      The finer things, was our pride.

      But the new boss, this Vampeer,

      Who bought the mine late last year,

      Has brought blight upon us all,

      And like wheat to him we fall:

      He the reaper, we the crop.

      I tell you friends, it must stop!"

      IX.

      A hue and cry came there then,

      Talk of cages and deep pens

      Where the malefactor fanged,

      Upon capture by a gang,

      Could be kept until such time,

      Well-acquainted with the crimes,

      A drum-head court would decree

      Sentence for his savagery.

      But the floor another seeks,

      Who, though he appears to speak

      Of posses called with favour,

      In fact is Vampeer’s saviour.

      X.

      "You know me, I’m Corb Complin,

      And your friend I’ve always been.

      Though I left the dirty shaft,

      And sought work of higher craft,

      My poor past I can’t forget;

      So I warn you, there’s time yet

      To reverse this foolish course,

      And petition that gift-horse,

      Who though he has habits strange,

      And in private lives has ranged,

      Nonetheless bank-rolled this town,

      And must be told: stick around."

      XI.

      Troubled of thought they became,

      And wary of Vampeer’s fame.

      Who were they, lowly miners,

      To jail him, made much finer?

      And if of him they were rid,

      Who would for the mine then bid?

      Perhaps vigilante scares

      Would make owners look elsewhere,

      And then worse-off would they be,

      Without pots in which to pee.

      Thus defeated, faces glum,

      Were they by this conundrum.

      XII.

      But before they could adjourn,

      And to cheerless homes return,

      In the seating there arose,

      Of wild eyes and ragged clothes,

      With broken nails, and wan skin,

      Like a ghost who walks again,

      A lady to them unknown,

      Onto their good graces thrown,

      But alike to those spouses,

      Who had left modest houses,

      For a life of wild excess

      In circles which demons bless.

      XIII.

      Her tales begins with a shriek,

      A cry which attention seeks,

      And them enticed, like this talked:

      "On bloody feet have I walked,

      From other towns where that ghoul,

      A dandy corpse, likewise ruled.

      By his wealth was I tempted,

      Thinking I’d be exempted.

      When at last the debt came due,

      Though my soul I pawned, it’s true,

      A good man’s love too was lost,

      And that ranks the higher cost."

      XIV.

      With groggy head he awoke,

      The brash, monster-fighting bloke,

      And by footprints on the rug,

      Surmised at once he’d been drugged,

      By some agent of the boss,

      Who would thus prevent his loss

      In the fraught debate below.

      Sore of joint, staggering slow,

      From his suitcase he unpacks

      Relics on their holy racks,

      These he holstered, none was missed,

      Except a ring, which he kissed.

      XV.

      A chorus then rocks the hall,

      Like a noisy thunder-fall,

      Which in a storm shakes and jars,

      Of the women, grossly marred

      By their service to Vampeer,

      Who,

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