A Guy Called Bloke Feature Poetry Directory2 JPEG


I have awakened from the night before,
With the headache from hell, and unusual visions,
Scrambling over my brain and demanding more,
Than l can afford to give answers to of precision,
And yet it stays with me in such a way,
That l am unable to shake it free,
Praying the morning coffee will alleviate my day,
Allowing my mind to recollect leisurely,

What it was that troubled me so whilst l slept,
Causing me to toss and turn so violently,
Waking me more than once, when darkness crept,
Over my limp body, overcome so drowsily,
Yet despite the sweat that poured down upon my face,
Sleep dragged me back into troublesome slumber,
And again tormented me with her demented grace,
Pursuing me into the world of the unearthly creature,

Should l perhaps be annoyed at my own mind,
For what were the last thoughts before l dozed away,
If not, what was it that made me fear this time,
When l was not awake to have my say,
That the mind if fed the right ingredients,
Before we turn in for the night to sleep,
Could imagine horrors befitting mutants,
Those that are locked deep within the recesses of our keep,

Did l not wish to dream in such a ghastly fashion?
In my endeavour to understand the unlocked fear,
So should l be grateful that in fact an imaginary surgeon,
Operated deep within allowing the Nocnitsa to appear?
Alas l feel l am the digger of my own nightly grave,
For to allow fear to reign supreme in the quieted mind,
Shows that when not in active use the mind will misbehave,
And yet, should it be this way long after my awakened time?

That the memories of the night before still plague my eyes,
Causing this headache, to still yet not shake loose,
And hamper me so, like a hated one to which one can despise,
Screaming at me still in all forms of fear based abuse?
Am l to return to my darkened mind so that the hag let free,
Can herself, return to the hidden corners of my imagination,
Allowing her to prepare for this coming nightly,
When again she will rise like some forgotten sensation,

To haunt me again, and raise the fear from within,
Fear that is best kept quiet and lost,
Terror of the unknowing, horrors of the sin ridden,
And a dangerous prolonging of the sleeping host,
Yet what was it that she created for me to actually envision,
That troubled my slumber from normality to fatality,
For l am unable to with exactness successfully widen,
The darkened corners of my mind open to me now to see,

Perhaps as the old adage is to be read,
It is fear itself that l fear so dreadfully so,
And that alone can conjure within my head,
The unknowing horrors that only the dark mind does know,
But her shadow still lingers deep within my soul,
And her marks of gratification bear deep into my chest,
I recall only too well how her eyes did so terribly glow,
But maybe, just maybe not knowing is best?

© Rory Matier 2011

17 thoughts on “Nocnitsa!

  1. The way you tell your dreams is so vivid. Very well written. It’s true that the only thing to fear is the fear itself.

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