THERE'S (SIC) MONSTERS OUT THERE

You wake up to a silent sun’s silky light

Seeping like liquid ‘round curves of curtains

That camouflage those bleak glass plates

You deploy to keep the outside world at bay.

For a moment and sometimes

Just a little longer

The infant glare and the implicit warmth

Call you out, entrancing, enticing,

Entreating a dare;

But you can’t respond

‘Cause there’s (sic) monsters out there.

The late morning’s softer bequests

Of subtle rays

Are so beautifully dispersed

That you can rise

And consider your garden’s

Daily needs and wants.

Armed with hot tea,

Cool patience, spade and fork

You can dig and weed

And nurture and water,

Making a paradise

In your own image;

But beyond the fence

There’s no reason to care –

Because you know

That there’s (sic) monsters out there.

On the few occasions

Your courage takes you out,

You can briefly withstand

The panic and the pain;

But those mere moments

Are few and hard won –

Grim respites
When your worst memories are in hiding.

Somehow your humour

Takes over the dismal stage

And you become

The most proficient player you can be –

Such perfect performances

Can make men stare,

Which reminds you –

There’s (sic) monsters out there.

When your garden’s cold

And tiring of your prods,

And your pantry has been filled

And stacked and tallied,

Your instincts turn wonderfully

To food and drink –

Although little of it finds a way

To you and only you.

Instead you bring it

To those you love without conditions –

Those dependent

On your slim hope and your firm faith.

Your charity saves them

And quenches their despair;

For, like you, they also know

There’s (sic) monsters out there.

In the insipid darkness

That follows each fear-filled day,

And primes your body clock

To give in to amiable sleep,

You can watch the electric traces

Of wild flashes outside

Your rooms pent up with candles’ scents

And flickering shadows.

Then the prayers that your god

Has waited all day to hear

Wash back over you

Like an ointment for your scars,

Making waves like massages

You can never share

Because, you know so well,

There’s (sic) monsters out there.

When it comes your sleep is deep

As though you had drowned

In a pool of sweet peace

And bottomless dreams

Composed just for you,

Where your sad history has been revised

And is different enough

To make you wish the pictures you see now

Were wholly real and fully true.

And yet you know too well

From the night’s noises in the neighbourhood

That bounce back and forth

Like lost balls in wonky computer games;

And you recognise signs in distant sirens

And in errant horns that blare:

You are indeed so right to believe

That there’s (sic) monsters out there.