A.B. Jakobsen

The Grave of Douglas Enoch

When Douglas Enoch drowned at sea

Neither was he seen by others nor me

Till’ the moon from full to crescent turned

An’ in the blackest waters he was found an’ returned

 

My god! He was rancid green an’ barnacle riddled! 

Skin like plastic an’ sleeved in black slime

No fish nor gull had pecked or nibbled

At his stygian sunk corpse from where it climbed

  

He was buried on a plain overlooking the sea

An‘ when the coffin was lowered dogs cried on distant hills

The wind was silent but clouds churned in spite 

The cortege gloomed under gathering whippoorwills

As we solemnly planted the seed of our fright

 

The day after he was laid to rest 

I visited the grave an’ fell in dismay

Empty it was an’ darkly abscessed  

For its nightmares below it had opened the way

 

We tried for weeks to seal it once more

With dirt, gravel an’ cement in its stead  

It swallowed all an’ grew a bottomless floor 

Until the final week of maddening dread

 

[Monday] 

At its mouth the ground was decayed an’ black 

With a fibrous growth of veiny thread   

From the yawning grave warm air would blow back 

An’ heave in rhythmic undulation its breath of dread 

 

[Tuesday]

My mates had told me the grave was cursed 

“Stay clear of the place, it’s a godless lot.

It sang in my dreams, hideously versed!”

But its morbid wonder made his words for naught

 

[Wednesday]

The grave yawned wider than yesterday

An’ a shriek of discordant barking came from below

Its song had called on hounds to prey

But it sang to more than the ears could know…

 

[Thursday]   

“Come down here, save me, relieve me of this hell”

In the voice of my mate it echoed from the grave

The voice, discordant an’ buzzing under the church\'s bell

From an inhuman voice whose song he couldn’t stave    

 

[Friday]

The grave had swallowed tombstones an’ ground 

With an eldritch growth of monstrous degree   

From the resting place of the man who drowned

It now spewed that which swallowed the sea    

 

[Saturday]

Rotten towers ascending from a terrible maw

The lidless green eye which pierces the ocean mist  

“Dream of my name…”, but shocked awake I saw

I stood before the grave, its song I did resist      

 

[Sunday]

I took my leave from that cursed town

I dared not stay there any longer

As I left, the churches bell would quiet down

But in my mind, the song from below has only grown stronger…


21st August, 2024