A creepy little poem that tells the story of my novel HE HAS MANY NAMES.
Pick up your copy of HE HAS MANY NAMES today.
Demon Logo by Matthew Revert
Poem, Editing and Music by Drew Chial
Category Archives: Poems
Intruder
I can put a dozen locks
Between the threshold and me
But my intrusive thought
Has a skeleton key
She comes and goes
Whenever she pleases
On long winter nights
On frost bitten breezes
She’s rides a Trojan horse
On a path of daydreams
And pumps nightmare fuel
Straight into my bloodstream
“Speedy delivery”
She comes bearing memories
She travels by gas light
And leaves things foggy
The definition of insanity
Ain’t like they say on TV
“Different results for samesies”
Not in my dictionary
So let’s stop trying
To break the chain
And just lie back
And do the time warp again
She clogs my feeds
With motivational memes
That blame me for not
Outwitting her schemes
“Depression is a choice”
She says upon my shoulder
“It’s your fault
For lending me your ear”
She blames the victim
For opening the gate
When we both know
That her key works great
My intrusive thought
Has an open invitation
That I can’t recall
Ever writing
The definition of insanity
Ain’t like they say on TV
“Different results for samesies”
Not in my dictionary
So let’s stop trying
To break the chain
And just lie back
And do the time warp again
Armchair psychics
Prescribing crystals
Please help me fill
This hereditary hole
If only my demons
Believed in astrology
I wish you had something
In your bag of tricks for me
UNDER THE SHADOW: A POEM ABOUT MY NOVEL
Under the shadow
Of the Hollywood sign
Is an old hotel
In a state of decline
Where Noelle
A writer living on ramen
Sits before an agent
With a fine silver pen
The agent represents
A bestselling author
Who had an encounter
On the nineteenth floor
The author swears something
In the fantasy suite
Crawled from the dark
And gnawed at his feet
The agent presents
A big cash payment
And an agreement
That’s nothing but fine print
She wants Noelle
To spend a month up there
Ghost writing a novel
Soaking in the atmosphere
With stars in her eyes
Or perhaps dollar signs
Noelle skips the details
And signs on the line
Happy to separate
Fools from their money
She takes the elevator
Nineteen stories
The fantasy suite
Has a woodland décor
A sex swing made of vines
And tree trunks in the foyer
Noelle falls asleep beneath
A moon-shaped lantern
And wakes up to find
She’s staring at the real one
The suite has transformed
Into a redwood forest
Where a shadow figure
Has made up his nest
Who is this creature
With a long black mane
Horns and hooves?
Well…
HE
HAS
MANY
NAMES
Buried Beneath a Dollar Sign Video Reading
A poem on what brand building has done to human interaction.
A Poem to Pitch a Novel
Here’s a pitch for my new novel He Has Many Names in the form of a poem.
An aspiring author
A predatory publisher
And a Faustian bargain
A month to pen a novel
In total exile
Confined to an art deco hotel
A forest themed suite
A woodland nightmare
And a shadow figure
An obsessed writer
A paranormal investigation
Through the fourth wall and back again
A meta mystery
An unreliable narrator
An unseen string puller
A lure, a trap, a plan
A pagan has-been
And a satanic showdown
All of these things and more
In the new novella:
He Has Many Names Continue reading A Poem to Pitch a Novel
Buried Beneath a Dollar Sign
I can be
So off the cuff, so genuine
Just watch me
As I moonwalk over landmines
You will find
My loose lips so engaging
You won’t mind
My constant calls for action
I will give
Too much information
I will live
Like there’s no filters on my emotions
My realist real
Will give you all the feels
My authentic appeal
Will seal a lot of deals
There are ads in the classroom
Influencers on the dance floor
Moneylenders in the temple
Because nothing’s sacred anymore
There’s sponsored content
In casual conversation
And the last shred of humanity
Is buried beneath a dollar sign
My big secret
Is a whisper campaign
I started it
Because I have no shame
I have no need
For an advertising agent
Now that eavesdropping
Is a form of engagement
It’s a calculated risk
Yeah, I’ve done the math
I’m a prophet with a motive
I’m a social media sociopath
So talk your shit
Spread it across the city
Call me a skeptic
Because I don’t believe in bad publicity
There are ads in the classroom
Influencers on the dance floor
Moneylenders in the temple
Because nothing’s sacred anymore
There’s sponsored content
In casual conversation
And the last shred of humanity
Is buried beneath a dollar sign
We ripped up Main Street
Gutted all the malls
Circled the supercenters
And tore down the walls
We pushed all the sales reps
Out the sliding doors
Now the retail sector
Knows no borders
There are ads in the classroom
Influencers on the dance floor
Moneylenders in the temple
Because nothing’s sacred anymore
There’s sponsored content
In casual conversation
And the last shred of humanity
Is buried beneath a dollar sign
The Straw House Lament
I found this 8-year old poem in my archives. I never shared it because I thought it was too short. Now I think it’s the perfect length. It’s succinct, brutal, and fatalistic in a fun refreshing way. It reads like anti-wedding vows, like a two verse curse, like a Hallmark card from hell. Enjoy.
Plant your vows at the foundations
With all the other dead masons
Pack promises into the clay
With twigs, with straw, with bales of hay
Grind your love up in the mortar
Insulate every last pillar
Then take it all in
By every hair of your chinny chin chin
Bonding agents, mouths to feed
Sheets to tuck, bills to bleed
A bed with walls of paperbacks
You’ll never get your youth back
Big bad wolf has a station
On your home owner’s association
You will run, you will roam
But your straw house will never become a home
What Did I Miss?
I thought I’d nailed this subject
Really hammered it in
Drove the last word
Right into the coffin
I thought I’d crushed it
Really broke it down
Buried my feelings
Deep underground
I was dropping microphones
Dunking on your memory
Going around town
Lapping up a victory
I told everyone and their mom
“Ha, I am so over her”
God I say some stupid shit
When I’m stone cold sober
Now I’m taking a shortcut
Through a long dark alley
And I’m not too worried
About what’s going to happen to me
Here I was thinking
I’d hardened my heart to this
Now I’m clutching at my chest
Asking what did I miss?
I thought I’d aced this subject
Got an A plus plus
Then you popped me with a quiz
And I’m back on the short bus
I thought my bruises were healing
Thought I’d satisfied this itch
I thought my fever had broken
Then it made me its bitch
I thought I’d closed this book
I thought I’d solved this crime
I thought history was done repeating
But it rhymes all the time
I thought I was above this
Blue skies as far as I could see
Then I went full blazing Hindenburg
Oh the humanity
Now I’m footing it
Across a desert valley
And I’m not too worried
About what’s going to happen to me
Here I was thinking
I’d hardened my heart to this
Now I’m clutching at my chest
Asking what did I miss?
The Stuff That Dreams Are Made Of
I uncovered this poem I wrote about the Humphrey Bogart classic 1941 noir The Maltese Falcon and thought it had an intriguingly dark mystique to it (spoilers for The Maltese Falcon follow).
The Stuff That Dreams Are Made Of
Sam Spade had to turn her in
Not just because she killed his partner
Because she played him for a sap
Him and every man she’d ever been with
The Falcon was a red herring
You could argue that his heart was too
As the elevator doors eclipsed her eyes
And took her down to hell
“When a man’s partner is killed
He’s supposed to do something about it”
He slides Exhibit A to the detective
The thousand-dollar bill
She tried to buy his loyalty with
If only she had thought to buy it with something else
There’s a smile on one side of his face
The truth rests on the other
He’s just made a sacrifice
To himself
“All we’ve got is that maybe you love me
And maybe I love you.”
There’s a cigarette where her lips could be
A fedora where her hands could have rested
A collar she could’ve wrapped her arms around
A lead bundle where his heart could’ve been
He tells his secretary to have Archer’s name taken off the door
His killer’s been sent up the river for twenty to life
It was duck soap when he figured it out
But it won’t make his bed any warmer tonight
“I hope they don’t hang you, precious,
By that sweet neck”
Boss Fight: A Poem about depression… and video games
I shattered all my armor
That time I took a hit
Went off on a fetch quest
To try to find my shit
Went outside my element
Too far for even me
Went over the edge
Of the realm of possibility
Mistook the map for the terrain
Hit an invisible wall
The platform vanished
And I had a great fall
Lost all of my progress
Damn near rage quit
Started swinging in the dark
Until I found something to hit
Depression is a boss fight
A fire-breathing dragon
With an infinite health bar
And wild attack patterns
It never sees stars
It never blinks red
And if you stop running
It will feast upon your head
I leveled up
For the fight ahead
Enchanted my helmet
To get right in the head
Filled up my health gage
Saw a mage about some sage
Did a serious inventory
Of all my baggage
But at the first trapdoor
I straight up choked
All my coping mechanisms
Straight up broke
Now I’m down in this arena
With this overpowered thing
I’ve no more fight in me
But I’ve gotten really good at dodging
Depression is a boss fight
A fire-breathing dragon
With an infinite health bar
And wild attack patterns
It never sees stars
It never blinks red
And if you stop running
It will feast upon your head