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Poems by Romy Morreo

How The Forest Calls


Come into the forest,

howling winds whip about your legs,

tug at your ankles, closer,

beneath the evergreen canopy where the darkness

makes its home, 

a mossy mausoleum with bones 

hidden in the undergrowth,


may they snap, unseen 

and you’ll grind their shards into sediment

while the birdsong lures you deeper

into the damp, off the trail,

and the spirits of a thousand nymphs

fill your head with an ancient language

you’ll never understand;


Step inside the circle,

blooming bright with snapdragons, 

poppies, 

bluebells,

the invitation melts on your tongue

and you swallow, thick—     refusal will not form,

not while they reach for you, promising

phosphorous pleasures,


willows come to life around you,

fireflies glow in hues   you’ve never seen,

breathe the violet fog

                 let it in,

taste the temptation they’ll feed

you, lick it from their fingers

                       a mutual delight;

Sing their song of delirium,

   sway to music played on tuneless woodwind,

          dance until your muscles burn   then longer,

   eat the mushrooms crushed    between your toes

as goldfinches scream cacophonies

                            into your hair,

  slippery fae snatch the syllables            of your name

                           dangle them, laughing,

                                              out of reach,


are your ears leaking?

                 is that blood foaming at your mouth?

   thorns have shredded   your limbs

             teeth falling out, trodden into the earth,

cuticles peeled,    ribs lashed,     fingers bent

                                       the wrong way,

you are a macabre marionette

                       with strings cutting 

      through your joints;


Try to find your way out

comes the taunt,

so you blink sticky lashes and scratch your corneas

flail against gnarled branches

blind,

stagger on swollen feet, grope

for an exit that no longer exists,


while they slice at your soul

and grind the slivers to mulch,

nature’s favourite fertiliser,

until your bones are gifts for the slobbering rodents

and you lose the sense

you were ever human at all.






In Defence of the Cryptid


headlights on the mountain road

winding between cliff faces

we’re in the middle

of an argument over the map’s landmarks


            when appears a silhouette

conjured from the thickening mist

wide eyes a phosphorus glow

beneath antlers spanning the lane


seatbelts choke us

against our seats

transfixed

        by that beast’s cold gaze


when we talk about monsters, it’s all

   snarling teeth in the gutters

   undersea giants razing ships


not this drooling mess of limbs

inverted joints and crooked lines

too many bones for its skin


stillness stutters

its breath coming in clouds

on contorted hooves it turns heaving

     seeing us through the glass


hit the gas

who’s the monster now?

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