Villanelle for H.P. Lovecraft

The great Cthulhu rises; thrashing tentacles
destroy cities. Men disbelieve, then panic, then
recall the prophecy foretold in garbled syllables

in letters and journal entries – empirical
but demented prose from a madman’s pen.
The great Cthulhu rises: thrashing tentacles

make driftwood of clipper ships, raise tidal
waves that smash against the shoreline again
and again, the prophecy foretold in garbled syllables

made real by ruination. Now it’s indisputable,
the truth they ignored: that from some ageless den
or lair the great Cthulhu, thrashing tentacles,

would rise and chaos rule and something like hell
forge itself; that the Old Gods would return and
assert the prophecy foretold in garbled syllables.

Indisputable. Too late. What crazed testimonial
will serve as warning an age or era hence, when
the great Cthulhu rises, its thrashing tentacles
a prophecy foretold in garbled syllables?

Neil Fulwood was born in 1972. He's the author of film studies book The Films of Sam Peckinpah. His poetry has appeared in Medusa's Kitchen, Uneven Floor, UFO Gigolo, Section 8, and Dissident Voice. Neil's married, holds down a day job and is working towards his lifetime goal of not holding down a day job.

Find more by Neil Fulwood in the Author Index.

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