Four Poems by Courtney Glover

 

In Cabalistic Caverns 

 

In the necropolis of R'lyeh, a recondite god lies covertly concealed, entombed discrete.

A primeval place, far from prying eyes, interred without ceremony, in a manner most discreet.

 

In the black abyss where stars have drowned, a pulse still throbs beneath the sound.

 

In the middle of nowhere, the prison kept secret from all outside of the military’s top brass.

Lest He be freed and civilization would once again fall, societies would dissolve and collapse. 

 

R’lyeh lies slantwise, half-awake, its non-Euclidean gates agape.

 

A monstrous entity in a vaulted vestibule, for a thousand years interred.

In a sepulcher of chains set by theurgical incantation. His devilry, for now, deterred.

 

In frequencies that shatter bone, He dreams and continents go mad. In solitude he waits alone…

 

Deep underground, in a majestic place of canyons, cliffs, and vast rivers sublime.

Hidden in plain sight, a paradise carved out by the raging waters, a millennia of time.

 

Priests fall silent in mid-prayer; Children draw him in their sleep, depicting symbols in the air. 

 

Where humans ventured, a shocking find met with awe and boundless wonder.

Until one, by one, by one… their mortal minds were violently ripped asunder.

 

Ph’nglui mglw’nafh Cthulhu R’lyeh

Wgah’nagl fhtagn— He beckons again and again. 

 

In cabalistic caverns grande, only one was left to tell the tale of what she grievously saw.

“A vision of horrific death, famine and disease…” and Cthulhu stood, in chains, above it all. 

 

 

The Madness of It All 

 

Where the saltwater’s midnight aura consumes everything in its icy grasp of fate.

36,037 feet below, deep in the Pacific Ocean, far below any human’s perception. 

Where nothing, it’s thought, lives yet an abundantcy of darklings lie, balefully, in wait. 

But they are mere servants, these malignant creatures of the deep, a malefic reception. 

 

I wish we had listened to our guts and abandoned it all. The company, and its greed, be darned! 

 

We began drilling in the ocean’s floor, farther down than ever before. It was all a feat in futility.

We assumed we were alone, but we couldn’t, it seemed, have been more wrong.

The company we worked for gave vague excuses. Simply put, plausible deniability.

We knew of sea life that flourished near volcanic heat vents, in the darkness they belonged.

 

But these oceanic creatures, unlike the darklings, were a natural phenomena, nothing more.

 

The earthquakes were becoming more regular, though no seismic activity was detected.

We knew in the darkest parts of our hearts that we had awakened something ancient. 

The company assured us, simply delusions due to the deep depths. An idea we rejected. 

The company expected us to believe their obvious lies and stay complacent.

 

The company’s psychs called it psychological trauma due to extended periods of sensory deprivation.

 

You know that feeling you get, in the pit of your stomach, when something is really wrong?

When the hairs on the back of your neck stand up, when you shiver for no reason at all?

That was us, all 152. Then it struck. Destroying the buildings. Our lives would not be prolonged.

Outside we heard the darklings, a quietus parade of death. And civilization would fall. 

 

Every building, flooded with oceanic water. The escape pods destroyed. We drowned, all 152.

 

And as we slowly died, the horrific truth of the dire situation was realized in that moment.

We had indeed awakened an ancient horde of monsters along with their deity of old. 

The city of R'lyeh surrounded us in every direction. The ocean would have atonement.

The madness, the earthquakes, even our own deaths, orchestrated by It, as foretold. 

 

A hybrid creature, humanoid with tentacles and wings. And death followed closely behind him. 

 

 

In A Mirror, Darkly 

 

In a mirror, darkly. Aberrant and strange. 

As one peers into the expanse, the unknown.

A surreal universe unfolding before you.

A place quite opposite of one’s very own.

 

An alternate reality, an off-kilter reflection.

Contrary and inverse to the here and now.

A parallel actuality, yet eerily divergent.

A mirror image, yet anomalous somehow. 

 

 

Perdition’s Bliss 

 

Stuck in limbo, inundated by bouts of joy and melancholic memories. 

Lost in a sea of sorrows and sunlight, the past clings to me as one’s shadow does.

Around the house, the fog hangs thick. The gate, like a macabre grave marker. 

For no one ventures past its wrought iron grip, we are its prisoners.

Our home both our sanctuary and our bastille, both damnation and salvation. 

 

Cut off from the outside world, my family and I free of society’s expectations.  

And yet, we can never leave this place. Our world only extends ever so far.

And if we dare to travel out, to wander past the gate, into the unforgiving fog…

Our souls may dissipate, like raindrops in the summer heat, like steam from a kettle. 

There one second, gone the next. Like a bad dream just woken up from, utterly dispelled. 

 

So we stay, unwilling to take the chance, unable to urge our feet further. 

We stay, fearful of nothing. Nothing but our thoughts and the echoes of the past.

Our rose garden, always in bloom, with never a withered blossom to mourn.

And we, the quondam occupants of this here realm, trapped in limbo. 

Forever caught between Heaven and Hell. Purgatory’s oblivion, waiting for our pardon.

Courtney Glover is originally from Fulton County, Georgia. She is a writer, published author, editor and amateur photographer. She is the editor of all three of the Sacred Feminine anthologies, as well as the various Open Skies Poetry anthologies including Somewhere Down The Yellow Brick Road. She’s also the editor of Pearls of Poetry and Part of My Life: A Collection of Poetry. Her work has been included in twenty different anthologies. Her most recent book, Sands of Time, is available for purchase on Amazon. Courtney currently resides with her family in Camden County, New Jersey.