POETRY BY TOM JOYCE

Tom Joyce writes a monthly column for the Horror Writers Association’s blog called “Nuts & Bolts,” featuring interviews about the craft and business of writing. His short fiction has appeared in publications including The Horror Zine and Needle: A Magazine of Noir.

VICTOR

“That’s Frankenstein,” I hear the nurses say.
“A devastating stroke left him that way.”
My notoriety persists, it seems.
The tragedy that always haunts my dreams.
A tortured creature wanting only death.
Whose eyes will haunt me to my dying breath.
Fearsome, as his pain drove him to kill.
Becoming him has been more fearful still.

STAN, THE RESURRECTION MAN

They call me Stan, the Resurrection Man.
Your bodies? Over there. Inside that van.

You like the flask? It’s cool. Let’s take a nip.
And drink a toast to our new partnership.

My family sells the best, as you can see.
Been at this since the 19th Century.

Insurance job? You need them for a crash?
They’re yours, my friend. I trust you got the cash.

You think I charge too much? Too bad. Too late.
My family doesn’t renegotiate.

No need for guns. We’re cool. But may I ask—
Are you dead sure we both drank from the same flask?

I’ll take that from your hand. You’re getting weak.
Don’t tax yourself. I know. It’s hard to speak.

That stuff? The CIA developed it.
My dealer’s mixed up in some James Bond shit.

It comes on fast, once it begins to act
And leaves internal organs quite intact.

Ah, science. Will its wonders never cease?
It’s been a pleasure, friend. Now, rest in peace.

THE NECROMANCER’S TALE

There once was an arrogant mortal
Who opened a sinister portal.
The resultant presence
Devoured his essence
Then let out a satisfied chortle.