April 20, Napowrimo 2026. Today we are to try writing a poem that uses an animal that shows up in myths and legends as a metaphor for some aspect of a contemporary person’s life. We should include one spoken phrase.
I looked up mythical beasts and discovered Japan’s ancient Baku, a creature made up of the bits n bobs that gods had left over when they had finished creating all the other bits n bobs of the universes. The Baku was given the task of eating people’s nightmares when summoned. These may have been planted by Alps and Schats, German folklore spirits that sit on human chests at night and infuse them with nightmares (mares are horses that accompany Alps and watch in the dark). Calling Baku comes with a warning. If the Baku is not satisfied with your bad dreams, it will then eat all your hopes, desires and ambitions.
Nightmares are so called because it’s thought the wracking of the body during bad sleep is reminiscent of the pounding of horse’s hooves.
I looked at all this and thought about how some of our contemporary leaders use nightmares to attain and retain power and went for it – politically poetically.
High above the Japanese pearly pink pom-pom cherry blossom parks,
Just below the snow tipped bright white freezing peaks of Fuji,
The Baku sleeps.
Curled up warm and deep
In his dense ochre fur blanket,
Crusted crumpled trunk,
Ivory tusks and tiger claws in repose;
He awaits the call.
“Baku san: come eat my dream”
Rising from his slumber,
Baku heeds the plea.
And where the Alp and Schat have sat,
He swallows horse hoof dreams.
He dines on doubt
And feasts on fears,
And if you ask
He’ll consume queers.
Then chomp on the flesh
Of migrants too,
And gnaw the bones
Of those not like you.
But not chew on babies
That rapists spew.
Or lunch on bullets
That rifles spat,
Into children’s heads
Sat on classroom mats.
The Baku you can’t satiate,
With piled high racist
Plates of hate,
So,
Be careful what you wish for mate.
For when he’s called
He you must slake,
Not send him back,
No, that’s much too late.
The beast gods made
Of what was left,
If hungry still,
Makes one request,
You in silence sit
And quit your screams,
While he scoffs your hopes,
Your desires and dreams.
Missives & Musings 