I know who's scratching at the door.
Clock, there's no use yawning.
More than boards are loose in the floor—
I wasn't born this morning.
Beneath your gurgle, Water Tap,
I hear the water slither.
I know you well, Barometer,
and all your inner weather.
Soap, you're not all lather,
and Cane, you're more than stick.
I know who hangs on you, Clothes Hanger.
I know you, wicked Wick.
I hear your silence, Telephone.
I know your meaning, Saw.
O wily, absent-minded Fly,
I've heard your voice before.
I have turned about thrice,
blinded the mirror,
snipped the end of my laces
with a rusty scissors,
trod on my shadow,
strewn on my pillow
three seeds of the fern
and a leaf of the willow.
Be gone, ogre of the Candle,
djinn of the grinning Fire;
be gone, harpy of the Lintel,
worm of the winding Wire.
Cerberus of the Threshold,
run howling through the town;
imp of the Ingle, shrivel;
nymph of the Mirror, drown.
Die, demon of the Cupboard;
fly, spectre of the Stair;
and die, you lean Clock's warden
who whispers in my ear.
(Copyright © Jean Shapiro Cantu for the Estate of Robert Friend)
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Comments about this poem (Exorcism by Robert Friend )
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Still I Rise
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings
William Ernest Henley
- Nothing to my sleep!, Gedion Onyango
- 154. The Path Of Life, John Westlake
- OUR FALLEN LEAVES اوراقنا المتساقطة, MOHAMMAD SKATI
- Language, Our Friend, Sandra Feldman
- there's a pretty plum sky and then there.., Mandolyn ...
- Revealed, John Onyeme
- Groom is the Cadaver, Pintu Mahakul
- Sleep deprived, Matthew Holloway
- More Than Just Memories, David Whalen
- Legacy, Matthew Holloway