Jabuka

It stood by my uncle’s hatstand for

As long as I can recall,

This ugly wooden carving, leering

Staring out from the wall,

My mother would say, ‘It’s evil,’

That it wasn’t fit to see,

Not for a young impressionable,

By that, she just meant me.

It used to give me the shivers

Every time that I passed its way,

It had a glare of malevolence

I felt, in a mute dismay,

My uncle brought it from Africa

A memento of his time

Seeking out the Azuli tribe

Who lived in a tropic clime.

‘I think his name was Jabuka,’

My uncle said to a friend,

‘One of those baleful spirits that

Was said to torture men,

He’d pluck your eyes from their sockets

If you saw what you shouldn’t see,

And infected men with a virus

That would kill their family.’

For years it sat in abeyance,

Whatever the power it bore,

There was never a hint of impatience

As it sat, and stared by the door,

It wasn’t until my uncle hired

A sultry African maid,

That evil entered the atmosphere

Of the house where I went, and played.

I think it was then that I noticed

There was something strange at large,

My hair rose up as I walked on by,

An electrostatic charge,

It prickled in all my fingers

Ran up the hairs of my arm,

I’d lie if I should deny that day

I felt a sense of alarm.

While little dark skinned Mbutu,

Would bow when she’d dust it off,

Would mumble some words in Zulu

That I could make nothing of,

I saw the fear in her eyes the day

I glanced off it in the hall,

‘Never to touch Jabuka, son

Or him rage is fearful!’

It must have been close on midnight

I heard, when over and done,

My uncle came on Mbutu

Stark naked before ‘the one’,

It must have been some strange African rite

As she danced, she gave weird cries, 

But then next day, my uncle lay

And bled from both of his eyes.

My aunt then died of Ebola,

No more than a week from then,

The virus grew, then Mbutu too

Was lost to the world of men,

I sat by my uncle’s bedside

At the hospital by the park,

When he said, ‘Oh Ben, I’m a fool,’ and then,

‘God, but this room is dark!’

He told me to take Jabuka

And carry it out that day,

‘But while you carry that evil thing

Be sure you’re looking away,

There’s petrol out in the potting shed,

Though barely a gallon or two,

Make sure you douse it over the head,

You know what you have to do.’

I watched the flames as they roared and claimed

The wood of that idol’s gaze,

And felt the surge of an evil urge

Attack, in so many ways,

I knew I’d watched what I shouldn’t see

As I felt it rise in my hair,

And lost one eye as it bled bone dry,

It’s lucky I have a spare!

David Lewis Paget

Reviews

[R Smith]

funny that I seem to remember back in my childhood how people seemed to have the weirdest things hanging on walls in their houses, who knows where they came from or what they had been used for, this poem took me back for a while and it was good to revisit in my head those happier days, thanks David a poem well worth a million memories :)

[Jordan]

Ah yes, the ol' haunted/possessed object. Funny how real this is for a lot of people, myself included.

As always, I loved it. I was able to read it with both eyes, but I wonder how many I'll have tomorrow. I'll keep the Visine nearby. :)

[A Soap Mess Stories]

A chilling tale. Great work David.

[andrew mitchell]

I have a few menacing wooden statues from my travels of indigenous tribes and you do wonder have I bought bad luck lol!

[Lady Lola]

Another dark poem by DLP, how thrilling! What can I say, you really know your scary stories. Actually, you know how to port any kind of emotion.

[Marie]

Something like that should never have been allowed in the house. I hope the ashes were sowed with salt and a priest sent for to exorcise the last evil spirits... a voodoo priest, of course...

[Einstein Noodle]

another wonderful poem and story .. held me sway to the very end .. with a nice touch of humor .. one of my bucket listings was to visit New Orleans and while there (among other things) intended to visit a Voodoo Queen ... the shop i found was filled with all the paraphernalia of the trade and covered by a heavy curtain a room in the back of the little shop .. in which the Queen resided ... i was with a young lady that had "sensitivity" and she refused to enter even the shop ... so as i talked a bit with the clerk at the register .. my own apprehensions grew ... and i left without knocking for entrance ... i am sure i made the right decision but always there is that spark that wants to have a "look" ;)
E.

[Valentine]

Boy, going into African voodoo. This was a bit chilling as it gave me an eerie feeling. Sure hope that things ashes are not laying around here. I need my eyes. Valentine

[Barbz]

Jabuka remained by the hatstand eerily awaiting to view evil. His presence was chilling and his eyes warned of evil, torture, infirmaty and death. Uncle had his way with the newly hired African Maid who was aware of its fearful Rage, thus warning the family to cast their gaze aside. But Uncle, in all his Glory displayed his prideful side, and Then ordered incineration of Jabuka. This activated the VooDoo revenge. Ben viewed the flames claiming the evil gaze. Luckily He was left with one patent eye, while the rest of the dormant voodoo was activated and claimed its victims, as it was stated.....Ooh, Scary!! good Work, Barbz

[Lyndy]

Oh wow, I love your poems! It's always so intriguing and exciting. :D