2026 National Poetry Month, Day 17 "Frightened"

NPM 2026, Day 17 "Frightened"

Sometimes, for entertainment, we enjoy being a little frightened. Sometimes we are right to be frightened like hell.

Hope you find the prompt inspirational and celebratory. Feel free to create and share an original poem. Or tell an anecdote. Find a connection with an existing poem you know and share that. Or post a link to music, film, essay, book.

Or, just relax, view these images, and meditate a few minutes. Release your fears.

NPM 2026, Day 16 "Frightened" Source and info

Bill Traylor self-taught artist https://inspirationartgroup.org/essays/bill-traylor/
Bill Traylor (American, c. 1853-1949) Untitled (Chase Scene) ca. 1940, pencil, opaque poster paint on cardboard, 7 X 13 ¼ in, located at Smithsonian American Art Museum. An official trailer for the 2021 documentary, Bill Traylor: Chasing Ghosts https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PA7xizlAXxY directed by Jeffrey Wolf.

Ron Mueck sculptor https://artsreview.com.au/ron-mueck-encounter/
Ron Mueck (Australian, 1958-) Havoc (2025), exhibition at the Art Gallery of New South Wales

Hindu goddess Kali https://www.yogaanytime.com/blog/philosophy/finding-power-in-the-pain-lessons-fr...
Kali plays a dominant role in Hindu mythology and religious practice. The most popular story is her emergence from Goddess Durga’s fury to vanquish the demon Raktabija. Kali is worshipped as the Divine Mother, the Mother of the Universe. She is revered for her role in destroying evil and protecting the innocent.

Silent film Nosferatu https://medium.com/signifier/visualising-vampires-the-undead-in-art-and-culture-...
Scene from F.W Murnau’s silent film Nosferatu (1922). Nosferatu: A Symphony of Horror (German: Nosferatu – Eine Symphonie des Grauens).

"Figure 03" https://people.com/melania-trump-says-ai-should-be-in-classrooms-11942980
Frightening that one Trump massively cuts federal education funding. Another Trump touts expensive robots in classrooms. What is the future then? See this advertisement for the F.03 model in all its slavish glory here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Eu5mYMavctM

Frightening
--Debi Cates, April 17, 2026

It's tragic
you can't tell by the face
who is murderous, corrupt, calculating.

It's only after we know
the wicked deeds
we see it in their face,
in the eyes mostly,
in a satisfied smile.
It then becomes obvious,
iconic
and
frightening.

But the same is true that
you can't tell by a face
who
is good,
who
will be victimized,
who
will lose something.

It is frightening
to meet someone
new.

What,
what
shall we assume?

I have never thought of fairies as being cute innocent little princesses with wings like they show you on TV. I have always found them frightening, I'm not sure why, maybe because of this poem!

The Fairies

Up the airy mountain,
Down the rushy glen,
We daren’t go a-hunting
For fear of little men;
Wee folk, good folk,
Trooping all together;
Green jacket, red cap,
And white owl’s feather!

Down along the rocky shore
Some make their home,
They live on crispy pancakes
Of yellow tide-foam;
Some in the reeds
Of the black mountain-lake,
With frogs for their watchdogs,
All night awake.

High on the hill-top
The old King sits;
He is now so old and grey
He’s nigh lost his wits.
With a bridge of white mist
Columbkill he crosses,
On his stately journeys
From Slieveleague to Rosses;
Or going up with music
On cold starry nights,
To sup with the Queen
Of the gay Northern Lights.

They stole little Bridget
For seven years long;
When she came down again
Her friends were all gone.
They took her lightly back,
Between the night and morrow,
They thought that she was fast asleep,
But she was dead with sorrow.
They have kept her ever since
Deep within the lake,
On a bed of flag-leaves,
Watching till she wake.

By the craggy hillside,
Through the mosses bare,
They have planted thorn trees
For pleasure, here and there.
Is any man so daring
As dig them up in spite,
He shall find their sharpest thorns
In his bed at night.

Up the airy mountain,
Down the rushy glen,
We daren’t go a-hunting
For fear of little men;
Wee folk, good folk,
Trooping all together;
Green jacket, red cap,
And white owl’s feather!

— William Allingham.

>4 TonjaE: Yes, pre-Disneyfied faery tales show a different side of the Good Folk. Your post reminds me of one of my favorite poems by Yeats.

The Stolen Child
by William Butler Yeats

Where dips the rocky highland
Of Sleuth Wood in the lake,
There lies a leafy island
Where flapping herons wake
The drowsy water rats;
There we've hid our faery vats,
Full of berrys
And of reddest stolen cherries.
Come away, O human child!
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand.

Where the wave of moonlight glosses
The dim gray sands with light,
Far off by furthest Rosses
We foot it all the night,
Weaving olden dances
Mingling hands and mingling glances
Till the moon has taken flight;
To and fro we leap
And chase the frothy bubbles,
While the world is full of troubles
And anxious in its sleep.
Come away, O human child!
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand.

Where the wandering water gushes
From the hills above Glen-Car,
In pools among the rushes
That scarce could bathe a star,
We seek for slumbering trout
And whispering in their ears
Give them unquiet dreams;
Leaning softly out
From ferns that drop their tears
Over the young streams.
Come away, O human child!
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand.

Away with us he's going,
The solemn-eyed:
He'll hear no more the lowing
Of the calves on the warm hillside
Or the kettle on the hob
Sing peace into his breast,
Or see the brown mice bob
Round and round the oatmeal chest.
For he comes, the human child,
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
For the world's more full of weeping than he can understand.

***

Or for a song version by Loreena McKennitt: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wMhhMxHeX_c

Or for another fright from the world of faery:

The Bright Things
by Joshua St. Clair

There are whispers in the hawthorns again.
Father says don’t listen, but I hear something
Splashing in the spring again. Some say the glen
Is cursed, but I can hear the Bright Things singing.
Last September, I saw gossamer wings
Whirl and then vanish as they voiced my name.
I feared I would never hear the Bright Things
Whisper to me in the hawthorns again.
I passed the winter dreaming of them in vain.
No voice nor wing swirled in the snow, singing.
Now the hawthorn fruit is full again.
Father says don’t pick them. Still, I hear something
As I approach. The Bright Things are singing
A song I know—singing my name again.
Twilight prism rainbows—the Bright Things
Are splashing in the spring again. The glen
Echoes with voices and wings and then,
I am among them. My father’s warning—
unheeded—oh—I will regret it again.
I’ll curse when I first heard the Bright Things singing.
The Bright Things turned Dark, suddenly wringing
Flesh from bone. Soul ripped from body and drained.
Now, I am a thing of voice and wing,
Imprisoned forever in this cursed glen,
Whispering in the hawthorns.

***

I first heard this on a podcast read by Michael Rhys: https://www.spreaker.com/episode/day-3-the-bright-things-by-joshua-st-clair-read...

It is delightfully creepy.

>5 saskia17: >6 saskia17: These are great! Thank you for sharing, and I'm glad I'm not the only one.
I want to add another, not quite faery but close and a little frightening. From Roald Dahl:

The Rowing Song

Round the world and home again
That's the sailor's way
Faster faster, faster faster

There's no earthly way of knowing
Which direction we are going
There's no knowing where we're rowing
Or which way the river's flowing

Is it raining, is it snowing
Is a hurricane a–blowing

Not a speck of light is showing
So the danger must be growing
Are the fires of Hell a–glowing
Is the grisly reaper mowing

Yes, the danger must be growing
For the rowers keep on rowing
And they're certainly not showing
Any signs that they are slowing.

| And can't you just hear it in the voice of Gene Wilder. https://youtu.be/XOnMNv_oQ4A?si=MGLLCzpfKbE5Ks6P