In the days of old, till the ‘70s
The story of the kraken was regarded as myth,
But as fishing nets hauled the monsters up
Reluctant sceptics have had to admit:

Admit to the fact of a tentacled brute
Pulling sailors from lifeboats to eat,
In both the World Wars survivors reported
The sheer horrors floating up from the deeps.

Both Allies and Axis soldiers
Told tales of the monsters they’d seen,
Of giant tentacles pulling men to their deaths
Great, lidless eyes filling survivors with fear.

With a great pointed, cone-like head
Like horrid Lovecraftean beasts,
Devouring blood-soaked sailors
As they partake in unholy feasts.

Now the great kraken of old
Is just called a giant squid,
Though that cannot dampen the horror
Of the human feasting they did.

In the years since 1973
The kraken dredged up number 30 or 35,
And although interesting in a horrific way
I’m relieved none have been caught alive.