When the Wind Blows (1986): Review


An animated film from 1986 shows exactly why nuclear bombs are so terrifying—and does so in the most unexpected ways. I’ve seen my fair share of horror films. I’ve seen things from real life that are scarier than most works of fiction. But by God, this is the kind of film you never forget.

When the Wind Blows would’ve passed my radar entirely if it wasn’t for a handful of animation circles I occasionally check up on. When it comes to disturbing animated films, most people think of The Black Cauldron, Coraline, or Watership Down. But with this fresh in my mind, it blows just about all those other films in its category right out of the water. Cute talking animals and all.

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There have always been holes in my carpet—

Holes from the worms in my shoe.

There are holes in the table cloth, sheets, and the curtains—

Holes where they’ve all eaten through.


Holes in her wedding dress, holes in my suit—

Which I won’t ever look at again.

Holes in the deed that we bought for this house—

Me and my dear Julienne.


The holes in the carpet expand after dusk,

And I watched from my bed as they grew

They eat at the plaster, but worse is my heart

The worms, they are eating that too.


I won’t know what she said as we lay here in bed.

Her hair does not shine its bright gold.

The worms eat her skin as they slither right in

And leave holes in the patches of mold.

Dead in the Attic is on its way. How do you feel about including rhyming poems like this one? Or should I just stick to free verse? Let me know what you think, and sweet dreams…

Cornflakes: a Poem

Cornflakes-TitleThe following poem can be found in “A Man Upstairs,” now available in paperback and ebook on Amazon.

So I look over to the guy and say, “HEY! How about them cornflakes?”
He gives me this look as if I just stole his wallet before stabbing his wife and decapitating the family dog:
A very specific expression they trained me to point out in the US Navy.
You learn a lot when you’re over there.
“What?” he says. “Cornflakes?”
Then he steps away from the bar and begins to fiddle his arms around in his pockets.
“What’s wrong?” I say, and walk over to comfort him.
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