Welcome to My Poetry Site
The Nocturnal Visitor
(Homage to Dickens and Poe)
Floorboards creak; ceiling beams snap;
Walls crackle and pop.
Cold drafts chill me to the bone;
The shivers never stop.
I awaken at night to the sounds of moaning
That fill the house with grief.
An icy breath of anguish blows over me,
Allowing for little relief.
Lying awake, I wonder about
The cause of each eerie sound.
I'll never know the answer unless
I take a look around.
Expansion, contraction, heat, cold:
A probable explanation;
But what explains the mournful moaning
That causes such consternation?
Feeling my way down the creaky stairs,
I shudder with coldness and fear--
Wanting to know but at the same time
Afraid of what might appear.
Silently standing at the base of the stairs,
I stare into the dark.
If asked how I felt, horror and dread
Would certainly hit the mark.
Groping the furniture, I sit on the sofa
And listen to the dead of the night;
I start to nod, then jump with a start,
Filled with panic and fright.
An amorphous figure appears before me--
Vague, undefined, obscure.
My fear turns into inexpressible sadness,
Which is difficult to endure.
"Are you a spirit?" I whisper, and wait.
At first I have little success.
Finally, I hear a soft, sobbing sound--
A plaintive, fragile "Yes."
Yeah, right, I think, a spirit that haunts
My house. Isn't that cool?
Is this a joke--somebody's trick?
Do they take me for a fool?
"What draws you here to my house," I ask.
"What is this perverse
Penchant you have for creaking and moaning?"
The spirit replies, "It's a curse.
Years ago I lived in this home.
My life was happy and free.
Everything was going my way.
Now look what's happened to me.
"The world was in my hands, it was;
I had everything under control.
Nothing could get the best of me
Till death bells started to knoll.
No! I refused to succumb or give in;
Too hot were the fires
Of greed and longing and wanting and having--
Too powerful were my desires.
"Too late I realized my mistakes;
Too late, too late, too late.
I'm stuck here to play out all of my longings.
This is my cruel fate."
It occurs to me to ask of its gender;
I am curious to hear it.
"Are you a man or woman," I ask.
It laughs and says, "Just a spirit."
"I'm sorry for your pain," I say,
"Is there anything I can do?"
"No," it answers, "it's up to me;
I must see this through."
"Obviously, you're not," I continue,
"As quiet as a mouse.
But could you be so kind as to haunt
Someone else's house?"
"Aha! So you think that THIS is humorous!"
Cries the spirit with a roaring.
"I was here long before you arrived;
And YOU disturb ME with your snoring!"
"I'm sorry," I say, and ponder what
Could be a possible solution.
One thing I know: these night-time visits
Are not good for my constitution.
"How about this? Let's make a deal,"
I suggest. "You're free to roam
As much as you want and can make a loud racket
Whenever I'm not at home.
When I am here--asleep or awake--
So I can have peace of mind,
You be quiet and work on your karma,
If to do so you're so inclined."
"Deal! You've got my UNDYING promise,"
It responds with a voice full and sunny.
I think to myself: Now the spirit's the one
Who's trying to be funny.
I yawn and say I'm going back to bed,
And I give the spirit my best
And hope that soon--VERY soon--
It finds eternal rest.
I often think of the gloomy spirit
And wonder if it's working its way
Through its torment and suffering, which I hope
Are finally fading away.
If I hear a creak or pop in the night,
Now peace and calm prevail;
I hope I've learned a lesson from my
Nocturnal visitor's tale.
(7-25-14)
Floorboards creak; ceiling beams snap;
Walls crackle and pop.
Cold drafts chill me to the bone;
The shivers never stop.
I awaken at night to the sounds of moaning
That fill the house with grief.
An icy breath of anguish blows over me,
Allowing for little relief.
Lying awake, I wonder about
The cause of each eerie sound.
I'll never know the answer unless
I take a look around.
Expansion, contraction, heat, cold:
A probable explanation;
But what explains the mournful moaning
That causes such consternation?
Feeling my way down the creaky stairs,
I shudder with coldness and fear--
Wanting to know but at the same time
Afraid of what might appear.
Silently standing at the base of the stairs,
I stare into the dark.
If asked how I felt, horror and dread
Would certainly hit the mark.
Groping the furniture, I sit on the sofa
And listen to the dead of the night;
I start to nod, then jump with a start,
Filled with panic and fright.
An amorphous figure appears before me--
Vague, undefined, obscure.
My fear turns into inexpressible sadness,
Which is difficult to endure.
"Are you a spirit?" I whisper, and wait.
At first I have little success.
Finally, I hear a soft, sobbing sound--
A plaintive, fragile "Yes."
Yeah, right, I think, a spirit that haunts
My house. Isn't that cool?
Is this a joke--somebody's trick?
Do they take me for a fool?
"What draws you here to my house," I ask.
"What is this perverse
Penchant you have for creaking and moaning?"
The spirit replies, "It's a curse.
Years ago I lived in this home.
My life was happy and free.
Everything was going my way.
Now look what's happened to me.
"The world was in my hands, it was;
I had everything under control.
Nothing could get the best of me
Till death bells started to knoll.
No! I refused to succumb or give in;
Too hot were the fires
Of greed and longing and wanting and having--
Too powerful were my desires.
"Too late I realized my mistakes;
Too late, too late, too late.
I'm stuck here to play out all of my longings.
This is my cruel fate."
It occurs to me to ask of its gender;
I am curious to hear it.
"Are you a man or woman," I ask.
It laughs and says, "Just a spirit."
"I'm sorry for your pain," I say,
"Is there anything I can do?"
"No," it answers, "it's up to me;
I must see this through."
"Obviously, you're not," I continue,
"As quiet as a mouse.
But could you be so kind as to haunt
Someone else's house?"
"Aha! So you think that THIS is humorous!"
Cries the spirit with a roaring.
"I was here long before you arrived;
And YOU disturb ME with your snoring!"
"I'm sorry," I say, and ponder what
Could be a possible solution.
One thing I know: these night-time visits
Are not good for my constitution.
"How about this? Let's make a deal,"
I suggest. "You're free to roam
As much as you want and can make a loud racket
Whenever I'm not at home.
When I am here--asleep or awake--
So I can have peace of mind,
You be quiet and work on your karma,
If to do so you're so inclined."
"Deal! You've got my UNDYING promise,"
It responds with a voice full and sunny.
I think to myself: Now the spirit's the one
Who's trying to be funny.
I yawn and say I'm going back to bed,
And I give the spirit my best
And hope that soon--VERY soon--
It finds eternal rest.
I often think of the gloomy spirit
And wonder if it's working its way
Through its torment and suffering, which I hope
Are finally fading away.
If I hear a creak or pop in the night,
Now peace and calm prevail;
I hope I've learned a lesson from my
Nocturnal visitor's tale.
(7-25-14)
