Seeing things

Lurking in the shadows - on a groggy

Gas lit night. He, who followed so many

To their deaths, in this age of the machine,

Sits alone, bereft of sight.

He sees the tender white crosses-row-on-row-on-row,

Rising in a whirlwind, on a night of swirling snow,

He hears the creaking branches, catches a whiff,

Of lying Lady Fortune who's a-floating on the breeze,

Pleased he was, immensely.  More fool he.


He shows himself to darkness -

To its fondest acolytes - 

To death and sin and misery -

On this blackest of coal-black nights.

Gross infirmity of mind

Leaves him gasping in the wake:

Such true and false lucidity

For bitter chaos-sake.


As far as mortal eyes can see:

On this deepest-of-deep--black nights,

Sentient beings

Hold their breaths in, tight,

Cling to the merest tincture

Of any old belief.

While gothic visions coagulate;

Time's an ungodly thief.

Image result for pre raphaelite painting



◄ A Litany for the Living

The merry, merry month of May ►


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John Marks

Sat 11th May 2019 15:19

I can imagine Jennifer. Thanks for reminding me. Sorry if it gave you the eebie-jeebies Keith. Influenced by my re-reading of Edgar Allan Poe's poetry and stories and by remembering a very weird event/feeling engendered whilst walking down Baker Street into the Regent's Park many moons ago. All good wishes, as ever, John

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jennifer Malden

Sat 11th May 2019 14:14

Great poem, really eerie as Keith says. (The model for Ophelia nearly caught her death of cold posing for the painting.)


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keith jeffries

Fri 10th May 2019 20:06


What an eerie and wonderfully descriptive poem. It´s too close to my bedtime for it to be read again. Really quite an unusual but captivating poem.

Thank you

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