Poetry
Comments 20

Watchman

How often have you woken

a bolt

in our bed.

Eyes wide, lungs strangled

fighting for breath,

my watchman,

my lover,

my eyes in the dark,

how is it

that night now comes

to bore holes in your heart?

Once upon

another life you say.

You paced these streets,

these city streets,

let lanterns guide your way.

But now we have no lanterns,

and now you have no light,

and all my watchman is,

is afraid of the night.

Haughmond Abbey

This entry was posted in: Poetry

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Carol Forrester is a twenty-three year old writer trying to be a better one. Don’t ask her what her hobbies are because the list doesn’t get much beyond, reading, writing and talking about the same. She has a 2:1 BA degree in history from Bath Spa University and various poems and stories scattered across the net. Her flash fiction story ‘Glorious Silence’ was named as River Ram Press’ short story of the month for August 2014 and her short story ‘A Visit From The Fortune Teller’ has been showcased on the literary site Ink Pantry’s. Most recently, her poem ‘Sunsets’ was featured on Eyes Plus Words, and her personal blog Writing and Works hosts a mass of writing from across the last five years. She has been lucky enough to write guest posts for sites such as Inky Tavern and Song of The Forlorn and is always open to writing more and hosting guest bloggers here on Writing and Works. With hopes of publishing a novel in the next five years and perhaps a collection or two of smaller works, Carol Forrester is nothing if not ambitious. Her writing tries to cover every theme in human life and a lot of her work pulls inspiration from her own eccentric family in the rural wonders of Shropshire life.

20 Comments

  1. I was wondering what made the watchman afraid of the night ~ Perhaps a terrible experience, perhaps a devastating loss, it seems a pity that he has lost the light ~

    Thanks for the lovely response ~

    • Thank you for the lovely comment. To be honest when I started writing this piece I was trying to write about the old London Watchmen who patrolled the streets before policemen, but it sort of shifted and became something else.

  2. Sad when a fearful, lantern-less watchman can no longer lead. Like your photo of church in ruins… religion without a relationship is empty. Thoughtful poem…thanks for linking with dVerse!

    • Thank you for the lovely comment. It’s actually a photo from Haughmond Abbey in Shropshire. I didn’t consider the analogy you just used until now.

  3. I also would want to know the backstory. The first part of the poem made me think of my husband who is so protective–sometimes to the point of making me crazy. My watchman.

    • Haha, it can be both lovely and infuriating to have someone who wants to protect you. When I was writing this piece I was actually trying to write about the old London Watchmen, but instead it became more about my Grandmother and her decline into dementia.

  4. Glenn Buttkus says

    A brilliant premise, & take on the prompt. So well written it can be interpreted several ways; what I read was that a husband has returned from war, & nightmares disturb him nightly, that fear has usurped solace, that his neural net is unraveled, & he is no longer the same man he once was.

    • That’s a really great interpretation and thank you for sharing it with me. This turned into one of those poems where I thought I was writing about one thing and then I’ve gone back to read it and realised it’s about something else entirely.

  5. It is so interesting when different interpretations evolve. Mine was that of a husband who had lost hope, perhaps because of an illness. The flow of your poem was very nice as well.

Please take the time to tell me what you think, I love receiving feedback. :)

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