When far away, an interrupted cry is not something you need concern yourself with. Catherine repeated her grandmother’s words softly enough that the room wouldn’t hear them. ‘Pah!’ Her father threw his cards on the coffee table. ‘You cheated!’ He jabbed a fat finger towards his wife. She shrugged and gathered his cards in again. Outside the cry echoed. ‘Catherine! You play the witch, God knows she already has all my money.’ Catherine nodded and slid from the widow seat. It doesn’t do to dwell on lost souls. Her grandmother had said that too. The cards were split and dealt. Two queens and a knave. A house leaking secrets. Another cry. Closer. Louder. ‘Pass or play?’ Catherine shook her head. ‘Pass,’ she whispered. Shadows gathered by the fireplace. She could ignore them, but the play would continue. ‘Pass,’ she whispered. But ghosts never listen. If you would like to join in the dVerse Poets Pub new link up ‘Prosery’ then click the badge above to visit their site. The challenge is to write a piece …
If I could listen to the ghosts within the mist… I might just go mad. My wardrobe divide does not account for seasons. Cold? Just grin and bare.
They rattled around the house at all hours of the night. A three AM door slam then hurried whispers and broken plates. You could hear their footsteps from cellar to attic; not a single room was spared their clamour, but she’d be damned if she let them get the best of her. When she summoned the Reverend, he simply shook his head of perpetually thinning hair and gave a blackened grin. “I’m afraid this is a little out of my league my dear.” he said. “This is beyond your everyday exorcism. Students are somewhat trickier to evict than ghosts.”
I thought it was them, despite all the difference that showed quite clearly: you were in no way the one that I was remembering. This is a combination of two prompts, the first being the official napowrimo prompt to write a ‘tanka’ and another prompt which was to write a poem that starts with seeing some who resembles someone else who is dead.
No.1 I will take my seat, To watch the skeletons dance, While you carve my name. No.2 Crack down to marrow, Beneath the glitter of blood, And the ragged flesh. Written for the ‘Horrid Haiku’ prompt currently running at ‘Morbid-Poets’ on Deviantart.
Here come the footfalls of the ghosts who I used to know, Their faded faces with dull eyes and ears, dimmed years ago. Murmured whispers of stolen memories I hoped lost Gripped tight by claws and cracked hardened flesh. Do not demand I name the worn out spite Where secrets once drifted devoid of tanned light! Hold power or sway over kingdoms held great but pitiful small And waiting for those bent kneed and haggard to fall. Wrap rope around your own stretched necks! For once walk shoulder tall within the men and maul, Spare me the footfalls of abandoned cold ghosts The fear of their tread has long since been dead.