The Floor

For Sanaa’s prompt over at Real Toads. During the war between the states, bodies were stacked up like cordwood. People did the best they could with the wounded, the dying, the dead.  “Werewolves, sirens, mermaids and creatures who devour blood, for centuries these myths and tales have continued to fascinate us. ”  I don’t know if this fits the bill but it is certainly dark, bloody, and full of death.  These tales of the long past dead…

The Floor
“War means fighting, and fighting means killing.” ― General Nathan Bedford Forrest

Here in some of the old buildings
in Richmond in Shockoe Bottom,
where they stored the dead, the dying,
the steadily bleeding…
drip drip dripping on the floors,
From the gurneys, the beds, the operating tables,
from the long gone wounded.
And still the bloodstains keep re-appearing.
Covered over with bricks,
with wood, with tiles,
with cement.
Nothing can make the bloodstains disappear,
the ghosts of soldiers and their blood
are forever imprinted on the building.
they are covered and…they re-appear.
In the 1860’s the building was a hospital.
People say they can see the long dead wounded
walking the halls, the grounds outside,
hear them moaning.
People walk over the bloodstains now.
Most have stopped seeing them long ago.

Richmond Times Dispatch photo

Quadrille Monday: Quadrille #31

Today is Quadrille Monday over at dVerse Poets Pub. The prompts are always interesting and a poem of exactly 44 words is win-win! Come join us for a variety of short short poems based on the word prompt “still”. the word “still” or stillness or other derivative of the word is one of the required 44 words.

the flower moon is waning –
sleepless I drift through the rooms
in my house like a ghost.
shadows from the curtains
throw dappled patterns on the floor –
a puzzle I cannot read.
the stillness is a dull roar in my ears.
the flower moon is waning.

dVerse Poets Pub – Quadrille Monday

Today is Quadrille Monday at the virtual pub – dVerse Poets Pub. Come join us for a day of quadrilles – a poem of exactly 44 words, not counting the title, and using the word of the prompter. Today, the pubtender is Kim Russell and her word of choice is “ghost” (or ghosted, ghosting, etc).

Windblown Birds
the winter day was sunny and warm
as a day in late spring –
And oh, so windy!
Birds were tossed into the sky –
they fluttered like windblown ghosts –
and rippled like long chiffon scarves,
snapping back and forth like pennants

Ghosts of Christmas Past

Kelly is hosting Poetics today at dVerse and the discussion is about smells and how they affect us and how certain smells can evoke memories. Come join the discussion and add your thoughts about smells. I am linking this to dVerse Poets Pub.

Ghosts of Christmas Past 
First week of the New Year –
somehow the world seems a bit deflated –
a shiny balloon at the end of a stick
and hanging limply, almost flat and
oddly wrinkled. Outside the day is
grey – dull and tarnished.
Gone are the lights from the tree
folded and packed in their box
along with the lustrous crystal
ornaments – the corpse of the
now empty tree is lying at
is at the back of our property –
haunted property peopled by
birds and small animals unafraid
of possible specters.
I stand in my denuded living room –
from the corner of my nose
I catch a quick phantasm of pine –
an ectoplasm of orange and cloves
hovers above the desiccated pomander
of an orange studded with cloves.
Cedar swatches and wreath
rest with the skeleton tree –
the spirit of cedar oil lingers
in the place where they hung briefly
but happily – disembodied tang –
One last deep inhale from me
as I smile and bid them reside
in peace until they feel it is time
to move on to their final resting place
in my memory.

Midnight Moon

Tuesday is the Poetics section for d’Verse Poets Pub. I am the pubtender for that day. I am requesting that people write poems about Halloween. It can be a retelling of a local ghost story, something fun about trick or treating, kids, candy, decorations. I chose to go a little dark on this one. This will be linked Tuesday to d’Verse when the post goes “live” or….undead…mmwwwwaaaaaaaaa!

free public domain image

free public domain image

Midnight Moon
and there, beneath the silent moon
leaves rustle under the feet
of silent folk who rise from the earth –
drifts of fog and smoke
blown hither and yon
by an errant breeze.
They pass around us
and through us and we feel the chill
and taste the tears of sorrows
still alive.
Will midnight never come?
Will the moon never hide behind the clouds
casting into deeper darkness
the hearts of those who will not sleep?
I wait…
and still
I wait.
Midnight comes slowly…
Will midnight never come?

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