Haunted Poems

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
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FROM off a hill whose concave womb reworded
A plaintful story from a sistering vale,
My spirits to attend this double voice accorded,
And down I laid to list the sad-tuned tale;
Ere long espied a fickle maid full pale,
Tearing of papers, breaking rings a-twain,
Storming her world with sorrow's wind and rain.
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By a route obscure and lonely,
Haunted by ill angels only,
Where an Eidolon, named NIGHT,
On a black throne reigns upright,
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In Xanadu did Kubla Khan
A stately pleasure-dome decree :
Where Alph, the sacred river, ran
Through caverns measureless
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I have dreamed of you so much that you are no longer real.
Is there still time for me to reach your breathing body, to kiss your mouth and make
your dear voice come alive again?
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Five years have past; five summers, with the length
Of five long winters! and again I hear
These waters, rolling from their mountain-springs
With a soft inland murmur.--Once again
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O! nothing earthly save the ray
(Thrown back from flowers) of Beauty's eye,
As in those gardens where the day
Springs from the gems of Circassy-
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Unwillingly Miranda wakes,
Feels the sun with terror,
One unwilling step she takes,
Shuddering to the mirror.
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Have you forgotten yet?...
For the world's events have rumbled on since those gagged days,
Like traffic checked while at the crossing of city-ways:
And the haunted gap in your mind has filled with thoughts that flow
...

I leant upon a coppice gate,
When Frost was spectre-gray,
And Winter's dregs made desolate
The weakening eye of day.
...

They lie, the men who tell us in a loud decisive tone
That want is here a stranger, and that misery's unknown;
For where the nearest suburb and the city proper meet
...

The houses are haunted
By white night-gowns.
None are green,
Or purple with green rings,
...

Whenever I walk to Suffern along the Erie track
I go by a poor old farmhouse with its shingles broken and black.
I suppose I've passed it a hundred times, but I always stop for a minute
And look at the house, the tragic house, the house with nobody in it.
...

There was a time when meadow, grove, and stream,
The earth, and every common sight,
To me did seem
Apparelled in celestial light,
The glory and the freshness of a dream.
...

In the greenest of our valleys
By good angels tenanted,
Once a fair and stately palace-
Radiant palace- reared its head.
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I was born to a home
Where every body calls it Mr.X's home
I was married to a Home
Where everybody calls it Mr.Y's home
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Love is all embracing,
Pure and sublime
Which flows and keeps flowing
Like a never ending stream;
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The Frost performs its secret ministry,
Unhelped by any wind. The owlet's cry
Came loud--and hark, again ! loud as before.
The inmates of my cottage, all at rest,
...

Reubens, river of forgetfulness, garden of sloth,
Pillow of wet flesh that one cannot love,
But where life throngs and seethes without cease
Like the air in the sky and the water in the sea.
...

The skies they were ashen and sober;
The leaves they were crisped and sere-
The leaves they were withering and sere;
It was night in the lonesome October
...

Passage
Passage
Passage over the haunted seas
Passage
...

Like as to a piano playing the deft hands
Of the haunted fairy
In the haunted fairy town
Flowers like gloves shall flourish
...

In the depths of night, where shadows creep,
A haunting presence, a secret to keep,
A tale of darkness, of despair and pain,
In this Gothic realm, where souls remain.
...

In the stillness of the night, where shadows linger,
A whisper of a soul, a memory that lingers,
In the realm between life and the unknown,
A tale of love and loss, of seeds that were sown.
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I am
I'm the writer of my yarn
I am the painter of my doom
Thousands of phantoms here me warn
...

Can not say but hermes is angry this day, the god of traders will find, his revenge to define, the world left him far behind, was the man as on or a prayer? the affected few knew who but can't say, a secret you say, watching the action happen as the truth keeper was horrified, humans so creature but judgmental, the sinners are haunted down without mercy, the final shadow he's did see and yet did weep as peace was fulfilled, the mystery was solved as hermes was satisfied, the shadows garbled on the soul lost, no mortal ever escaped, the death that was never reckoned.
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THE BLESSED AND THE DAMNED

COPYRIGHT {C} 2021
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haunting
when we are in haunting
we
be in a world different:
...