Paranormal-Themed Poetry
here is a list of the titles of my poems below:
Still Near
Murky Shadows
Dream In Ruffles And Lace
Midnight Flowers
Nurturing Night
Haunting Encounter
Haunting Echoes
Midnight Whispers
Snowflakes
Churchyard Soul
Waning Autumn Moon
(on my song lyrics page, "Silver Rose", "White Nightgown" and "Sheep's-Fleece-Like-Haired Maiden" are also paranormal-themed)
all this site, is copyright Mary Brett.
Still Near
Forever closed, those jet-fringed violet eyes.
Never more, to cast their soulful beams.
Near-ceaseless, harrowing coughing, swooning sighs;
As silenced now, as time-forgotten streams.
A beloved form, and voice, rare lightest tred; -
All vanquished these three years, for She is dead!
Enshrouded away in darkness, like a star,
Their martyred Queen, fey angel, their Mamma.
Then whose dress silken rustles on dark nights?
When all are snug in bed, with gas turned low?
Whose shadow flits, commoting sudden frights,
In maid at stairwell's foot, in pale moonglow?
Whose vi'let water, powder sweets the air,
Where only other flowers' sachets grace?
Comforting alone, five bereaved ones there,
Recalling a soft breast, and saintly face?
Soon sister turns to sister, whispering,
Of visits through their
fog-wreathed windows made,
To two of them, while the rest lie sleeping;
She talking, seeming solid, not a shade.
Dreams, some thought, but in that house of blondeness,
(Apart from mourning bracelets, brooches, ring),
Who left on Aunt's flax plait, in silvered dimness,
A rod-long hair, black as the ravens wing?
Stooping over Aunt, the wraith had kissed her.
Now that brow lies also in the tomb.
For centuries have passed, so time has gathered,
All then there, into it's hallowed gloom.
But, don't think, with all her loved ones now free,
Of earth's leaden fetters, she rests too ...
Her grave, emits healing like a huge tree.
Soak in some - and she may appear - to you!
__________________________________________
Murky Shadows
I sense you watching me,
from the murky shadows.
Stalking me through my dreams.
A dread that's so deep grows!
Were you stood by my bed last night,
whilst I slept, in the bright moonlight,
before I woke, with a jolt of fright,
seeing just empty moonbeams?
Sometimes dreams seem so real,
but they leave no trace by day.
But this one lingers, hasn't gone away,
still moves in the shadows.
When, I woke, with that jolt of fright,
I pictured still, my dream time sight,
of a woman, ghostly pallored white,
with hair like midnight.
Oh, come to me, my dream,
and we will meet by the moonlit stream,
where the weeping willows gleam,
and you will tell me what I need to know.
We'll leave behind the fog and shadow,
And then will I feel my red blood flow,
For, I like - I admit, I liked -
that jolt of fright ...
______________________________
Dream In Ruffles And Lace
Dream In Ruffles And Lace,
don't stir.
With your hair like a lamb's long fleece,
Rolling over your bosom's white, foamy waves, sleep.
Though mists swirl outside your bedroom lattice,
And above them, the moon looms full.
Dream in ruffles and lace,
just sleep.
Though a dog howls in a yard nearby,
Just breathe, your sweet breath out, don't cry.
Thus shimmer the silver flowers,
Embroidered on your nightgown's froth.
Dream, your peaceful dreams,
While something at your bed's foot stirs.
Relive, watching the swans gliding in the glade;
Lately, your compelled tending of a stranger's grave;
And all your cosy, pretty girlish delights.
A black shape rises at the foot of your bed, but, be calm.
It hovers - huge, and swelling - don't alarm.
Though a bat zig-zags squeaking over your chest,
Moonbeams glint from the cross near your throat.
And soon, the scent of violets fills the air,
and the room lightens, grey fog slipping through the casement,
by your Virgin's altar there.
And, now she's here.
The woman you saw in your dressing-table mirror,
in recent candlelight. Small, slight, with bell-shaped skirt,
Black ringlets glossy by her pallid neck.
A cross is near her throat,
A testament in her hand,
And still, the faint lingering of grave-earth's about her;
White poppies edge her veil.
Perhaps, tonight, you will dream of her.
________________________________
Midnight Flowers
midnight flowers
long hair of the dead
something’s stirring
needs to be fed.
mists in the moonlight,
beneath a crimson moon.:
veiled, deep in shadows
that stir within the gloom
always here
never gone, though hidden
something stirs
something needs to be fed
always here
never gone, though hidden
something stirs -
this night it will be fed
_____________________
Nurturing Night
In an old cottage, roofed with thatch,
she dreams beneath the moon.
A long-haired blonde, in ruffled white,
seventeen that June.
And as she dreams, night brings escape,
from scholarly irons, and competitive hate,
for energies stir, through all in that place,
drifting through curtains of lace.
(drifting through curtains,
drifting through curtains,
drifting through curtains,of lace).
Mists are swirling in the marsh,
close by the garden gate.
A black cat steps down an old oak tree,
to the faerie wench who waits.
An owl is hooting, and past the moon,
three bats now hover, a weird triune,
and winds do roam, and rustle the grass,
down to where few footsteps pass.
(down to where few footsteps,
down to where few footsteps,
down to where few footsteps pass).
A clear call has been made;
subconsciously, responsively;
and from it's grave, glides a shade,
to the maid's bedside, by sympathy swayed ...
Fragments linger, in her mind,
as daybreak tints the fields.
Dressing, weary, sad, alone,
to discipline she yields.
But all that day, she'll know the face,
the quaint-toned voice, and the languid grace,
of one, she thinks, was only a dream,
born upon a moonbeam.
Born, upon a moonbeam.
____________________
Haunting Encounter
Trailing, dark ringlets,
dense spirals of night. Lurid, deep bruising,
on arms thin soft white.
Eyes filled with teardrops;
her sobs of heartbreak!
Piteous coughing;
my sentiments wake!
Weeping one, weeping,
deep draw to my soul.
Alone, we're alone here,
with anguish your toll.
Fog swirls in round us.
Fears twinge through my dream.
A tomb, now looms by you ...
you're fading - I scream!
________________
Haunting Echoes
Piteous coughing;
Swooning-time sighs;
Agonised shrieking;
Muffled-toned cries;
Rustling, silk dresses;
Floorboards soft creak;
Heard, deep in midnight,
From empty rooms bleak.
Open the door there,
what would you see?
Gruesome, pale spectres,
making you flee?
Blood-spattered boudoirs -
weird wraiths who weep?
Best keep your door shut,
block it out, and sleep.
_________________
Midnight Whispers
midnight whispers,
within a dream:
midnight whispers,
by starlight's gleam:
moving shadows
ecliptic moon
from the blackness
comes screaming soon
what just happened,
my sister dear,
whose bed lies empty,
in moonlight clear?
Only the forest,
by open window,
we all can see now -
no tracks in the snow.
________________
Snowflakes
Snowflakes
Drifting past the window
Swirling past my mirror
Like wind-blown lace
Snowflakes
Drifting past the back door
casting shadows on the floor
wet on my face
On through them I walk
hearing high-pitched whistling winds
like a voice that whispers of sins
but where are you?
You're gone from the snowflakes
but they are so beautiful
I can't leave their magic now
'Til I rest on your grave
"Snowflakes"
Till I sleep on your grave.
___________________
Churchyard Soul
Oh maiden standing oh so close,
besides the churchyard gate;
leave those friends, and meet me here,
where I wistful wait.
Amongst the ivy-choked gravestones,
where the elm trees trail,
here I hover, with my waist,
so narrow, skin so pale.
Pure milk blonde, streams out your hair,
all rippling in the breeze.
A curious look, comes to your face:
oh yes keep walking please!
Down to where harboured memories ray:
Where shadows gloam, though bright the day:
just soak up a little, of my beams -
then I’ll rise up and walk through your night-times’ dreams!
_______________
Waning Autumn Moon
Oh waning autumn moon that lingers low,
besides, the old church tower, this midnight hour,
bring her to me!
Oh waning autumn moon, vast heaven’s boat,
complete, your languid trail, oh sweet barge pale,
set my love free!
The time is ripe!
The tide, flows almost out, while before me I see,
beyond, those open shutters, my own dear love,
swooning against her pillows, with her throat,
fair bosom and her bed sheets drenched in blood!
An owl screeches in the wood,
and from the gatepost shrieks a banshee’s wail,
as swathed in luscious locks all red like cherries,
she weeps for the milk-blonde maid, whom the earth did bale,
but whom the stars will crown.
________________________
copyright Mary Brett
.