Day 9 - Another Poem Would Be Fine

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Time for a darker poem. I due claim to be a writer of horror, given the chance. Hopefully, this will be posted before midnight and thus finished before the day is officially over*.

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Storm Spirit



I swear I felt a chill,

A chill I'd felt before.

It was not from the winds of this dark storm

Beating against my door

That stirred this feeling



No, the crackling fire

Is quite enough to warm me.

Yet I feel the cold surround my body,

Penetrating to such a degree

That, at times, I shudder uncontrollably.



And, no, not this storm,

Nor any like it since that night

When Fletcher, a man I knew well,

Disappeared from sight

Beneath a storm-tossed sea.



I swear, I did not believe

That we could find him in such a tempest.

And I, being captain of that ill-dated vessel,

Ordered that we should not test

The small ship's integrity against such a thunderous gale.



I could not risk the other men aboard, could I?

Your understanding is all I ask.

And his, though on such nights as this

I sense his presence approaching, taking me to task

For his gelid demise.



I know he waits for me

In the shadows, cold and wet.

I spy the gloomy adumbration

Of his spirit that I cannot forget

Even when the sun return to my eyes.



I hear him, too,

In each hum and hiss of the wind

That whispers my name in his voice.

If I could live that night again and rescind

That fateful order, I surely would, if only for my own sanity.



And more than once

I considered that a pistol's fiery blast at my head

Might finally silence

The whisperings, the howlings of the dead,

But I am unsure if this is true.



I pull the blanket over me

Sitting in my chair,

Lifting a brandy to my lips

Fending off the icy wetness in my hair,

Dripping from my pores.



No, it is not the sheets of rain,

But my own sweat

That dampens my body with salty water,

The same as he surely felt, and yet

My torment never ends.



Yes, I get a reprieve

With the end of each storm,

Though even as the sun rises

I can close my eyes and envision his form

Slipping under the waves.



And though I can see a faint lightening of the sky

As the night ends,

I cannot rejoice as I am without hope

That I can make meaning amends

Before the next storm—and Fletcher—comes again.



                      K.R. Smith

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*I'm trying to write a poem each day for National Poetry Month. It's difficult to come up with original titles (that are interesting) for each post. I chose silly instead.



 Here are the links to the poems so far:



   Day 1 National Poetry Month - Kick-off (National Poetry Month)

   Day 2 Haiku, For You (Haiku)

   Day 3 A Poem For Free (The Good Morning Man)

   Day 4 Wait, There's Even More (Monday)

   Day 5 I'm Still Alive (TMI)

   Day 6 I'm Resorting To Tricks (A Walk Through Kipling's Wood)

   Day 7 It Almost Like Poetry Heaven (Metal Monsters)

   Day 8 I've Got A Lot On My Plate (The Ides Of April)

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