The Visitor

the lost child may mingle with you when pensively receptive; fictional



Resting on an uphill slope,
ripples lapping stones
in sinking sun,
sudden breezes,
rustling silver birch leaves,
like an Eastern incantation,
invoke an eerie feeling –
a visitation,
of being beseeched,
by someone known.
Our last spring here,
wading in lakeside reeds to peep
in hanging nests;
the slightest sound,
a twig snapped underfoot,
opening fluffy beaks in silent chorus.
Now, the iron bite of autumn
chills late summer air,
spiders have closed down-filled cups.
We lost each other
on the eve of midsummer
as fledglings spiralled away,
each along its own spoke
to face raw winter’s grim selection;
struggling on alone;
did they miss that cosy, native embrace,
as I missed you now,
knowing you were near?
For, deeper feelings once shared,
simultaneously eclipsing,
become a strong force;
tonight, in a calmer moment,
in darkening dusk,
two forms of existence,
by some strange membrane,
briefly touched.

© gothicman 2017
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critique and comments welcome.

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6 Comments on "The Visitor"

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Oh the sadness shown here, the feeling of loss. I can’t imagine the loss of a child. I have friends who have been through it, nothing can ever be the same. Difficult to say you enjoyed the read, but you expressed the feelings well Trevor. You know me, I would have used less words, and ones I could spell HaHa!


A very moving poem, Trevor, written very sensitively. I think some poems benefit from more words, whereas some are better written in a more concise way. I think this is just right.


Aw heck… too sad, Very accomplished poetry again… gotta find something happier to read now. Best regards, Mick.

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