The Visitor

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



Resting on an uphill slope,
with ripples lapping stones
in sinking sun,
sudden breezes
rustling silver birch leaves,
like an Eastern incantation,
invoke an eerie feeling,
of being covertly visited,
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,
did it return to comfort again,
bring them together too,
by some mysterious emanation?
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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