Saturday, April 9, 2016

Day 9 - Another Poem Would Be Fine

Human 76 - A post-apocalyptic secret is in store for you soon!

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*.

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

*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)

© 2012-2016 K. R. Smith All rights reserved


  1. Reminiscent of Poe. Gave me shivers!

    1. Thanks! I was concerned it might come across too much like The Raven, but I did want a hint of it in there!


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