the first violin and other ghostly verses

Slow progress, but I am now left with just one collection of written work to bind up into a book format. It has been quite an undertaking, but in the end it is only the ghosts that remain. Fitting, really.

The heading for this post is the likely title for the collection of ghost-style poems. Very much my own take on what a ghost might be and how it is likely to be encountered in everyday life.

The first violin poem is a little more of a flight of fancy than most, but a piece that I enjoyed writing very much.

This ghost collection came about, once again, as a result of my wanting a piece that I could submit for the Rainforest Writers anthology – Short Stories of Ghosts and Graves, which was recently released. For the anthology I ended up writing a small story of everyday murder and suicide, called Coming. I’m hoping to record it for my Youtube channel soon, but work is a little draining at present, so it has to wait for a little while. I think it is a piece worth hearing, but I confess to bias.

In any case, as I was scratching around to come up with material for submission I wrote a long series of poems on the ghostly theme, and the poem below was a pleasure to allow myself to be carried away by during the writing.

I hope you enjoy it, and should I not make it back to do any more posting this side of the festive days, I wish you and all who visit here the very best for this reflective and festive time of the year.

the first violin (I washed myself) away

the first violin
was the last one
to know

he stood
in his place

eyes closed

as he drew down

his weight on the bow
called a slow

I played along

until he
would I

there was no one
could be sure
of how it would end

while we waited
the tune
trembled on

and the waters
kept time
as they rose

by level

but his eyes
remained closed
and he held on
to his notes

I believe
that he knew
his bow drew again
and again
while it could

I began
from the song
or the flood . . .

I don’t know

but I heard
his sweet notes
as I washed

and was washed

my own

some nights now
l lie
awake in the darkness
that will not be
as dark
as that night

not ever

and I think
I can hear

it’s more
I can feel him

a trembling note
held long
by one violin

the first violin
who played

I wash myself


9 thoughts on “the first violin and other ghostly verses

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