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Present Day Haunting
by Kristina Woodhilli.
it is a haunting
and this my exorcise
by writing
it is a Poe-sian existence
where the dead end
meets the wall
it is a crushing
feel the heart begin
attacking
as the rib cage
keeps compression
stint inserts arterial
it is a presence
past events always
arising
a stacking second
looking when a phantom
meets its mime
it is recurrent
the quarters
always jamming
a phone call
that keeps ringing
but will never
give the time
ii. first sighting
in his glance a warning
prefaced by the friend
who knows him now
and knew him then
"would you like to hear his story?
there will be a bit of gore, he
is a man who tripped the edge
of new age, always hunting,
fumbling for that new stage
new stage, new stage
see the eyes filled now with presage
from a look back where he hedged."
iv.
how do i write about a man
who's been inside a horse?
what can i say about a man
who's used a knife that way?
who were the hunters in this frozen
blizzard tragedy and who,
sweet precious lord,
who
were the prey?
v. last sighting
the trembles came on gently
etching slowly 'cross the pane
the fingers try to follow
smearing cursives, once a name
upright
he's a
fir cone
as he's
balanced
on the limb
and awaits
the final
shatter
scales
falling
loosed
and thin
11/17/2008 Author's Note: A friend introduced me to this man. We were all parents of cub scouts. He was one of the most physically beautiful men I have met, kind of a new age character, soulfully caring for his son, in a profession of service - a fireman. In 1983, a few years before we met, he and a hunting partner were caught in an Idaho blizzard with their horses. Unable to start a fire they made the agonizing decision to shoot their horses, spending the night inside the steaming bodies to survive. Shortly after I met him he was diagnosed with Parkinson's which, over the past 20 some years, has slowly done its steady etching on his body. The last time I saw him he amazingly still recognized me, though I had to look carefully to see the man I had known. As he walked slowly by supported by his walker, we spoke simple greetings. He continues to work in some capacity for the fire department and I think of him from time to time, now trapped inside a different sort of horse.
Posted on 11/18/2008
Copyright © 2025 Kristina Woodhill
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by George Hoerner on 11/18/08 at 08:44 PM Quite a tribute I'd say lady. Well done. Who knows what we would do in the same circumstance. |
| Posted by Charles E Minshall on 11/18/08 at 08:47 PM Thats quite a tale Lori....CharMin |
| Posted by Charles E Minshall on 11/18/08 at 11:28 PM Kris....CharMin |
| Posted by Gregory O'Neill on 11/19/08 at 04:35 AM Kristine....'tis a gentle, gentle pen with which you tell this touching tale. Too many good lines to call one out, although (can't help myself) "dead end meets the wall" and "phantom meets his mime" are really nice. I hope he or someone close to him (or both) get to read this. Compassionate, lovely poetics.Thanks. |
| Posted by Elizabeth Jill on 11/20/08 at 12:32 AM Hushed amazement. |
| Posted by Quentin S Clingerman on 11/20/08 at 02:53 AM Terrific! Poe who much approve! |
| Posted by Bruce W Niedt on 11/20/08 at 05:15 AM This is really fine stuff, but Part IV especially knocked my socks off.... d:-) |
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