I’m not scared of negotiating with the dead.

In this spectred Isle

There are ways of seeing memories

of the lost melted into air,

There are ways of seeing Mrs Hurst, dancing

on a cold mountain,

There are ways of seeing a headless horseman

through the mist in the mirror.

At the break of dark

in grey granite haunted houses

I hear a swift pure cry

and I breathe in.

I am the visionary on the secret path to

the shadowlands,

Calling a dead man and

writing down the bones.


‘Tis to die for.


K.M.Lockwood 2011

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.