Ghosts Of The Foothills

Ghosts Of The Foothills short poem

Four deep behind bevelled glass
Glazed by dreams
Of Spanish Isles of turquoise
And dark eyed maidens

The smell of damp rock
And kerosene
Breath like iron
Into black rock

Promises to sad wives far away
Children peering through frosty glass
Winter air seeping in
Embers glowing dim, cold

Down, down by cart
Like ugly dolls
Without eyes
Into hope

Three less by morning
Coughing corpses rise toward light
To choke on life’s blossom
Three less wait for the poison.

Rate the poem
1 Star2 Stars3 Stars4 Stars5 Stars (1 votes, average: 3.00 out of 5)
We are posting your rating...

Have something to say about the poem?

Rich Wright

Signup / Login to follow the poet.
Rich is a writer, poet, photographer, creative, wilderness instructor, Eco therapist, explorer and lover of nature and life. He has been to the darkest of places and somehow made it out. He has always been guided by a force that knows what he needs to learn. He has humbled himself before this power many times and continues to move forward, sometimes backwards first, but still forward. Rich knows that his highest purpose is to support others with love and compassion. He is not sure where he is going but he remains awake and fearless on his journey.
Poems you will love

Give your feedback / review for the poem

2 Comments on "Ghosts Of The Foothills"

Notify of
avatar
Sort by:   newest | oldest
Preeti
Member

A poignant point of view on the life of gold miners. Good one!

wpDiscuz

Ghosts Are Not Scary

Ghosts Are Not Scary short poem

I’m sorry, but, ghosts are not scary. They live inside me. They live inside you. And without realizing, they consume us whole Of course, they are here to destroy But the destruction..? It’s so silent And silence, so to say,

13 Ghosts

13 Ghosts long poem

Your house is a historical landmark That’s been passed down from Generation to generation but little Did you know this gift you were About to inherit would cause Great chaos and devastation.. Your ancestors are getting Restless now longing for

Where Ghosts Still Lurk

Where Ghosts Still Lurk short poem

Nothing just Leaves Without the residues. Limbs cut off, leave Phantom ones; Itchy, scratchy ghosts of Those cleaved off an unsuspecting trunk. In sleepless nights, We feel for the ring, In a finger crossed out in red From a hand

Dance Of Ghosts

Dance Of Ghosts long poem

Ghosts dance dark in hallowed places, see them wear familiar faces? With their art my calmness chases and I can quit them not at all. Whirling to some music haunted, dancing while my mind is taunted I bolster but they

Ghosts of Anguish

Ghosts of Anguish short poem

Will the ghosts ever lie down and rest they rose from the anguish of the soul in an instant of morbid pain and they have kept him haunted. He walks like a zombie trying to escape the wrath they inflict