The Silence Amongst the Graves
By Chris Forbes (2007)
In night’s shroud
sleeps
Lifeless shards glitter
In silent skies so
far away;
Then, amongst ancient
tombs and
Headstones, gentle
shadows play.
Into the silence and
moonlight
And solemn shadows
of dark,
Comes forth a poor
young poet,
To assuage his mournful
heart,
Pausing before the
headstone
Of she whom he loved…and
hark!
The wind sighs as he
lowers himself
Onto overgrown grasses
below,
Their wild profusion
upon her grave,
And weeps, for he can’t
let her go.
Of the lost, beloved
Lenore, alas,
No nepenthe for Edgar
A. Poe!
Grief unrelenting,
fire undimmed
Was the pain into which
it grew.
But does not love death
transcend?
With dawn shall come
the dew,
Whence E.A. Poe arises,
coughing,
(Soon death shall claim
him too).
And this portrayal
is accurate,
For, you see, my tale
is true,
The ghosts of love
will not depart,
Nor my soul that abides
with you.
Lavinia
By Chris Forbes (2007)
In a moment of sweet
passion,
I was drawn in by her
eyes,
For, although I loved
her deeply,
I wasn’t very
wise.
Those weird words she’s
spoken
Have paralyzed my mind.
I’m not even
sure she’s human,
As she travels out
beyond time,
Taking me on strange
journeys,
Where silent spaces
roar,
And oncoming tides
of darkness
Exude from distant
shores.
Her caresses make me
shudder,
And her love leaves
me inclined
To follow where she
leads me,
Through outer space
and time.
Moon Madness
By Chris Forbes (2007)
I’m not myself,
nor have I been
Myself for many a day,
Whirlpools in my memory,
My cogency swept away.
Shadows come when midnight
falls
In darkling dust along
the walls.
Once again, my reason
ends,
As do my recollections…
By moonlight’s
gleam I rise in dream—
Without memory of where
I’ve gone.
If only I knew where
I have been
And why I’ve
roamed so far from home!
Then, holding still,
I recollect
An elusive glimpse
I soon forget,
Where, by moonlight,
I once went—
My journey’s
configuration.
The Wanderer
By Chris Forbes (2007)
In the night, the pale
moonlight
Lends spectral illusion
to dream,
And shadows thronging
night meadows
Are melting like mists
on a stream.
I’ve traveled
through darkness and sorrow,
And wandered the spectrum
of dreams.
With an hourglass and
my teardrops,
I’ve listened
to echoes and screams.
I’m weary of
songs built on sorrow,
That enlighten the
silence of night.
My shadow will no longer
follow
My travels twixt darkness
and light.
Lunaphasia
By Chris Forbes (2007)
Is it a dream or lunacy?
Am I losing my mind?
For, I’ve been
walking in my sleep
These nights of autumn
time.
I’ve had such
frightful dreams
Since I was very young.
Sometimes they’d
find me dazed,
Unaware of all I’d
done.
Where I journey in
my sleep,
I honestly don’t
know,
Always affected by
the moon’s
Enthralling, lurid
glow.
I rise to walk the
countryside,
Where the night wind’s
chilly breath
Whispers her secret
songs to me,
As the old year nears
death.
Wearing many-colored
leaves,
When the wild lupine
blooms,
Darkly mantled clouds
prevail,
As my sleepwalk resumes.
Where I’ve been,
what I’ve done,
I honestly can’t
say,
Except I go where shadows
run
And ghost musicians
play.
The Poet
By Chris Forbes (2007)
When the wind sighs
through the sky
In strange, dark hours
past midnight,
And shadows leer and
beckon
In the dense, uncertain
light.
I’m torn between
illusions
And presumed reality,
As I struggle to decipher,
Just where I’d
rather be.
And as my candle flickers,
I’m trapped in
space and time.
If I’m not between
dimensions,
I’m at least
beyond my mind.
In the strange dark
hours past midnight,
Once phantasms have
come and gone,
Returned to sanity’s
pretense,
I dream I awake at
dawn.
Melancholia
By Chris Forbes (2007)
Where I roam in solitude,
Why grieve so, my sorrowed
heart—
When seasons change
and shadows drift?
Diminished sunlight,
shifting mood,
Bring sorrow that will
not depart,
Deny solace’s
desired gift.
Their Touch Is Cold
By Chris Forbes (2007)
Whispers ride the flowing
wind,
As shadows, creeping,
close me in;
I hear them softly,
strangely call,
See vague reflections
on the wall,
And then, as moonlight
seems to wane,
They flutter to my
window pane,
To pause without and
call my name,
Then seep inside to
drain my brain.
Their touch is cold;
my brow is warm.
I know they mean to
do me harm.
In dreams I scream,
and cannot breathe;
They will not, will
not, will not leave,
But only linger on
and on,
Until dispersed by
blessed dawn.
Out of Sleep and Dreaming
By Chris Forbes (2007)
I do not sleep as others
do.
Why? I cannot really
say,
For night finds me
recumbent,
And I just drift away…
To starry realms that
Lovecraft knew,
And Poe, in drunken
slumber, too…
From which I waken
trembling,
Although I lie there
wondering,
To consider where I’ve
been,
Time, space and dream
traversed,
And, then, to save
my sanity,
I compose my haunted
verse.
Star Maiden
By Chris Forbes (2007)
She wandered in with
the night,
Like a shadow taking
flight,
A notion born of a
whim,
(I’d like to
know how she got in!)—
For, in my fear, she
makes me weak;
Her violet gaze seems
to speak,
Reflecting the pale
moonlight,
Shining back at me,
much too bright,
Until my mind’s
no longer free.
Could she be the death
of me?
The wind and darkness
in her song,
I turn around…to
find her gone.
Innusmuth Bride
By Chris Forbes (2007)
Am I in love, or have
I lost my mind?
She says she’s
from beyond space and time.
My poor, sad, bewildered
heart
Is hers now, and we’ll
never part.
On moonlit seas we
disport and play
With strange shapes
that fade away.
Neither sea-spawned,
nor of humanity,
My bride’s relations
welcome me
Among them, changed
so strangely,
Able to breathe beneath
the sea,
To swim through kelp-hung
ruins old,
In fathoms deep, wine-dark,
and cold—
Wherein loom shapes
elephantine,
From out of space and
out of time,
Ruled by Cthulhu, rising
tall
To cast his shadow
over all!
New Arrivals
By Chris Forbes (2007)
In the dark depths
of the night,
When the moon is full
and bright,
And the pulsing of
my heart,
Seems to tear the night
apart,
Comes a whisper on
the wind,
Certain stars are seen
to spin,
And then start to separate…
Something’s coming
through the gate!
For the summons called
us here
In the autumn of the
year
To see certain stars
displace…
And welcome others
of our race!
Long we’ve worn
the guise of man,
Who knew nothing of
our plan,
How we secretly prepare
For the time that’s
growing near.
Even now, it’s
close at hand:
Ours shall be the world
of man!
In the Garden of Death
By Chris Forbes (2007)
October’s dire,
chilly breath
Sighs through the graveyard,
That ancient Garden
of Death.
Trees reach leafless
branches
To overcast skies above;
Leaves drift over those
who
Once did live and love.
I wander through the
silence
That settles in the
fall,
Reminded how we all
face
One final curtain call…
There, despite the
shadows,
My hand finds a stone
dove,
And recalls the Source
of Life,
Where death shall die,
not love.
Chris Forbes, who welcomes correspondence via snail-mail to 3915 Delta Fair Blvd. #15, Antioch, CA, 94509, and is our featured poet,
has no e-mail. Chris is a long-time BP contributor of poems and short stories. He composes and plays music, and is a
nondenominational Christian minister. His STRANGE GARDENS OF THE MIND was published by Fossil Publications in 2006.
