The wood room door was opened wide I closed it firm last night. I woke at four and felt it's breath It gave me quite a fright. I felt it's chilly, gentle breath Exhaling on my brow And upright in my skinny bed Roared "Get thee gone ghost, ******* now!"
With naked shanks I padded forth To set and light the fire Whilst outside in the wilderness I could hear the specter's ire, It moved about deliberately, It stalked outside my room. I warmed my *** by fires heat And cursed to dispel doom.
That icy feeling permeates It reaches to the bone, It is far to early for a call Yet there's the ringing phone, I listen to the vacant hiss, There's no one there of course So I bellow forth obscenities And hang up with a curse.
Old Basil told me of the time He watched with open mouth Whilst a faceless man in hounds tooth coat Glided past him from the south. The housemaids tell with fear filled eyes Of depressions on the bed Where something sat and rested there Laid down it's weary head. Except the house was empty then, Unoccupied by guests. No cat nor dog nor friendly hog, Nobody playing jests.
Some nights I walk the corridors To see what I can see And I fancy Thomas Dawson's ghost Is quietly watching me, For he only shows his bearded face At the darkest witching hour And it's usually in the dead of night To the echo's of the old clock tower When the mountain looms above the lodge Enshrouded in the mist, And the morepork calls its haunting sound And the snow is moonlight kissed.
Marshalg Dawson Falls Lodge TARANAKI,New Zealand. 18th August 2008 - From Watching the Ripples Radiate