#mediums - Hello Poetry

*No One Dies In Lilydale Lilydale Driving through a misty autumn night I lost my way with no one in sight A ghostly town in the gloom appeared Eerie visions in a haunting light Old gingerbread houses on a silent street The night wind it starts to wail Not a soul about here to meet A signpost foretells of a strange tale Reading “no one dies in Lilydale” Each home had a strange shingle Reading them my spine did tingle Talk you lost love step this way We speak with the dead every day Over forty signs on every picket gate Lilydale is the center of the spirit talkers My soul was troubled I had lost my love If only I could speak with her from up above How I would say what had been missed Her perfect loving and her sweet kiss Trembling as I knocked on the door An aged wrinkled woman I saw Come here my son come in from the rain Your love shall speak to you once again We sat on her sofa she took my hand She said your love is here Beside you she does stand You two will meet again When your time on earth is done Now you must take care of your young son Do everything that you can To bring him up to be a good man I could feel her, she is close to me My terror is gone I lose my fears My eyes are streaming loving tears I say I love you honey please don’t go Please stay with me how I need you so The old lady said your love has gone I drive away out of the misty place Tears still streaming down my face My task is now renewed My son I will never fail You know that no one dies in Lillydale*

0

Dec 11, 2015

Dec 11, 2015 at 3:39 PM UTC

jude-kyrie

lilydale NY state where the spirits live (a real place)

*No One Dies In Lilydale Lilydale Driving through a misty autumn night I lost my way with no one in sight A ghostly town in the gloom appeared Eerie visions in a haunting light Old gingerbread houses on a silent street The night wind it starts to wail Not a soul about here to meet A signpost foretells of a strange tale Reading “no one dies in Lilydale” Each home had a strange shingle Reading them my spine did tingle Talk you lost love step this way We speak with the dead every day Over forty signs on every picket gate Lilydale is the center of the spirit talkers My soul was troubled I had lost my love If only I could speak with her from up above How I would say what had been missed Her perfect loving and her sweet kiss Trembling as I knocked on the door An aged wrinkled woman I saw Come here my son come in from the rain Your love shall speak to you once again We sat on her sofa she took my hand She said your love is here Beside you she does stand You two will meet again When your time on earth is done Now you must take care of your young son Do everything that you can To bring him up to be a good man I could feel her, she is close to me My terror is gone I lose my fears My eyes are streaming loving tears I say I love you honey please don’t go Please stay with me how I need you so The old lady said your love has gone I drive away out of the misty place Tears still streaming down my face My task is now renewed My son I will never fail You know that no one dies in Lillydale*

44

Of all the ways I know, writing's the fastest, in head, out mouth, out hand, out there.

0

Aug 2, 2017

Aug 2, 2017 at 10:48 AM UTC

themolluscdimension

Writing's the fastest

Of all the ways I know, writing's the fastest, in head, out mouth, out hand, out there.

4

I may not be as horrible as hunger burning like salt in a wound or as cruel as centuries of colonizers but I can be almost as unbearable. When the weight and wrath of reality seeps in, I spew it out. I take others along for a weeping woeful ride, knowing all too well that my universe of pain is so intense that they would live in it too. I saw no problem with this until the wrath was no longer mine but the world’s. Now I try to sit with the feeling instead of becoming it. I never want to be the one who does not get to collect a new harvest of mangoes worrying about the rain.

0

Apr 4, 2021

Apr 4, 2021 at 5:38 PM UTC

kay-ann-1

Advice for critics, Capricorns and mediums

I may not be as horrible as hunger burning like salt in a wound or as cruel as centuries of colonizers but I can be almost as unbearable. When the weight and wrath of reality seeps in, I spew it out. I take others along for a weeping woeful ride, knowing all too well that my universe of pain is so intense that they would live in it too. I saw no problem with this until the wrath was no longer mine but the world’s. Now I try to sit with the feeling instead of becoming it. I never want to be the one who does not get to collect a new harvest of mangoes worrying about the rain.

26

They come to claim the carcasses whispering sweetly underground tentacles returning energy back to the earth ******* and spitting pumping their wisdom into the dirt Swaying slowly craning their heads towards the sun These humble creatures in clusters dot the wooded bog their work mostly undetected to human eyes speaking in ancient languages and casting spells carefully tending the land, keeping the peace mushroom mediums between the living and the dead pulsing with fungal renewal holding the power of natures neural network a vast information of knowledge unknown

0

Oct 24, 2020

Oct 24, 2020 at 11:52 PM UTC

mmparker178

Mediums

They come to claim the carcasses whispering sweetly underground tentacles returning energy back to the earth ******* and spitting pumping their wisdom into the dirt Swaying slowly craning their heads towards the sun These humble creatures in clusters dot the wooded bog their work mostly undetected to human eyes speaking in ancient languages and casting spells carefully tending the land, keeping the peace mushroom mediums between the living and the dead pulsing with fungal renewal holding the power of natures neural network a vast information of knowledge unknown

18