A Night In The Old Lighthouse Poem by Pete Crowther
A Night In The Old Lighthouse
The lock is stiff, the heavy wooden door
On rusted hinges creaks as I walk in.
Tonight I am to sleep here in this lighthouse.
It’s twenty years since last its scything beam
Shone out at night to warn approaching ships
Where danger lay in sandbanks, shoals, and rocks.
For more than ninety years each night the light
Was lit and monitored by quiet careful men,
The lighthouse keepers. I can see them now
In dark blue uniforms and caps, brass buttons
Polished, mutton whiskers, waistcoats, pipes
And silver pocket watches hung from chains.
How different now, just empty rooms and ghosts
That throw pale shadows on their rounded walls.
I climb alone the winding spiral stair
And listen to the echoes of my steps,
They seem too loud and likely to disturb
The crowded ghosts that lurk behind each door
And might resent my presence here tonight.
The light that filters through the narrow window
On each floor begins to fade as finally I reach
The top and climb into the glass-walled room
That used to house the turning lantern light:
The sea is calm tonight and far below
The distant ships seem little more than specks
Upon the darkening waters of the coming night.
I’m loth to turn and leave this still light room
To pass those empty rooms and hear their echoes
Or see upon the curving stair some darker
Shadow that may be something lurking there.
It seemed a good idea to volunteer
To spend a night in this lighthouse all alone
But that was in the pub, all light and laughter.
I start reluctantly my downward steps
Below and know this night has scarce begun …
Well to tell u the truth i wouldn't call that a poem it is a kind of short story written in a poem FORMAT BUT KEEP IN MIND THAT I AM NOT A POET but it is coollllllll!
Hey..K, those who can't do.....CRITICIZE. :) , By the way cool poem Pete, One of my favourites.
How nostalgic for you...yes, this is full of memories and atmosphere, but I think you do it injustice not to work at it more and get some rhythm and meter going. Maybe shorter lines and more meter? I loved it. I wouldn't be content to sleep on it.
Peter, I loved this night of sharpened senses and a glimpse into the world of the invisible. Julia
Caught myself looking over my shoulder even tho' I don't believe in ghosts, and I could hear the low of the foghorn. How still and eerie the night, and how vivid your memory of things like brass buttons and mutton chop whiskers. Fantastic mind pictures. Linda
Fantastic imagery in this poem Peter. I particularly enjoyed the alliterated words sprinkled throughout. Well done. I shall read more of your work. Regards, Sherry Pedersen
You did well in creating a mood. We were there with you all the way. Good poem. Raynette
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/22/2024 11:08:14 AM # 1.0.0.1119
A fine sense of atmospheric night Linda