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Fear is fearful, all around in dark of night,
when all is silent, velvet black, no sight,
the stars shine extra bright, while spiders
creep about the wood, moose and mice
might meet, we step on soft things, hard,
not knowing what, the perfume rises
takes the scene; the slightest movement
stirs our thoughts, we listen now intently

focussed, scared, and then the imagination
takes the helm, and steers us into haunted seas,
the shapes of trees we touch, the mud, or turf
beneath begins to sway, All Hallows wakes
the saints, the earth inhabited gives voice,
even though no sound is heard, all in the mind,
its us who makes the fear seem strong,
when there was absolutely nothing all along.

Style / type: 
Free verse
Last few words: 
Just written, we are doing the subject Fear in our French classes, and it just came to me from experience of the woods at night, but I wasn't scared at all.
Editing stage: 


I for one am terrified of the woods
(childhood tales to keep us from wandering away)
but it was my father who sat on a hunt line and would
come to tell us poems he made up and the faces
he saw in the trees..I like the tale feel of this!

Thank You!

I was reminded of a time that I complained to my mother about having to take out the garbage at night. She told me that there is nothing so scary as what the mind can concieve of. I sometime still think about what might happen, but then remember that if you just think of the bad things that could happen, you might never try some of the things bring great pleasure. [After having had four motorbike accidents], if I stopped to think about what could happen, I might never ride again! What a shame to miss out on all the beauty of the twisty roads as I fly low along the highway like a big bird! Lovely to see you here my Queen, ~ Sir Gee

This must be the place, 'cause there ain't no place like this place anywhere near this place

I didn't think this a final draught, but I see it awoke the sense of danger in the dark.

I used to see shapes in the yew tree, tall, outside my bedroom window,
and feel that they somehow dominated me; and when my mother said
that Santa Claus would come down the chimney on Christmas Eve I asked,
"If Santa comes down my chimney, mummy, can God pull him up again?"

The days of fireplaces in the bedrooms!! We posted the letter to Santa up inside the chimney; here is one of mine when I was about five or so, years old:-

Dear Santa Clause,

My wish this Christmas would be that I could have a fountain pen, a loom, a pair of slacks, a bible, and any money would do towards my dog, a record of "Moulin Rouge" called "where is your heart", a scotch kilt, a bicycle bell, a bicycle light, one of the little wirelesses about as big as your fist. some ink in a bottle because at school we run out of it over at the house.
I kow that all those cannot be got.
I hope you have a good journey and don't get too cold, if you do come to me.
Love from

wonder what I meant by "come to me?" :) love to you tooooo thank you my knight,
Ann regina.

"The image of yourself which you see in a mirror Is dead,
but the reflection of the moon on water, lives." Kenzan.

author comment

Your poem brought back memories, being on the way home late. Me and my gang all just a little bit to loud, trying to convince one and other we were not afraid of the dark. Imaginations running riot, i was not really that scared. I know it sounds brave of me now, But i always believed no one could see in the dark as well as me, all the movie heroes could see best in the dark. Great poem great fun. Love Roscoe..

Roscoe Llane,

Religion will rip your faith off, and return
for the mask of disbelief that's left.

You capture all the dim fears of the deep woods on a dark night. I recall approaching a high tree stand one dark predawn morning. Just as I put my foot on the 1st step a bobcat cut loose nearby. I don't recall the other 30 steps but I DID make it up that tree in record time lol............stan

Oh I can see you Stan, shinning up that tree like a squirrel
and looking down keeping still as a statue as they do.
Its the sudden sounds that startle when its dark.

The horse shies at sudden white shapes just as frightened
of the unknown; and I read a poem to my friend yesterday,
it starts "Splash, and thursday fell from the sky" and I said it
all of a sudden, and she really jumped. It is nice to have at
least one person who enjoys listening to one reading one's
poems out loud; there aren't many interested enough are there?
Some have outlets, I think Anna does, in Cleveland they have
poetry reading, but there isn't anything I know of here in Oslo,
and not in English then!!

Glad you liked the letter Sir Gee, love to both Ann.

"The image of yourself which you see in a mirror Is dead,
but the reflection of the moon on water, lives." Kenzan.

author comment

your letter to Santa. Stan, you were just startled! LOL. ~ Sir Gee

This must be the place, 'cause there ain't no place like this place anywhere near this place

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