Poem Hunter
The Ghost
(9th March 1948 / Gateshead, County Durham)

The Ghost

Poem By Brian Routh

Unfolding the parchment from it’s hook
Lengths lengths
Evergreen the holy face fresh tingling pine
Alone the magical muse
Uncanny spurning
Sparkling glowing

Seeming alone in the house with the Ghost
Always present
Always there
But where?

Why can’t I touch Him?
Why can’t I feel Him?
Why can’t I love Him?

I want to see the ghost
Deep in the web
Lost in the strands
Their ways so fine
Taking me through strange places
Marching looking waving singing trailing
Sailing plane flat up the mound and down again
He leaves more bored than puzzled
Fighting the situation that would be right for some
The window open
Rapping with the exciting wind
Running wild
Not knowing where to turn
Caught in the classical noise
That ends at the waters’ edge
Where the mighty sea begins
Waves crashing bashing smashing thrashing splashing
The sharp explosion
The ovation loud wild blind tears
Cheers cheers yells screams
In it’s full glory beside the ice flows
The rivers that freeze

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