“The Manor Ghost” by Kimberly Schols

The rain drops drum

Against rippled glass,

Grey distant views disappear,

And yellowed etchings

Curl and die in their gilded frames.

The damp rises.

A sting upon my senses.

Carpets soiled and bare

Hide many the stains of

Long forgotten parties.

 

If I was to climb that staircase

And feel the soft cool

Railing against my palm,

Would I ever really touch

What went before.

What spirits, souls and beings

Flitted through the hallways

And are reflected in the mirrors.

 ***

Note: This piece was written at the September 2022 Briars Writing Retreat. For details of upcoming writers’ retreats, see here (and scroll down).

Kimberly Schols is following her muse and letting it inspire her pen and her brush - grateful for the space to do that.  Kimberly holds a M. A. in Counselling Psychology and an M.B.A. in Marketing, has raised two fearless, horse loving daughters and lives in Oakville and Arizona with Hans.  Kimberly was raised in the utopian town of Deep River, the unusual home of atomic science, which might explain her artistic sensitivities.

See all of Brian Henry’s upcoming weekly writing classes, one-day workshops, and weekend retreats here.