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Tuesday, October 31, 2006

The Ghost Ball



I wrote this poem "Flora" sometime ago in May.I got the idea for the "The Ghost Ball" from it.The story continues on from "Flora". I hope you like it.To all A HAPPY HALLOWEEN =^..^= xo Annabelle



Flora

Moss covered trees; they lined the path to either side of me
With limbs outstretched, they touched and formed
An endless canopy in hues of velvet greens
This vacant road, so tenderly adored by these grand oaks
Led me in finding silence sleeping deeply in serenity

Look around; what do I see - flowers strewn and flowers dead
A sea of white on white, grey on grey and black to dark
Of body turned to stone, their words are now half spoken
Craved onto the surface of their sculptured ghostly effigies

Their shadows hide by day, by night they come
If it were night it wouldn’t feel right
But since its day I think its right
For I do see the peacefulness that’s here

Around a bend, some English daisies make my acquaintance
They rise in lively spirit from the dark depths of their grassy bed
This lonely cradle, long forgotten, has cared for them
And they in turn have called upon the sun onto its sunken crest
To warm and kiss its lovely breast

This stone is not alike the rest
It does not bear the name who lies in there
For what sits above the daisy covered knoll
Is but a open book with pages torn adorned in roses pink

To make of what it tells
Is hard when earth and wind and rain
Have washed away its mark, but still I try
For there was once a time
This place was truly theirs’

I bowed down to the earth and took a better look
I read and thought; is this, what’s left?
I could have sworn the words began to speak in whispers on the breeze
I may have thought or did I hear it say “I was”?

I looked away from the book made out of stone
And saw a vision sitting there- afar- with flowers in her hands
I knew the voice I’d heard had come from her
A long time past, she walked the earth
And loved the flowers, that now grow above her tomb

The moss she had treasured so
Now softly dressed the written pages of the book
The years that read were few, her youth cut short
Above the blue faint sky I heard the dawn bird’s song
Ethereal swirls of melodic tones played a choral symphony

A moment passed, the child like girl I’d seen, had gone
The intense beauty of the woodland music now had ended
The bird’s keen senses knew, now dark took over light,
Its ghostly shadow for a moment brushed the mossy tomb
A silence fell and then I heard large rain drops fall unto the granite stone
And like a hidden message written in unseen ink -revealed –
I saw my name, on the wet stone visibly appear.



~ Annabelle ~



The inspiration for this poem came from a visit to a cemetery last summer during a soccer tournament.I had noticed two tomb stones in the shape of books and instantly fell in love with them. I didn't have my camera then so I'll have to take the trip back there to photograph the tombs then I will post them with this poem. My daughter Emma inspired me with the last paragraph of the poem when she pointed out to me how the dark had taken over the light over the entire field on a recent walk with our dog Grace.


The Ghost Ball


Walking along the undulating winding path, tall oaks stood on both sides of me. Their limbs touching but barren of their leaves made a dark brown lacey lattice against the cold October sky. The sun barely visible tried to peek through the blank canvas hardly keeping the earth warm. The air was still not a sound could be heard except for the shuffle of the oaks’ dead leafs underfoot and then the silence broke…. Overhead; a group of geese flew towards a warmer home.

Moments earlier I had visited my grandmother’s grave and had left her a posy of flowers for her birthday. Now in peaceful reflection I walked among the solid stones of marble and granite all bearing messages of love lost. I loved coming here. It was a sanctuary for me whenever I came. I could spend hours reading about the dearly departed and found inspiration in the decorative embellishments and inscribed messages of their tombs that told more than just their sad farewells.

A weeping willow on a grave; its branches covered in moss as if in full spring splendor silently shed the tears of loved ones left behind. A heart entwined in ivy; a testament of a strong and binding love. And then I saw a few small graves; one adorned with a little lamb and the other with an angel and puppy dog; they belonged to little children who had left this earth much too soon.

The day was cold and damp and I particularly wanted nothing more than to continue with the nostalgic memories but the cold became uncomforting and I was too cold and miserable to relinquish in this beautiful desolate place yet it was most appropriate for today was Hallows Eve. I hurried my pace still entranced by the scatterings of ghostly white tombs against the stark grey horizon. Suddenly the sun’s pale light touched upon the stone of an opened book, its pages torn; one last faded rose that had dropped from its branch that had hugged the tomb, now lay on the books’ leaf. Beneath the bush upon the torn page corner of the book; a glint of purple green twinkled through. I knelt down and touched the sparkle on the stone book revealing a violet purple amethyst covered in mossy greens. I grabbed the moisten jewel within my hand and quickly hurried back home.

The hearth felt good; my hands numb from the bitter cold and of the wet mossy jewel. I carefully laid the purple stone onto the mantle. It was round and rose shaped like you see in a church window. At a closer glance I noticed it had eight individual petals but they were scarcely noticeable from the moss that filled their voids. At each strut a rhinestone lay. It was truly a beautiful ornament from long, long ago; that it belonged to, would be a mystery.

With the entire hullabaloo that ensued I had completely forgotten that I had to create a witches hat for the ghost ball. Mom had kindly bought a witches hat ahead of time but I had dally too long to decorate it like I had wanted to and now I was in dire need to finish it on time. I gathered up the choice adornments and quickly adding the black spider brooch, the old rhinestone buckle, the large black velvet rose and the garland of small roses; their petals sprinkled with tear drops. Finally I added a touch of black tulle to create a filmy mysterious looking witches hat. There, I was done but something was not quite right. Yes, that’s what it was, a large gapping hole inside the buckle stared right back at me. I needed something for the buckle to frame.

Out of the blue the purple stone flashed a wink across the room. It would be perfect to adorn the witches’ hat with and especially beautiful inside the old rhinestone frame. I clumsily and eagerly tried pinning the flowered stone onto the hat. So stirred in seeing the end results that I pinned myself like I had become a pin cushion. After all the fuss was over, the hat was finally complete. A witch’s gothic hat dream had come true. I loved the look. I was all set for the ball.

Time was flying swiftly and so would this witch if she was to attend the Halloween Ball. I gathered all my costume attire, the cat, cape, boots, broom and bat and got dressed. I was the picture perfect gothic witch right out of the eighteen century. All that was left to do was to crown the costume with the witches’ hat that I had so proudly made. I entered the room which now had a glowing fire burning. The hat, has I had left it was still perched on the candelabra.

Approaching closer to the hearth, the purple stone of the jewel had fused together with the flames of the fire. Now the two were one and a dazzling sparkle danced across the room bouncing fragments of colorful purples and embers onto the crystal vases and glass of the room. The room spinned into a magical realm of a strange and different world distant and unknown to me; and then my eye caught something very strange indeed. Inside the fire in the embers of the flames a book lay open with pages written in old English. As I began to read the words penned in black ink a familiar music erringly faded in. I remembered the piece; it was “The Dance of the Mist”.

Upon the pages of the book was written “I hope to meet with thee again on Hallows Eve one time so I may alight in the “Ghostly Ball”. If you wear the hat and stone upon your head, I will be your companion for just this Hallows Eve and will return once a year upon the same night unless you desire to not make my company.”
Was it all just a dream; too tried and had probably fallen asleep? Wake up, wake up Leathor ; this can’t be real……only it was!
I had no fear but was only both intrigued and in disbelief of the whole affair that just had transpired. I wanted to believe!!!! So I put the witches’ hat upon my head…….

Beyond my glasses stood a young girl with fairies wings. I agitatedly took my glasses off and wiped the film from the lenses. I place them back unto the bridge of my nose and glanced towards where the young girl had stood. There she was, standing quietly and studying me; I now clearly saw she was only just a little girl of no more than twelve years old dressed in the most beautiful translucent gossamer and chiffon, yellow white gown. Her head crowned in daisies. Her whole attire in a sprinkling of fairy’s’ dust and her wings twinkled repeatedly with every flutter.

“Will thou be my friend to accompany to the Ghostly Ball?” My name is Flora and I know who you are she said in a faintly voice. You’re Leathor; I’ve watched you visiting at the Mount. The purple stone belongs to me and I have wished for centuries for someone to find it and pin it on a witch’s hat so that I may have another Ghostly Ball on Hallows Eve with all my dear and darling friends. Please say you’ll come.”

And so the little witch that wished to be a fairy for an eve and I, a witch who truly could make magic with her hat went off to the Ghostly Ball. Who was I to deny such a sweet little girl a Ghostly Ball on Hallows Eve with all her ghoulish, witches and fairy friends? I be a fool to decline the invitation; you’d never know what would come of it if you did.
I never ended up going to the Halloween Ball, in reality Flora and I danced the dance of the mist surrounded by Floras’ dearly departed friends at the Ghostly Ball on this very special Hallows Eve.


Happy Halloween=^..^=

8 comments:

carolyn said...

Great Halloween post.

Anonymous said...

Your poem is wonderful Annabelle,and your story is both spooky and sad, I love them both.
Old cemetaries can make us wonder about the lives of others that lived in previous centuries..food for thought.
Happy Hallow e'en!

Jeanne said...

Fabulous my boooootiful friend!
Amazing!

Anonymous said...

Wonderful job ~ you are a very talented writer. Hope your Halloween was a good one!!

Anonymous said...

What a talent. I loved your poem Annabelle. Good work.
xo

cityfarmer said...

Whew!!!!! you must have a blue ribbon for that....

You will enjoy my redesigned back porch...now home office.

tiffinix said...

I am in awe of your words. Stunning poetry. I still have goose bumps from that last paragraph of Flora. Just so very lovely.

Tongue in Cheek Antiques said...

What a perfect tribute to Halloween! Such a treat you have put in our bag of candy!!

~ Can I Keep You ?

~ Can I Keep You ?

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Nudge Ogle Wink,Nudge, Nudge, Wink WinkNine little spooky goblins stared behind the bubble glassso carefully they watched my every step upon the grassTis alarming when a stranger comes thru hereFor no one ever dare comes nearTheir home, once sat upon a witches head so steepBut now has found a secret box to keep…~ Annabelle

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