The Storyteller

He sat in a small compartment by

The window, on a train,

The passengers huddled around him

Saying, ‘Tell that one again!’

He spoke in a low and measured voice

As they held their breath, to stare,

Watching his hands, as they described

Vague circles in the air.

 

There wasn’t a sound outside, except

The carriage, clickety-clack,

A sound that would tend to hypnotise

As the train sped down the track,

In every one of his listeners

Was a picture, in each mind,

That spoke to them of that better life

Which had been too hard to find.

 

And seagulls circled the skies above

As he primed their minds with ‘If…’

And led them all in a straggly line

To stand at the top of a cliff.

The sea was blue and the clouds were grey

And the rocks below sublime,

As they teetered there for a moment where

They stood, at the edge of time.

 

For then he’d show them a garden, with

The form of an only child,

Who seemed to be so familiar

That most of them there had smiled,

The scent of a pink wisteria

Had wafted the carriage air,

And then their tears rolled back the years

As they whispered, ‘I was there!’

 

He showed them a woman in mourning

With a cape, and a darkened veil,

Who knelt alone by a headstone,

Each listeners face was pale.

The bell of the church began to toll

As it sounded someone’s knell,

His face was the face of the gravedigger

As he held them in his spell.

 

The carriage was filled with waves of fear,

The carriage was filled with joy,

He’d tell of the death of a mountaineer,

Of a child with a much-loved toy,

Their tears they’d dry as the train came in

To the tale of a Scottish Kirk,

And one by one they would rise to leave

And head off the train, to work.

 

But the Storyteller would stay on board

And close the compartment door,

His restless hands were trembling still

As his eyes stared down at the floor.

The train heads into the future while

The past is deep in his well,

He sits and weeps in the corner for

The tales that he doesn’t tell.

 

David Lewis Paget

Reviews

[TL Boehm]

this reads like your autobiography, Sir Paget. You are after all a story teller of masterful proportions.
The last two lines caught in that place between my throat and my heart for their poignancy but the whole thing was wonderfully atmospheric, the train sounds, the sky, the vague circles in the air made by the story teller's gestures. All wonderful

[Barbz]

We, the readers know that we can always find a piece of ourselves I his words because he writes for us. For that I am so grateful......for sometimes I can't find myself......In 1000 and 1 or two....I must have been there....were you??

[Jane Winters Rogers]

Beautiful...you are a great poet...

[Keith]

Awesome write, I think one one my favourites to date. I may not be here commenting on WC much these days, but still reading and your enjoying work. I just had to leave a note on this tho, Yes I believe it is you also. When I finish the first book (early works) I will buy the Gothic collection "Pier"
Cheers.

[A Soap Mess Stories]

I have to agree with TL...a masterful storyteller...of epic proportions....nice-looking profile pic....

[Colorado Brian]

Not long ago, I developed a Thirst for Poetry. A Craving. If I didn't quench it, I'd surely be a Mad Man, Raving. I searched facebook and found countless pages with hundreds of people writing poetry and sharing with others. Some good, some I didn't care for. I started seeking out the work of the Poets who are considered Great, past and present. I read and I read and I read. Many of these so-called greats, my mind simply will not agree with. I don't find their work great, regardless of others opinion. Every persons thought process and taste is different. For my specific preference, I find your work, David Lewis Paget, to be Extraordinary. Second to none. I thoroughly enjoy your exceptional ability to craft a tale with wit and wisdom. I genuinely admire your ability.

[Marie]

I agree with TL Boem. This is you--the Storyteller of Writers' Cafe.

[Arrinae]

Very nicely written. It is obvious that the tales he shares are but adventures both good and bad from his life, though deeper still are the memories of tales he can't bring to voice. Be it though nightmare, nighterror, ir even being lost in his memories every day he finds himself haunted by the past he can't bare to forget nor have the voice to share.

Very well done! Thank you for sharing!