Yellow Moss

The gates of the ancient prison creaked

And the chains clanked in the breeze,

When we pulled in with our caravan,

As we camped among the trees,

The kids went off for a quick explore

And were back before nightfall,

They said, ‘There’s all of this nasty stuff

Leaked out from the old stone wall.’

They said it looked like a yellow moss

But it had a putrid smell,

It clung in lumps to the chains, in clumps

That were hung in every cell,

‘Do you think it grew on the prisoners,’

Said Ted, with his eyes a-glare,

‘I’ve got a terrible feeling from

The damp in the cells in there.’

‘It’s only an empty building,’ said

Darnelle, but her eyes were bright,

‘I heard the prisoners whispering

As they must have done, each night,’

She let her imagination reign

Or that’s what we thought she did,

I learnt to listen more carefully 

When she said that she had, our kid!

So later, when they were both abed

I took Clare by the hand,

And led her into the ancient Gaol,

To that misery of man,

Our footsteps echoed on cobblestones,

My voice came back like prayer,

Bouncing back from the old stone walls

In tones of a pure despair.

The moon came filtering down that night

And made patterns through the trees,

While beams shone in to the cells where once

Old men prayed on their knees,

And Clare would shiver where candlelight

Was once the only ray,

To keep the spectres away at night

Until the break of day.

I kept on wandering further in

While Clare would turn around,

‘Let’s go,’ she said, ‘it’s a scary thing,

We walk unhallowed ground,’

But no, I walked to the furthest cell

To the meanest cell of all,

And saw the bones, and the yellow moss

In a pile against the wall.

A beam came down from the rising moon

That lit up the pile of bones,

And there for a moment, all we heard

Was the sound of muffled moans,

A shadow rose by the weeping wall

Of a man who cried ‘I’m free!’

Who dropped the chains of his earthly pains

As he strode away, through me.

And all I felt was a deathly chill 

As he passed right through my form,

My mind was frozen, my heart was still

And I felt I was unborn,

But then the morning arrived at last

With a terrible sense of loss,

For all one side of my face was gone,

Covered in yellow moss.

David Lewis Paget

Reviews

[M. L. F.]

David.. as always, I love the way you tell a descriptive tale inside a poem. Your narrative poetry is perfectly metered and I admire your work, especially your twists of the supernatural and suspense. Knowing there is another world than what we all see with the naked eye is a motto I see expressed cleverly and coyly in your pieces. You added some wonderful atmosphere here which draws the reader deeper into the story:

The moon came filtering down that night
And made patterns through the trees,
While beams shone in to the cells where once
Old men prayed on their knees,

Atmosphere is great,
..Misty

[A Soap Mess Stories]

A very descriptive tale. Loved the read.

[No one]

I can say it was purely descriptive but never boring. This poem is a mixture of many sides of your talent in writing. This should inspire lot. thanks for sharing it with us!

[AlieahRose]

The darkness surrounding this poem hold it throughout your writing. Your ability to put so much description into your writing shows how talented you are. I fee very involved with the storyline, as I too experienced chills.

[Coyote Poetry]

I enjoyed the tale. Nature had strength and can lead us and teach us. I liked the story line leading to strong ending my friend. Thank you David for sharing the excellent poetry.
Coyote

[Jane Winters Rogers]

You make your characters and the atmosphere and places seem real...what a gift you have...I can smell the damp walls of the prison and see the yellow moss growing there...No one can write with such depth...you are a great poet.

[Einstein Noodle]

David!! so happy to see you had posted anew!
curiosity has undone the man ..i must know what happened to Clare!? i am not sure who the characters are and what their relationships are ..the weave of ghostly and the real make it difficult for me ..perhaps it is your purpose ... these lines are a slight hiccup:
"‘It’s only an empty building,’ said
Darnelle, but her eyes were bright,"
i have read them several times and can't quite fit the rhythm .. fantastic story .. i love old prisons, castles and haunted places that seep such yellow stuff ..but i don't think i would challenge the deep places ...i would take Clare's advice and get the hell out of there ;0
and again sir ..glad you are posting anew!
E.

[Valentine]

Another one ...I guess your muse has returned as your writing is becoming deeper and more intriguing. Keep them coming.. Valentine

[PhoenixDown]

Unique David. Your style rings true in this one, but your words utter stories differently now it seems. I enjoy this newness. As I have always enjoyed your writing. I pray you never stop. You are still as much of an example for me today as you were yesterday.

Fantastic work.

Phoenix

[Thomas Fitzgerald]

A detailed and eventful piece that caresses the mind to wonder along and see which moss will leave it's stain on us! well done, good read.