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by Rose Ashton 4 years ago in surreal poetry
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A Poem

The board is taken from the bag,

set on the blanket.

(Ready to play?)

Two fingers,

on the planchette.

(Are you sure?)

Once it begins,

there's no backing out.

(Still want to play?)

Think of questions,

remember your answers.

(Scared yet?)

Ask for a name,

you'll say it constantly.

(Should you be?)

During your session,

think of things you'd know

(Is someone crying?)

There's a cold chill,

spreading throughout the room.

(Want to go home?)

Spirits need help,

enquire what has to happen.

(Did you see it?)

The sun starts to sink,

distributing more shadows.

(You heard that?)

A soft marching from shoes,

pacing the concrete.

(Was that you?)

Sharing uncomfortable glances,

the fear setting in.

(Are you moving it?)

Nothing but the wind blowing,

everything is still.

(Going crazy?)

Asking to say goodbye,

the spirit moves it to no.


We wanted to be brave,

bunch of foolish children.

(Can i go now?)

Someone pulls away,

freaking out over the game.

(Want to keep playing?)

There's collective arguing,

as they sit again.

(Going to move?)

Complaints of being poked,

meanwhile foot steps grow closer.

(Are you upset?)

Everybody stops talking,

twigs begin snapping.

(Do i frighten you?)

Nobody moves,

daring the thing to come closer,

(Did we imagine it?)

Heads turning left and right,

a rabbit hops down the path.

(An animal?)

Ending the game,

its quickly shoved away by the group.

(Will you come back?)

Everything's packed,

leaves crunch as we sprint.

(Why are you running?)

surreal poetry

About the author

Rose Ashton

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